Chapter Fifteen: 217 - broken hearts

Cheryl paced back and forward along a short stretch of sidewalk outside Carlo's Restaurant, her phone to her ear. The phone on the opposite end of the line rang for the fifth time unanswered. She hung up and dialed again, shooting a glance to the black and white where the uniformed officers were waiting at her request.

Joseph Stoner was settled in the back seat of the cruiser, his hands cuffed safely behind him. He hadn't appreciated being arrested, and hadn't gone easily. But once they'd gotten him settled in the car, he'd calmed considerably. At least on the outside.

After another seven fruitless rings, she clicked the disconnect button. It was useless. She'd wanted to warn Steve about who had made the delivery to Blue Skies, but he wasn't answering his phone or his father's phone. And when she'd tried to reach Bright through the main number, she'd been informed that he could not be disturbed.

She paced thoughtfully. Something wasn't right.

Coming to a decision based more on instinct than evidence, she strode toward the uniformed officers. "Why don't you head on back to the precinct, start the processing. I'll catch up to you in a little while."

"Sure. No problem." The officers were obliging.

"Thanks guys." With that she turned and headed toward her car. Clear Skies wasn't very far from Carlo's. It would go a long way to settling her nerves if she just swung by to see if Sloan needed any help. But before she pulled out of the parking lot, she decided to try to call one more time.

-- --

"Clear!"

Mark's voice sounded in the tense atmosphere of the examination area. Aside from the machine, and the sound of Steve's body as it received yet another shock, no one seemed to hardly even breathe. Not even the two EMTs who had arrived minutes before and helped to transfer Steve from the Clear Skies gurney to the MedFlight stretcher. All eyes were trained on the computerized screen of the defibrillator machine.

The trace continued to move erratically across the screen, and the device continued to emit the alert warning.

"Again. Two-fifty," Mark said as he held the paddles back and away.

"Two-fifty," Jesse confirmed, turning toward his old friend.

"Clear!"

Again, the dull thumping sounded and Steve's body jerked as Mark shocked him.

The machine discontinued it's warning. Jesse stated, "Normal sinus rhythm."

"Let's move!" Mark ordered, barely stopping for a breath before he settled the machine atop Steve's legs and helped to steer the gurney out of the clinic enroute to the heli-pad.

Jesse followed behind him, keeping close. Mark wasn't a young man, and the struggle to keep Steve alive was taking a toll both physically and emotionally. Whatever had caused Steve's heart to stop beating was persistent, causing his heart to fall back into refibrillation twice since they'd initially shocked him. The medical facility at Clear Skies was not equipped to do the kind of testing required to determine Steve's underlying problem, and since poisoning was a good possibility, they were essentially flying blind until they had access to the proper diagnostics. They could do little more than to try to keep him functioning until they reached Community General.

They moved into a wide corridor, practically running as they passed through a set of double doors and into a large elevator. Dr. Tracy punched in a code and the elevator moved upward, depositing them on the roof after a tense ride of less than a minute. As they reached open air, and headed out toward the helicopter, Jesse heard a familiar sound. It was Mark's cellular again. Mark, he noted, was busy on the radio to Community General ensuring that the necessary tests were ready to go as soon as the helicopter touched down there and that an area was waiting which contained every drug that might possibly be used to treat Steve.

The sound of the cellular some became lost in the noise made by the powerful rotors as they drew closer to the flying machine. Wind kicked up, attempting to blow away some of the supplies that were piled atop the gurney. Jesse held them in place with one arm as his eyes remained on the display on the machine. They couldn't afford to miss something because of an inability to hear the machine's alarm.

Jesse blew out a relieved breath as they reached the wide door of the flying machine. The trace remained slow but steady as they began to maneuver the gurney inside.

Once Steve was settled, Mark climbed in and Jesse climbed in behind him. It was a tight fit, but they were all in. Dr. Tracy and her staff stepped back away from the helicopter as it began to ascend. Mark's phone started ringing again and he began to reach for it, but then the pace of the beeps became erratic. The alert on the monitor sounded.

Mark's face fell, and for a split second he looked utterly defeated. Even as those emotions slipped through his professional mask, he reached for the defibrillator and gave the necessary orders. Jesse was sure that he wasn't even aware that there was a tear streaking down his cheek as he again administered a shock to his son.

