~~
Nothing's changed, Mark thought to himself as he walked into Jack's room and smiled. The patient, even though he'd been out of surgery for only eight hours, seemed to have already regained the capability of holding a deep and meaningful conversation with one of the blonder nurses in the hospital.
"Good morning," Mark said cheerily, trying to smother a smile at Jack's slightly embarrassed look and the nurse's now very red face. He picked up the chart and read over it, turning his back on the two so that they could have some privacy to bid farewell to each other.
"Bye, Doctor Sloan," the blonde said, still blushing furiously as she tugged her short skirt down and scuttled out of the room.
"How're you doing, Jack?" Mark asked in a serious tone, replacing the chart on the end of the bed. Physically, Jack appeared to be recovering well, a good sign was that he was already up and talking this soon after coming out of surgery, but there were always mental side effects after going through ordeals such as this. Still, this was Jack he was talking about - this guy took everything in his stride, and very little seemed to bother him in the long-term, nothing like this.
"Not so bad," Jack said in a slightly hoarse voice, glancing down at the arm that was bandaged up at that time. He cleared his throat and said, "I'm not too crazy about the percussion band inside my head at the moment, but I'll live with it. I'll tell you what, the nurses in this hospital are the best medicine," he added, grinning from ear to ear.
Something inside Mark snapped right at that moment, something that had built up from all the stress of the previous hours of worrying about the man in front of him, something that made him do something very uncharacteristic, out of the blue.
"Jack, you were shot and you've been out of surgery eight hours, how can you joke like that?" Mark scorned, regretting his outburst even as the words left his mouth. He was about to apologise but Jack spoke first.
"I'm sorry, Mark, next time I won't help the next guy I see lying on the floor." Jack was taken-aback - Mark had never spoken to him like that before, no matter what situation Jack had landed himself in, and he had landed himself in quite a few.
Mark was very ashamed at how he'd just spoken to his friend. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely, looking deep into Jack's hazel-brown eyes. He wasn't angry with Jack - that was not the case at all. Mark was angry with himself, he felt that if he had been at that Ball, if he hadn't have been so lazy and had spent that time talking Jack into going, then Jack would not be lying in a hospital bed. Mark thanked his lucky stars that a bullet to the shoulder and a concussion was the only thing he had to worry about, as it could have been something far worse, like a coma, or Jack could have had his own autopsy. Mark preferred not to even consider that thought.
Jack knew exactly what Mark was thinking - he knew Mark only too well. "Mark, you couldn't have prevented what happened just by you going to the Ball instead of me, what good would that have done? Don't go thinking things like that, what happened has happened, and what happened is not your fault. You weren't the one that fired the gun, someone else did that," Jack reminded him. "You got it?"
"I got it," Mark said with a smile, glad to see that everything as far as his friendship with Jack was concerned had righted itself as quickly as it had been wronged, and that everything was out in the open between them, instead of being awkwardly hidden.
It was now Jack's turn to become serious. "Hey, Mark, you know, the guy on the floor, did he..." he trailed off, expressing a question that had been bothering him since he'd regained consciousness an hour ago.
Mark shook his head, "I'm sorry, Jack, there was nothing anyone could have done. He took a bullet to the head and died instantly," he explained solemnly, seeing the frustrated look on Jack's face.
"Damn," Jack said, lightly thumping the side of the bed with his fist. If only he'd looked before he leaped, he might have, just might have had a chance to save him. But, as Mark had said, the guy took a bullet to the head, and even with some kind of operating theatre in the next room, saving him would have been impossible. "So, it's a murder investigation now?"
"It sure is," Mark said, still solemn yet filled with determination to make sure that the criminal was brought to justice. "Steve will probably drop by later, to ask you a few questions about your version of events."
"I don't know how much help I'm going to be," Jack said dubiously. That was another thing he had been thinking about before the nurse came in to take his temperature. "I don't remember a whole lot about what happened."
Mark was troubled to hear this - Jack was something of a key witness in the investigation, and anything he could have told them would have been helpful. Still, it was by no means Jack's fault, and Mark assured the young doctor this before saying, "I'm willing to bet that Delores will be along to visit sometime this morning."
