(Sunday, 06 July, 2003. 2100 hours.)
"Hey, Dad, I'm home," Steve called as he came bounding up the stairs from his apartment, where he had already gone to drop off his duffel bag.
"What are you doing here?" Mark asked his son.
"Well, gee, Dad, it's nice to see you, too," Steve replied with a laugh.
Mark frowned to realize how his greeting must have sounded, and said, "Sorry about that, Son. Welcome home. I just didn't expect you back so soon. What happened?"
"It's ok, Dad," Steve said, "Turns out Elaine couldn't get tomorrow off, so we drove back this evening. Do you have anything left over from dinner? I'm starving."
"You always are," Mark muttered in amusement as he waved his son into the kitchen and followed him. "How about chicken breast stuffed with spinach and pine nuts on a bed of linguine topped with a vegetable cheese sauce?" He rummaged around in the refrigerator to see what else he had that his son might like. "Fresh green beans on the side and a fruit parfait for dessert sound ok?"
"That sounds great, Dad," Steve answered. "Will it go with beer, or are you going to make me drink wine with it?"
"Philistine," Mark laughed. "You may have your beer, if you must, unless you would prefer an ice cream float and French fries instead of green beans."
"No thanks," Steve said, grinning. "Beer and green beans will be just fine, Dad."
As his dad filled his plate for him, Steve got himself a beer and set out his place mat, napkin, and silverware. Then he took a seat at the table and waited for his father to bring him his dinner. He knew better than to interfere in the kitchen.
"So," Mark said as he set Steve's plate before him and sat down across the table, "how was your trip? Did you like the cabin?"
"Oh, yeah," Steve enthused, shoveling in huge mouthfuls of linguine and chicken, "it was great! Elaine and I stayed in all weekend . . . "
"Really? You spent a whole weekend up in the beautiful mountains and never went for a hike or a walk around the lake or anything?" Mark teased. "This girl must be something special."
Steve grinned, took a pull from his beer and said, "She sure is, Dad. I really think you're going to like her."
The moment Steve stopped talking about his new girlfriend, his face went blank, and he began to scarf down his green beans. As Mark studied his son's expression, he noticed Steve was pale and his eyes were bloodshot.
"Son,"
Mark asked gently, somewhat concerned, "did something happen this
weekend?"
"What? No, no, Dad," Steve grinned again, then frowned, then smiled. "The cabin was great! Elaine and I stayed in all weekend. We spent most of yesterday in and out of the hot tub." He sighed contentedly and started on his parfait. "I think it was just the break I needed."
"So what did you do while you were there?"
"Nothing," Steve said, scraping the last of his dessert from the dish.
Mark just couldn't get past Steve's appearance. The dark circles under his eyes said something had happened. Trying once more, he said suggestively, "That woman wore you out, didn't she?"
"No, Dad, we just hung out, relaxed, and enjoyed the hot tub."
"Uh-huh. Sure you did."
"Well, I suppose we might have stayed up kind of late," Steve finally admitted, blushing slightly.
"And now the truth comes out!" Mark crowed.
"Dad, will you stop it? I'm a grown man."
Chuckling, Mark said, "I know, Son, and I'll stop now. You just looked so tired; I knew when you told me you hadn't done anything you had to be lying. I just needed to be sure you were ok."
Steve responded warmly to his father's affectionate concern. "I am, Dad," he said with a smile. "I am really ok." He yawned and stretched, and said, "But I am really tired, too. I think I'll turn in early." As he got up from the table and carried his dishes to the sink, he asked, "By the way. Did Amanda figure out what the bug was that knocked out everyone in the ER?"
"Yeah, she did. It was giardia in the water coolers in the doctors' lounge and behind the nurses' station. We checked with the delivery company, and apparently, there was a malfunction in their treatment system. A whole days' run was contaminated, but fortunately, those two bottles were the first of the lot to be used, and Amanda worked it out really quickly, so nobody else is going to get sick from it." Mark smiled, "The owner of the company was so grateful for her help, he made a $10,000 donation to the path lab budget on the spot."