-- --

Cheryl pulled into the parking slot beside Dr. Sloan's vehicle. It had been her first clue that they were still here. She peered over into the vehicle and noticed nothing amiss - not that she was expecting to, it was just that if her intuition had come with an audible alert it would have been beeping a warning by now. Nailing down tangible reasons as to why was a little more difficult.

An inability to reach Steve by phone was only slightly worrying, but hardly new. Things happened, batteries needed recharging, signals got lost. Maybe it was something to do with their last conversation. Something there had started a twinge of warning. Maybe that twinge, combined with Steve's evasiveness and the quick way he'd gotten off the phone along with an inability to reach him was the problem.

Deciding that she wasn't going to figure it out by standing in the parking lot, she set off toward the building. As she did so, a sound came to her attention. A helicopter. Suddenly it came into view, lifting off from the roof and flying toward the city. She stopped and shielded her eyes against the early afternoon sun to read the word that was printed in large block lettering along the side of the craft. MedFlight.

Even more unsettled, she headed toward the building again, this time moving much more quickly. That the receptionist was looking tense didn't help. Cheryl quickly introduced herself and displayed her badge before demanding in a no-nonsense tone to see Lt. Steven Sloan or any of the men who had arrived with him.

"I think maybe you should talk to Mr. Bright," the young woman said. "I just saw him go back to his office. I'll show you the way."

Cheryl followed along as she was led along a corridor. She waited while the young woman tapped at a door about halfway along the hallway. The door was opened by a rather pale, disheveled looking man and the receptionist quickly excused herself.

"I'm Detective Cheryl Banks." She displayed her badge. "I--"

"You're here for the package?" he asked, looking stunned. "That was fast. In all the excitement, I thought that everyone had forgotten about it, but it seems that you were sent right along. It's this way," he gestured her into the office.

"Wait a minute," Cheryl looked at him oddly as she followed him inside, every instinct on screaming alert. "You're telling me that they've left already?" How had she missed them?

The man turned to her, his mouth dropping open. He looked as if he wasn't sure how to respond to her question. What he did do was something that was completely unexpected. He went a bit green before settling shakily into a chair that Cheryl guessed was usually reserved for visitors.

She ducked her head slightly, looking him over and suddenly remembered the portion of her purpose that didn't involve worry for her partner. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Just a little . . . queasy all of a sudden," Bright managed, sitting up a little straighter. "It's been an interesting day."

Cheryl had to agree with him there. "Did you have lunch from Carlo's restaurant?" she asked.

Bright looked up at her curiously. "Yes. The Greek salad." He gestured in the direction of a side door. "I didn't finish it because the Sloan's and Dr. Travis showed up. I ended up putting it in the refrigerator -- for later."

Cheryl smiled a little. So they were back to the Sloan's again. Good. She opened her mouth to ask her next question, but Bright's reaction stalled her. His green shade turned even greener. His eye's widened and he murmured a harried "excuse me" before rushing out of the room. Cheryl had no illusions as to his destination.

She quickly gathered the package from the floor in front of the desk, carefully picking up the card and the bottle of vodka with a tissue from Bright's desk. She then moved through the door off to the side where he'd gestured earlier. She found the small refrigerator easily enough and retrieved the remains of a Greek Salad bearing the Carlo's logo. The salad went into a Carlo's bag which she found in the garbage can near the refrigerator.

She then moved off down the hall where Bright was on his way out of the restroom. He looked a little less green than before, but he was still pale and obviously extremely embarrassed.

"I'm terribly sorry," he apologized as he approached.

"Don't be," Cheryl told him. Then continued, "I don't have any proof. But I think that there is a very real possibility that you may have been poisoned."

"What?!" Bright looked stunned. "But I did what Detective Sloan said. I never left here."

"The poison may have come to you. It may have been in the Carlo's delivery." Cheryl said.

"But I bought enough for everyone. No one else has gotten sick that I'm aware of. And I can assure you that by now it has all been eaten. Carlo's doesn't last very long around here."

"I think you should come with me to the hospital to have yourself checked out," Cheryl said. "Just to make sure. Meanwhile, I'll have this examined." She held the remains of his lunch aloft.

"Can we go to Community General?" Bright asked.

"That's where I had in mind," Cheryl admitted. "I know someone who would put a rush on the analysis."

"Good," Bright seemed relieved. "That's where they took Detective Sloan. I'd sure like to know that he's going to pull through."

All of the sparks of intuition that Cheryl had been having that afternoon coalesced in the pit of her stomach. "Pull through what?"