Jack flashed a grin. "Too late, Mark, she's been along already, where do you think I got this fan from? This new fan," he added, having learnt that Mark had secretly given in and had actually gone out to replace the one that he'd spent hours trying to fix the previous day.
Mark looked over to where Jack was pointing, and sure enough, perched on a chair in the corner was his new fan, quietly humming away to itself as it blew cooling air around the room. Mark allowed his jaw to pick itself up from off of the floor before he, trying and failing to be menacing, said, "I'm having that back when you're better."
"No sweat," Jack said, laughing as Mark looked back around the door to shoot him a glaring look combined with a grin.
~~
Mark had just finished the papers discharging a boy of eight, minus his tonsils, from the hospital when he was paged over the PA system. He gave the papers to the nurse and dialled the extension. "Dr Sloan," he said, fumbling as he used one hand to put his pen back in his pocket.
"Dad, it's Steve," the junior Sloan said, trying to talk over yet another noisy press conference that was taking place in the background. "Listen, I can't get away from the scene right now, it's like a media circus right now, but I have news."
"Oh yes?" Mark asked, all ears.
"Well, like you figured, there is indeed a walkway above the stage, where technicians handle lighting among other things. Someone had been up here fairly recently, as one of the stage lights has been dislodged, like someone had tripped on it. The head technician said that the stage was used a week ago, and all the lights were fixed properly then."
"The walkway would explain the angle of entry," Mark said, glad that they had figured at least one thing out. "Anything else?"
"Well, it looks like the didn't take the ladder down afterwards, I guess it would be too slow. From the looks of things, our murderer took a trip down one of the ropes used to operate the backdrops, because according to our technician, one is looser than all the others, and he said that they were always kept taut so that they don't fall."
"I understand. Shall we carry on the formal identification of Anthony Holmes without you?"
"Yeah, go ahead, I'm going to be tied up here a little longer," Steve said, glancing at the flashing cameras behind him. "Listen, can you ask the family if they know of anyone who'd want to kill Holmes?"
"Sure thing," Mark said, hanging up the phone. He was going to do that anyway.
Mark walked back towards his office but before he could reach it Delores intercepted him. "There you are," she said, speaking to him as though she was the mother of a kid who got lost in a supermarket. "Dr Sloan, the family of Anthony Holmes is here; I asked them to wait in your office."
"Thank you, Delores," Mark said, so glad to have such an efficient secretary. He couldn't even begin to imagine the mess he'd be in if he didn't have Delores around to help him out. He walked into the office, and two faces turned towards him.
The man stood up and extended his hand to Mark. "Richard Holmes," he said, shaking Mark's hand with vigour. "I am... was Anthony's twin brother. This is Amelia, our younger sister." Mark had seen the likeness between the twin brothers instantly - both had thick, dark brown hair that stood up in some kind of tousled shock, and they had quite a few freckles across their noses. Richard had blue-green eyes that looked as though they were two cloudy pools of blue and green water swirling like something had stirred them somewhat.
A thirteen-year-old girl with not-quite-black wavy hair and crystal blue eyes stood up and politely shook Mark's hand. She was dressed in faded jeans and a large navy blue hooded sweater. "Pleased to meet you," she said, immediately taking to the man with the warm, inviting face and sparkling eyes.
"I'm Doctor Mark Sloan," Mark greeted, smiling sincerely. He was pleased to meet these amiable people, but at the same time was saddened by their loss and expressed this as they walked down the hallway.
When they reached the Pathology Lab, Mark hesitated at the door, and turned to Richard. "I know you both came to say goodbye, but this won't be a pretty sight," he said with underlying meaning. The girl did not appear to be fragile by any means, but if this sight had made Mark feel uncomfortable he dreaded to think what it would do to the grieving thirteen-year-old sister.
Richard nodded, understanding what Mark meant. "I'll tell her to wait outside."