"Wow, that's quite a feather in her cap," Steve said, "but don't you think it's a little odd that the only two bottles from the batch to be delivered ended up decimating the ER staff at Community General?"
"I suppose you could look at it like that," Mark said, "but then you have to ask yourself, if it was intentional, who would do it, and to what end? What could they hope to accomplish?" Shaking his head, Mark said, "No, I think it was just a lucky break for the bottled water company that it came to us first and we figured out what the problem was before anyone else got sick."
"I suppose," Steve agreed, "but if you come up with a motive for it, let me know." With that, he headed down stairs, leaving his father behind to chuckle at him. It was barely nine thirty. That woman had certainly worn him out this weekend. If she'd have had Monday off, too, Steve might not have made it home.
(Monday, 07 July, 2003. 0030 hours.)HHH
Mark rolled over and looked at the clock, twelve thirty. What was he doing awake?
"Please, no! No more!"
Mark was out of bed in an instant, thrusting his feet into his slippers and his arms into his robe. Of course, Steve was having a nightmare. Ever since Steve was a baby, the only thing other than a call from the hospital that could so quickly rouse Mark Sloan from a sound sleep was the voice of his child crying out in the night.
"Yes, yes, anything! Just make it stop. Please!"
As Mark heard the anguish in his son's voice, he hurried his steps, clambering down to Steve's apartment and letting himself into the bedroom. What he saw shocked him as nothing ever had. Steve stood holding out his hands as if gripping a gun, not with the thumb up and the index finger pointing forward as many people did when they pretended to shoot, but with his fingers wrapped around the imaginary grip, his index finger on the invisible trigger. Tears were streaming down his face. Three times, his hand jerked as he fired the chimerical gun, then he mouthed some words too softly for Mark to hear, and once more, he pulled the trigger. Then he dropped his hands to his sides, bowed his head, and grew very, very still.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I had to do it."
After a moment, Steve looked up, and Mark knew he was awake. In the dim light from the hall, the confusion and residual fear he saw on his son's face tore at Mark's heart.
"Steve," he called softly so as not to startle him.
"Dad? What? How? What happened?"
"You had a nightmare, Son," Mark said moving slowly into the room and putting a hand on Steve's broad back. He couldn't help but notice that the shirt he wore was soaked through with sweat.
"I-I don't . . . I can't . . . remember, Dad." Steve was not so much telling his dad what he was feeling as he was pleading for information, and Mark regretted that he couldn't provide much.
"You were calling out in your sleep," Mark said soothingly as he guided his son back to bed. "Begging someone to stop something." Mark saw that the sheets were also dark with perspiration, but as Steve immediately sat on the bed and drew his legs up under the covers, clearly still disoriented and vague, he just let it go. There would be time enough to change them in the morning. "What did you want them to stop, Steve?"
"I-I don't know, Dad," he automatically curled into a fetal position as he lay down, not even noticing the damp sheets.
"You said you would do anything to make it stop," Mark told him as he pulled the covers up over his son's shoulders, tucking him in as he had when Steve was a child, "When I got here, you were standing at the foot of the bed, shooting someone in your sleep. Who was it, son?"
"I don't know, Dad," Steve said, a little less shaky this time. "I guess it was just a really bad dream. I'm sorry I woke you."
"That's ok, Son. Are you sure you don't remember anything about it?"
"No, Dad, nothing." He yawned loudly, then, and rolled over on his stomach. "Maybe if I sleep in a different position, it won't come back."
"Ok, Son, you do that," Mark said trying to sound amused although he was deeply worried. "I'm going back to bed, myself."
"Dad?" The single plaintive word stopped Mark at the door.
"Yes, Son?"
"Stay with me until I fall asleep?"
Mark sighed and smiled and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his son's back until his breathing deepened and evened out.
(Monday, 07 July, 2003. 1200 hours.)