"His heart attack. They took him away on a MedFlight helicopter right before you got here."

-- --

Amanda sighed and leaned against the door as she finally got Paulie, the locksmith, to leave. On discovering she was a doctor, he'd communicated every twinge and pain and "odd feeling" he'd experienced in the past six months.

She'd silently willed her phone to ring for the better part of an hour while he worked. She had even checked twice to make sure that it was on and that the ringer was activated. Still nothing. Irritation with Paulie was fading away to be replaced by concern for Mark, Steve and Jesse. She hadn't heard from them since they'd left. Maybe she should call them. It couldn't hurt -- she could let Mark know that his locks had been changed successfully.

Her train of thought was derailed as the door bell rang. She turned, and peered through the window to see the corner of a dark van with the LAPD logo partially visible. She opened the door to find a team of two women and two men there carrying equipment. She recognized a couple from some crime scenes that she'd been called to.

She opened the door wider and showed them inside, making sure that they were aware that there was an apartment downstairs that would have to be checked. They set to work with little fuss, beginning the daunting task of checking over the beach house. Amanda made a bee-line for the patio. She needed to talk to her friends to make sure that things were okay.

Just as she stepped outside of the door, her pager went off.

-- --

Jesse kept a careful eye on Mark as he stood over Steve's motionless form. He hadn't regained consciousness since they'd nearly lost him at Clear Skies. Despite the bevy of activity around them; nurses checking and rechecking vitals and announcing their findings, the arrangement of equipment or the taking of additional blood and fluid samples, Jesse wasn't certain that Mark was aware of anything else. His eyes remained focused on Steve, watching, almost as if he was worried that if he looked away for too long his heart rate might become erratic once more.

Jesse understood that fear. Even after the helicopter had touched down at Community General and they'd gotten Steve into the nearest trauma unit, there had been no certainty as to the proper medication to give him. Blood had been drawn on the helicopter so that it could be handed off to lab personnel who were standing by on the heli-pad. While Steve was rushed to the already prepared exam area, a portion of his blood was fast on its way to being tested.

The phone on the wall rang. The nurse nearest to it hit the speaker phone button.

"Trauma 1," Jesse answered the call. "What have you got?"

He, and everyone else listened intently as the lab supervisor read off the results of the first wave of tests. Jesse was quietly stunned at the combination of drugs that had been found in his system, but there was no time to ponder them at the moment. It was time to act.

He turned to one of the nurses and began to call for the proper antitoxin to the chemicals that had been discovered. The nurses were prepared and moved into rapid motion.

"What did you find on his serum potassium levels?" Mark interjected.

"There are indications of moderate hyperkalemia. We're going to rerun the test on the new batch of blood just to be sure."

Jesse ordered another drug on standby, understanding where Mark was going with the question. They all watched and waited as the chemicals settled into Steve's system.

"Pressure is coming up," one of the nurses stated.

"Heart rate increasing," another announced.

"It's working," Jesse murmured, allowing a small tired grin as he looked toward Mark. Mark's response was barely a shadow of his normally warm smile, more a lifting of the corners of his mouth and his gaze never quite left Steve.

Dismissing the nurses with a nod of his head, Jesse turned back toward Mark. Unsure of what to say, he simply stood there, quietly offering his support. His eyes followed Mark's gaze to Steve who lay supine on the table amid crisscrossing wires of monitoring equipment and invasive tubes. An oxygen mask covered half of his face. A far cry from the usually energetic man that Jesse called friend.

But he was going to be okay. Mark had to know that.

"Mark. . . "

"He almost died, Jess," Mark cut him off in a low deepened voice.

"But he didn't," Jesse replied, hoping that Mark would look up.

He only shook his head, his focus never changing. "Too close. I can't let this happen again."

Jesse frowned. "Mark--"

He was cut off by the sudden sound of running footsteps outside of the trauma room. He turned in time to see a frantic Amanda come to a halt halfway across the room. Her gaze moved from Steve to Jesse and then to Mark.

"Steve? How is he?"

Mark took a shaky breath, and finally looked up. The expression in his eyes was utterly heartbreaking. "He's going to be okay," he said, softly. "I'm going to make sure of it."

Amanda shared a sympathetic look with Jesse and then moved toward their old friend. "I know you will, Mark. I know you will." She wrapped her arms around him and held on.

Jesse stepped out of the room, leaving them in privacy.