Amanda was waiting for them, drinking a fresh cup of coffee as she looked over the notes she had made earlier. After introductions were made, Amanda paused before carefully pulling back the thin, starchy sheet to reveal the deceased lying on the table.
Richard grimaced and turned away. "Anthony," he gasped in a tight voice, making him sound as though he was going to be sick. Swallowing, he said, "I can now definitely see why it was a good idea for Amelia to wait outside."
"I'm sorry," Mark said once again, seeing the pain that Richard was in. Deciding that it was the least he could do, Mark asked, "Can I buy you a coffee?"
"Yes, sure," Richard said slowly, still recovering from the shocking sight he had just witnessed. Mark thought that a glass of water might be better for the man whose visage was as white as the sheet his lifeless had spent the last few hours lying under.
~~
In the hospital cafeteria, Mark felt uncomfortable questioning Richard about his deceased brother in front of Amelia, so he gave her some change and let her go to the vending machine to buy some chocolate.
"Mr Holmes - "
"Richard," he cut in, not seeing the point of the formalities. Truth be told, he was not overly in the mood for formalities, Mark got an idea of this from the haggard expression on the thirty-something's face.
"Richard," Mark corrected himself, "Can you think of anyone, anybody at all, who had a dislike for Anthony?"
"Enough to kill him?" Richard asked, as though the idea of someone wishing to kill his brother was preposterous. But then, however ridiculous the notion sounded, it was reality. He thought for a moment, and there were a few names that came to mind. "I'd feel like a snitch, Mark."
"You want justice for your brother's murder, don't you?" Mark asked, having seen this kind of reluctance often in murder cases. Mark got a feeling that Richard knew the person or persons that he was about to "snitch" on well enough to feel guilty about it.
Richard nodded, seeing sense, and said, "I think perhaps you should talk to Maria Chartham. Maria and Anthony were close," he said, then added, "in fact, so close they were going to get married, but for some reason Anthony broke it off, and never told anyone why. I haven't seen Maria since it was called off, but perhaps she knows."
They were off to a start, it seems, Mark thought to himself. "Where might I find Ms Chartham?"
~~
Nothing's changed, Mark thought to himself as he walked into Jack's room and smiled. The patient, even though he'd been out of surgery for only eight hours, seemed to have already regained the capability of holding a deep and meaningful conversation with one of the blonder nurses in the hospital.
"Good morning," Mark said cheerily, trying to smother a smile at Jack's slightly embarrassed look and the nurse's now very red face. He picked up the chart and read over it, turning his back on the two so that they could have some privacy to bid farewell to each other.
"Bye, Doctor Sloan," the blonde said, still blushing furiously as she tugged her short skirt down and scuttled out of the room.
"How're you doing, Jack?" Mark asked in a serious tone, replacing the chart on the end of the bed. Physically, Jack appeared to be recovering well, a good sign was that he was already up and talking this soon after coming out of surgery, but there were always mental side effects after going through ordeals such as this. Still, this was Jack he was talking about - this guy took everything in his stride, and very little seemed to bother him in the long-term, nothing like this.
"Not so bad," Jack said in a slightly hoarse voice, glancing down at the arm that was bandaged up at that time. He cleared his throat and said, "I'm not too crazy about the percussion band inside my head at the moment, but I'll live with it. I'll tell you what, the nurses in this hospital are the best medicine," he added, grinning from ear to ear.
Something inside Mark snapped right at that moment, something that had built up from all the stress of the previous hours of worrying about the man in front of him, something that made him do something very uncharacteristic, out of the blue.
"Jack, you were shot and you've been out of surgery eight hours, how can you joke like that?" Mark scorned, regretting his outburst even as the words left his mouth. He was about to apologise but Jack spoke first.
"I'm sorry, Mark, next time I won't help the next guy I see lying on the floor." Jack was taken-aback - Mark had never spoken to him like that before, no matter what situation Jack had landed himself in, and he had landed himself in quite a few.