As Steve entered the lounge with take out from BBQ Bob's, Jesse took a deep breath and said, "That must be what heaven smells like," as he reached for the tray of ribs, coleslaw and baked beans Steve had brought him.
"Oh, no, my little friend," Steve corrected him, unloading the takeout box. "That is the smell of money. Since we ran our Independence Day specials, sales are up about ten percent."
"You're kidding!" Mark exclaimed, impressed, and began to unwrap the shredded pork sandwich he had ordered for lunch.
"Nope, I checked the books today," Steve said. "We've got a few new regular customers, and while it may slack off some as the summer draws to a close, we still have Labor Day, and I have a feeling some of the people who tried us for the first time over the weekend will be calling for party packs and catering jobs in the future."HHH
"So, Steve," Jesse began teasingly, "how was the weekend with Elaine?"
For a moment, Steve's face went blank, as if the sudden change in topic had confused him, then he grinned animatedly and his eyes began to twinkle. "The cabin was great, Jess! Elaine and I stayed in all weekend. We spent most of Saturday in and out of the hot tub." He sighed contentedly and gathered up a meal, a drink, and all the trappings that went with a takeout order from BBQ Bob's. "I think it was just the break I needed."
Steve didn't notice his dad's troubled frown as he rambled on. "Now, I hate to run off like this, but Amanda called me at the restaurant and said she wouldn't be able to join you two for lunch today, but I promised to drop off her meal for her before I left."
"Oh," Mark said, "and just where are you going?"
"I'm going to meet Elaine for lunch," Steve said. "She promised to wait for me until one o'clock. I'll see you later, Dad, Jess."
"Yeah, ok, see you later, Son," Mark said absently, but Steve was already gone, and only Jesse noticed the elder Sloan's distraction.
"Mark, what's up?"
"I don't know, Jesse, just a feeling."
"What kind of feeling? About what?"
"A bad feeling, Jess. A very bad feeling about this Elaine who has Steve so captivated."
Mark moved to the phone and dialed an internal extension. When the other party picked up, he said, "Amanda, I need a favor."
(Monday, 07 July, 2003. 1215 hours.)
Amanda barely managed to put in a new tape and hit the record button before Steve walked into the lab. She just hoped he didn't realize she was taping him while they talked, and she wished she knew why Mark had asked her to record their conversation.
"Hi, Steve," she said smiling as he walked into the lab. "How was your weekend?"
"Amanda, the cabin was great!" he said enthusiastically as he placed her meal on her desk. "Elaine and I stayed in all weekend. We spent most of Saturday in and out of the hot tub." He sighed contentedly and leaned back against the lockers. "I think it was just the break I needed."
"Yeah? That's good. What did you do there?"
Steve's expression went blank a moment, then he smiled and said, "Nothing, really. Just stayed in the cabin and relaxed. Spent a lot of time in the hot tub."
"What else did you do, Son?"
Steve turned in surprise at the sound of his father's voice. "Something wrong, Dad? Jess?" he asked, puzzled. "I got your orders right, didn't I?"
"Yes, Steve, lunch is fine," Mark assured him, "but I am very concerned that there is something wrong with you."
"What do you mean, Dad? Didn't we clear this up last night? I told you I didn't sleep much, but I had a really good time. The cabin was . . . "
" . . . great," Mark interrupted. "I know. You and Elaine stayed in all weekend. You spent most of Saturday in and out of the hot tub." Mark sighed deeply and leaned against the autopsy table. "You think it was just the break you needed."
"Hey, you're good," Jesse marveled at Mark's performance as Steve frowned. "I always knew you had one heck of a memory, but that's amazing. That was exactly what he said to me a few minutes ago."
"Yeah," Amanda said, "and it's just what he told me right before you two came in. How did you remember it so exactly, Mark?"
"Because I have heard it three times, now, almost word for word. Once last night and twice today." Mark looked at his son and said, "Steve, what really happened this weekend? What was your nightmare about last night?"
In unison, Jesse, Amanda, and Steve asked, "Nightmare?"
"Yes, Son," Mark said, looking Steve in the eye. "Don't you remember? You were standing at the foot of the bed, shooting at someone in your sleep."
"Steve?" Amanda queried.
"Hey, buddy, what's up?" Jesse asked.
"N-nothing as far as I know. What nightmare, Dad?"
"Steve, Amanda and Jesse are your friends, you know that. You don't have to pretend for them. Tell them about your bad dream."
"I can't, Dad," Steve was growing frustrated. "This is the first I've heard of it."
Mark was confused now. Even if he had not recalled the frightening images, there was just no way his son could have forgotten their conversation in the wee hours. "Steve, last night we talked about the dream. You didn't remember it then, either, but you were awake when we discussed it. Why lie about it?"
"I'm not lying, Dad!" Steve insisted. "I just don't remember."
"Steve, you asked me to sit with you until you fell asleep." Mark was growing increasingly worried as Steve became more agitated, and to calm him, he lowered his voice and spoke soothingly. "Come on, Son. Let's all go up to my office and we can work this out."
For a moment, Steve hesitated, then he put his foot down. "No! No, Dad, there is nothing to work out because I'm fine. Maybe there's something wrong with you," he said tensely, "but I am perfectly all right."
"Ok, then," Mark continued to speak smoothly, "tell me about your weekend."
"I did, dammit!" Steve shouted. "The cabin was great! Elaine and I . . ."
" . . . stayed in all weekend." Jesse said, clearly worried. "We spent most of Saturday in and out of the hot tub."
Amanda sighed and leaned back in her chair, also concerned. "I think it was just the break I needed."
"That's not even funny, guys," Steve said, his voice pitched low and dangerous.
"It's not a joke, pal," Jesse said, moving closer.
Amanda rewound the tape. She had no idea what was going on, but Steve was obviously distressed and unwilling to admit what was troubling him. Maybe making her friend listen to his own words again would shake something loose and convince him to let them help. When the tape finished rewinding, she hit play.
"Amanda, the cabin was great!" Steve heard himself say enthusiastically, and an icy chill slipped down his spine. "Elaine and I stayed in all weekend. We spent most of Saturday in and out of the hot tub." He heard a deep sigh. "I think it was just the break I needed."
Steve looked desperately from Amanda to Jesse to his father, and for a moment, he felt panic rise. Then some tiny rational part of his brain said this was ridiculous, and he told his father and friends as much.
"Look, guys, this is ridiculous," he said. "I'm over forty years old. Closer to fifty than forty as a matter of fact, and I am old enough now to do some things you might not want all the details about. Maybe I just don't want you to know what I did."
"What color were the curtains, Steve?"
"What?"
"The curtains, at the cabin," Amanda elaborated. "What color were they?"
"I'm a guy Amanda, do you really think I noticed the curtains?"
"Ok, then, the carpet? What color was it?"
"Pffft! Like that's any different from the curtains," Steve said derisively.
"Was there carpet?" Jesse asked. "Or were the floors hardwood or tile or linoleum?"
For just a moment, Mark saw pure panic flash in his son's eyes, then it was replaced by the dark thunderclouds of anger.
"I . . . It . . . It doesn't matter!" Steve snapped. Then he managed to reign his temper just enough to speak his piece before leaving. "Elaine and I went to the cabin. We had a good time. End of story. Just because I don't want to tell you the rest doesn't mean something went wrong, so just get off my back, dammit!" Turning to Amanda, he said, "Unless you have a warrant, it is against the law to record someone's conversation without their knowledge and without their consent." Facing his father, he said, "Dad, I'll see you at home."
Steve stormed out of the lab, slamming the door behind him so hard the glass rattled.
"Wow," Jesse said, almost in awe. "That is one seriously troubled man."
"Hmmm," Mark said. "I'm afraid you're right, and I think I'm going to need your help to help him."