Mark was very ashamed at how he'd just spoken to his friend. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely, looking deep into Jack's hazel-brown eyes. He wasn't angry with Jack - that was not the case at all. Mark was angry with himself, he felt that if he had been at that Ball, if he hadn't have been so lazy and had spent that time talking Jack into going, then Jack would not be lying in a hospital bed. Mark thanked his lucky stars that a bullet to the shoulder and a concussion was the only thing he had to worry about, as it could have been something far worse, like a coma, or Jack could have had his own autopsy. Mark preferred not to even consider that thought.
Jack knew exactly what Mark was thinking - he knew Mark only too well. "Mark, you couldn't have prevented what happened just by you going to the Ball instead of me, what good would that have done? Don't go thinking things like that, what happened has happened, and what happened is not your fault. You weren't the one that fired the gun, someone else did that," Jack reminded him. "You got it?"
"I got it," Mark said with a smile, glad to see that everything as far as his friendship with Jack was concerned had righted itself as quickly as it had been wronged, and that everything was out in the open between them, instead of being awkwardly hidden.
It was now Jack's turn to become serious. "Hey, Mark, you know, the guy on the floor, did he..." he trailed off, expressing a question that had been bothering him since he'd regained consciousness an hour ago.
Mark shook his head, "I'm sorry, Jack, there was nothing anyone could have done. He took a bullet to the head and died instantly," he explained solemnly, seeing the frustrated look on Jack's face.
"Damn," Jack said, lightly thumping the side of the bed with his fist. If only he'd looked before he leaped, he might have, just might have had a chance to save him. But, as Mark had said, the guy took a bullet to the head, and even with some kind of operating theatre in the next room, saving him would have been impossible. "So, it's a murder investigation now?"
"It sure is," Mark said, still solemn yet filled with determination to make sure that the criminal was brought to justice. "Steve will probably drop by later, to ask you a few questions about your version of events."
"I don't know how much help I'm going to be," Jack said dubiously. That was another thing he had been thinking about before the nurse came in to take his temperature. "I don't remember a whole lot about what happened."
Mark was troubled to hear this - Jack was something of a key witness in the investigation, and anything he could have told them would have been helpful. Still, it was by no means Jack's fault, and Mark assured the young doctor this before saying, "I'm willing to bet that Delores will be along to visit sometime this morning."
Jack flashed a grin. "Too late, Mark, she's been along already, where do you think I got this fan from? This new fan," he added, having learnt that Mark had secretly given in and had actually gone out to replace the one that he'd spent hours trying to fix the previous day.
Mark looked over to where Jack was pointing, and sure enough, perched on a chair in the corner was his new fan, quietly humming away to itself as it blew cooling air around the room. Mark allowed his jaw to pick itself up from off of the floor before he, trying and failing to be menacing, said, "I'm having that back when you're better."
"No sweat," Jack said, laughing as Mark looked back around the door to shoot him a glaring look combined with a grin.
~~
Mark had just finished the papers discharging a boy of eight, minus his tonsils, from the hospital when he was paged over the PA system. He gave the papers to the nurse and dialled the extension. "Dr Sloan," he said, fumbling as he used one hand to put his pen back in his pocket.
"Dad, it's Steve," the junior Sloan said, trying to talk over yet another noisy press conference that was taking place in the background. "Listen, I can't get away from the scene right now, it's like a media circus right now, but I have news."
"Oh yes?" Mark asked, all ears.
"Well, like you figured, there is indeed a walkway above the stage, where technicians handle lighting among other things. Someone had been up here fairly recently, as one of the stage lights has been dislodged, like someone had tripped on it. The head technician said that the stage was used a week ago, and all the lights were fixed properly then."
"The walkway would explain the angle of entry," Mark said, glad that they had figured at least one thing out. "Anything else?"
"Well, it looks like the didn't take the ladder down afterwards, I guess it would be too slow. From the looks of things, our murderer took a trip down one of the ropes used to operate the backdrops, because according to our technician, one is looser than all the others, and he said that they were always kept taut so that they don't fall."
"I understand. Shall we carry on the formal identification of Anthony Holmes without you?"
"Yeah, go ahead, I'm going to be tied up here a little longer," Steve said, glancing at the flashing cameras behind him. "Listen, can you ask the family if they know of anyone who'd want to kill Holmes?"