"Whatever it takes, Mark," Jesse said, "I'm there."
"Yes," Amanda said, putting a protective arm around her old friend's shoulders. "All you need to do is ask."
"Thank you, guys. It's nice to know my son has friends like you two."
(Monday, 07 July, 2003. 1230 hours.)
Steve sat in his truck shaking and breathing heavily. What was wrong with his dad? So he didn't want to tell them all about the weekend. He'd had a wonderful time with Elaine, relaxing in the hot tub, and he'd come home early because she hadn't been able to get Monday off. So what if he didn't want to give them all the details? That didn't mean there was anything wrong with him.
So why was he so frightened, and why was he shaking so bad? And just what were the details of the weekend? Did the cabin have carpet?
It took several minutes for the shaking to subside. They'd had some wine, hadn't they? Maybe he'd had too much. That was it! Steve smiled, feeling much better. Between the wine and the hot tub, he'd just forgotten the little things. His memories were fuzzy around the edges, but it was nothing serious. When his dad got home, he'd explain, and everything would be ok.
With a satisfied sigh, he started the truck and headed off to meet Elaine for lunch.
(Monday, 07 July, 2003. 1830 hours.)
"So you see," Steve finished explaining over dinner at the beach house, "I was probably just a little drunk, and between the alcohol and the hot tub, I guess the details got kind of fuzzy."
"The whole weekend, Steve?" Jesse asked incredulously, but when Mark shot him a warning look that Steve did not see, he continued talking so Steve didn't have to defend his hypothesis. "I guess it could happen, a pretty woman, a good vintage, a hot tub for two, and all the time in the world. Sure, why not?"
"So," Mark asked, trying hard to be subtle. "How was lunch with Elaine?"
"Not bad. We went to some Japanese restaurant she likes. I can't even pronounce the name of it."
"What did you have?"
"Something with lots of rice," Steve replied.
"Well, duh!" Jesse exclaimed. "What else was in it?"
"I don't know," Steve said. "Elaine ordered it for me while I was in the men's room, but it sure didn't fill me up at all. It's a good thing you made lots of lasagna, Dad. I was starving all afternoon!"
"Oh? What else did you have at lunch?" Mark asked.
"We finished off the meal with green tea and some fruity gelatinous little thing. I think it might have been candy. I'm not real sure."
Oblivious to the knowing look shared between Mark and Jesse when he couldn't positively identify a single thing he'd eaten for lunch or name the restaurant he'd visited with Elaine, Steve stood up from the table and gathered their plates.
(Tuesday, 08 July, 2003. 0015 hours.)
"Please, no! No more!"
Mark wished it wasn't happening, but Steve was having another nightmare, and it sounded just as bad as last night.
"Yes, yes, anything, just make it stop! Please! Oh, God! Please make it stop!" Mark flew down the stairs to the desperate pleading of his son's voice.
If what he saw before shocked him, the scene that unfolded before him tonight terrified him, and he was glad Jesse had managed to linger around until it was too late to drive home. There was no way Mark could have faced this particular nightmare alone.
Just as before, Steve stood holding out his hands as if gripping a gun, again with tears streaming down his face. Three times, his hand jerked as he fired, then he spoke silently, and pulled the trigger again.
"My God, Mark," Jesse whispered. "He's . . . he's murdering someone."
"Shh, Jess," Mark hushed him. "It's not quite over yet."
Instead of the whispered apology Mark had witnessed the previous night, the scene took a new twist. Sobbing as if his heart would break, Steve cried, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, but I had to do it! I had to do it to make the Pain stop!" Then, to Mark and Jesse's absolute horror, Steve turned the invisible gun on himself and fired.
In his head, Mark knew he was just seeing a dream acted out by his sleepwalking son, but in his heart, he knew he was watching his beloved child commit suicide.
"Steve! No!" As Steve's knees buckled, Mark ran to him, Jesse close on his heels, and the two of them supported the big man as they led him back to his bed and eased him down.
"Huh? Wha'? Dad? Jess? Why are you still here?" Steve was slowly coming round, but in Jesse's estimation, Mark was in shock, close to passing out, so he ignored the younger Sloan for a moment to check on the elder.
"Mark, he's ok. You know that, right?" He caught the older man's chin and gently turned Mark to face him. "You can see he's all right, can't you?"
"What? Oh, yes, yes, I know he's fine," Mark said vaguely. "Take care of him, Jess. Please? Help him?"
"I'll do what I can, Mark."
"Jess, what the hell are you doing in my bedroom?" Steve could hear the Thudding of his heart, and the Shushhhhing of his breath came much too fast. Though he still didn't remember the nightmare from the previous evening, he suspected he had just awakened from another, and judging by his father's complexion, it had been a bad one.
"Just a second, big guy," Jesse said and scurried to the hall to get his medical bag, which he had slipped out to his car to retrieve earlier in the evening as soon as Steve had gone downstairs to bed, "I need to check you over."
"Now hold on, Jesse it was just . . . "
"Shut up!" Jesse yelled, making Steve jump. "I just stood there and watched you commit murder and suicide in your sleep, dammit, and you said you had to do it to make the pain go away. Don't you dare tell me it was just a bad dream!"
Steve saw the tears and the fright in his friend's eyes. Looking to his dad, he realized the older man was still in shock from what he had seen. Steve couldn't remember any of it, he couldn't recall the last nightmare, and he was missing all the details of the weekend, too. He could no longer deny that something was seriously wrong.
"Dad, Jess, help me."
"We will, Son," Mark reassured him, stroking his hair with a trembling hand as Jesse pumped up the blood pressure cuff, "We will."
(Tuesday, 08 July, 2003. 0130 hours.)
"Ok, Son, are you comfortable?"
"I . . . I guess so," Steve said and shifted uneasily in the big leather recliner in his father's living room. He had managed to recall everything up to the moment he had stopped the truck for Elaine to drive, but after that, all he remembered were vague images of the cabin and the hot tub and too much wine.
It had taken Jesse and his dad almost an hour to convince Steve to let himself be hypnotized, and then, when he finally consented, insisting his dad be the one to do it, they had almost backed out. They had finally reached a compromise when he had agreed to discuss with a psychiatrist any memories he recovered during this session. To be sure nothing was missed, his dad had set up the camcorder off in the corner where it would not intrude, but now that his dad and Jess were on board with the idea, Steve was feeling uneasy again. If he really had done in his sleep what Jesse had described, he wasn't sure he wanted to retrieve the missing details of his lost weekend.
Mark smiled encouragingly and rubbed his son's arm gently. "Ok, Steve, the first thing you need to do is just relax. Remember that it's just Jesse and me here. You trust us, right?"
"Absolutely," Steve said without hesitation, and when his dad and Jesse smiled at each other, Steve smiled, too. There was no one in the world he trusted more, and Amanda was the only person he trusted as much.
"Good," Mark said in a calm, soothing voice. "Jesse, get the lights please."
Jesse obligingly dimmed the living room lights and then turned on his penlight and set it on the coffee table in front of Steve before he came over to sit in a dining room chair that had been placed beside him.
"Ok, Son," Mark said in that smooth, calm voice. "I want you to focus on the light. Just stare at it, and take deep, slow breaths, and relax, can you do that?"
"Yes, Dad."
Steve lost track of how long he had been staring at the light and breathing deeply. His father had been talking to him softly the whole time. Though Jesse hadn't said or done anything since he'd taken care of the lights, Steve could feel the young man's comforting presence beside him as he slipped deeper and deeper into his subconscious.
"Still with me, Son?" he heard his father ask.
"Yessss."
"Good. Now remember, you are perfectly safe. Nothing can hurt you now, because what ever you see, it's just memories, ok?"
"Yessss."