"Sure thing," Mark said, hanging up the phone. He was going to do that anyway.
Mark walked back towards his office but before he could reach it Delores intercepted him. "There you are," she said, speaking to him as though she was the mother of a kid who got lost in a supermarket. "Dr Sloan, the family of Anthony Holmes is here; I asked them to wait in your office."
"Thank you, Delores," Mark said, so glad to have such an efficient secretary. He couldn't even begin to imagine the mess he'd be in if he didn't have Delores around to help him out. He walked into the office, and two faces turned towards him.
The man stood up and extended his hand to Mark. "Richard Holmes," he said, shaking Mark's hand with vigour. "I am... was Anthony's twin brother. This is Amelia, our younger sister." Mark had seen the likeness between the twin brothers instantly - both had thick, dark brown hair that stood up in some kind of tousled shock, and they had quite a few freckles across their noses. Richard had blue-green eyes that looked as though they were two cloudy pools of blue and green water swirling like something had stirred them somewhat.
A thirteen-year-old girl with not-quite-black wavy hair and crystal blue eyes stood up and politely shook Mark's hand. She was dressed in faded jeans and a large navy blue hooded sweater. "Pleased to meet you," she said, immediately taking to the man with the warm, inviting face and sparkling eyes.
"I'm Doctor Mark Sloan," Mark greeted, smiling sincerely. He was pleased to meet these amiable people, but at the same time was saddened by their loss and expressed this as they walked down the hallway.
When they reached the Pathology Lab, Mark hesitated at the door, and turned to Richard. "I know you both came to say goodbye, but this won't be a pretty sight," he said with underlying meaning. The girl did not appear to be fragile by any means, but if this sight had made Mark feel uncomfortable he dreaded to think what it would do to the grieving thirteen-year-old sister.
Richard nodded, understanding what Mark meant. "I'll tell her to wait outside."
Amanda was waiting for them, drinking a fresh cup of coffee as she looked over the notes she had made earlier. After introductions were made, Amanda paused before carefully pulling back the thin, starchy sheet to reveal the deceased lying on the table.
Richard grimaced and turned away. "Anthony," he gasped in a tight voice, making him sound as though he was going to be sick. Swallowing, he said, "I can now definitely see why it was a good idea for Amelia to wait outside."
"I'm sorry," Mark said once again, seeing the pain that Richard was in. Deciding that it was the least he could do, Mark asked, "Can I buy you a coffee?"
"Yes, sure," Richard said slowly, still recovering from the shocking sight he had just witnessed. Mark thought that a glass of water might be better for the man whose visage was as white as the sheet his lifeless had spent the last few hours lying under.
~~
In the hospital cafeteria, Mark felt uncomfortable questioning Richard about his deceased brother in front of Amelia, so he gave her some change and let her go to the vending machine to buy some chocolate.
"Mr Holmes - "
"Richard," he cut in, not seeing the point of the formalities. Truth be told, he was not overly in the mood for formalities, Mark got an idea of this from the haggard expression on the thirty-something's face.
"Richard," Mark corrected himself, "Can you think of anyone, anybody at all, who had a dislike for Anthony?"
"Enough to kill him?" Richard asked, as though the idea of someone wishing to kill his brother was preposterous. But then, however ridiculous the notion sounded, it was reality. He thought for a moment, and there were a few names that came to mind. "I'd feel like a snitch, Mark."
"You want justice for your brother's murder, don't you?" Mark asked, having seen this kind of reluctance often in murder cases. Mark got a feeling that Richard knew the person or persons that he was about to "snitch" on well enough to feel guilty about it.
Richard nodded, seeing sense, and said, "I think perhaps you should talk to Maria Chartham. Maria and Anthony were close," he said, then added, "in fact, so close they were going to get married, but for some reason Anthony broke it off, and never told anyone why. I haven't seen Maria since it was called off, but perhaps she knows."
They were off to a start, it seems, Mark thought to himself. "Where might I find Ms Chartham?"
~~