"Good. Jesse's going to take your hand, Steve, to anchor you here with us." Steve felt the warm, dry hand slip into his own. "If you feel you need to step back from the memories, just squeeze his hand, and we'll help you come back from them, ok?"
"Kayyy."
"Now, remember when you stopped the truck on PCH and turned on the hazard lights?"
"Yessss."
"Good. Ok, Steve, I want you to take a deep breath, and, when you're ready, tell me what happened next . . . "
(Tuesday, 08 July, 2003. 0315 hours.)
"Ok, Son," Mark said, still in that same soothing monotone, "when I count to three, you will wake up feeling relaxed and refreshed. You'll go back to bed, and sleep well the rest of the night. Understand?"
"Yessss."
Mark exchanged a look with Jesse, seeking confirmation that he was doing the right thing. When Jesse nodded, he counted slowly, "One . . . two . . . three."
Steve's eyes fluttered open, and after he took a moment to get his bearings, he looked from his dad to Jesse and asked, "Well? What was it? What happened to me? What did I remember?"
"Nothing," his dad said disgustedly.
"Nothing? How long was I under?"
"About two hours," Jesse said.
"Two hours? And I remembered nothing?"
"Son, I'm sorry," Mark said. "I tried everything I could think of, but every time you approached the hidden memories, you backed away. I was afraid to push you, because I don't really have the proper training to deal with anything that might have gone wrong. I'm sorry."
"It . . . it's ok, Dad, but what do I do now? Will I . . . What if . . . Could I . . . Could someone make me commit murder, Dad?"
"No, Son," Mark reassured him, "it's just a myth that a hypnotists can make you do something against your will. They can't make you do anything you wouldn't choose to do on your own."
"But, Dad, I'm a cop. Compared to the average person, I've killed lots of people."
"That's true, Steve," Jesse said, placing his hand on his friend's arm, "but you're a homicide cop. Every day, you deal with the consequences of murder. You might have killed someone in self-defense or in defense of another, but you would never, ever commit murder, and no one could make you do it against your will."
"You're sure about that?" Steve asked his friend.
Patting Steve's arm as he stood up, Jesse said, "Absolutely."
Looking from his friend to his dad, Steve asked, "Ok, so what do I do now?"
"Well," Mark said, "you're due at the station in less than six hours. I think you should get some sleep."
"That's it? Just go to bed?"
"Yes. No one can make you do anything you don't want to, Son," Mark explained, "and as long as you are feeling ok in the morning, I think you should just go to work and make an appointment with a psychiatrist later in the week. You can sleep in my bed, if you'd like."
Steve considered the advice, and the offer. As a child, whenever he'd had nightmares, sleeping in his parents' bed for the rest of the night had always prevented them from recurring. Jesse had been worried enough about him earlier that he would never dream of making fun of him for it now.
"I wouldn't want to put you out, Dad."
"For one night it's not a problem, Son," Mark reassured him. "If it will help you get a good night's sleep, it's well worth it."
"Yeah," Jesse agreed. "You can sleep in your dad's bed, he can take the guest bedroom, and I'll just curl up on the couch, and that way, if you need us, we'll be right here, ok?"
"Well . . . ok." Steve gave a small frightened smile, and said, "Thanks, guys."
(Tuesday, 08 July, 2003. 0330 hours.)
After a little more conversation and a glass of warm milk, Steve settled down into his father's bed with a sigh. In a way, it was like he was five years old again, and as the familiar smell enveloped him, he felt completely safe and secure. Nothing in the world could hurt him now. He was completely, utterly, undeniably safe.
"I really appreciate this, Dad," he said.
"I'm glad to do it, Son," Mark said, tousling his hair. "You know that." He tucked the covers closer around Steve, as he had when his son was a small child, and, on a whim, since Jesse wasn't there to embarrass either of them, he kissed his grown up boy on the forehead as he had done years ago. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and took Steve's hand and sat with him until he fell into a deep and restful sleep.
There was no telling what tomorrow would bring, but for tonight, Mark knew he could keep his boy safe.