~~
A figure crept through the window in the bathroom backstage, and flicked his torch on. He moved with stealth through the shadows, feeling that guilty paranoia that he was being watched in the dark, empty function room. Creeping onto the stage, he found what he was looking for quickly. He carefully peeled back the silver tape that held down one of the thick, black electrical leads running over the stage. Beneath it was the bullet hole and the bullet buried deep in the wood. Earlier, after he had fired the second shot that had missed, he'd had neither the time nor equipment required to prise the bullet from the hole, so he had just moved the tape and cable to conceal it. What Doctor Sloan had said to him over the phone a couple of hours ago have given him the incentive to retrieve that stray bullet.
"It'll be hard to trace the killer," Mark had said to Richard, speaking to him in confidence. "Jack and another woman both had exit wounds, both the bullets in both Anthony and a woman's back both broke up - how she escaped paralysis is a medical wonder - and the rest suffered grazes. We couldn't find any of the bullets, we think that the killer came back disguised as a guest and picked up the stray bullets, but the police are going to continue looking tomorrow."
All this was a lie on Mark's part, of course, none of the victims had exit wounds, none of the bullets had broke up, and the police had accounted for all of them, including the one hidden beneath the tape. But, Mark wanted Richard to think that there was still something left to find, and taking the bait the killer returned to the scene of the crime.
As Richard turned away, having got the bullet out from the hole, he heard the curtains fly back and felt a heated spotlight upon him. He turned around, shielded his eyes, and saw Mark Sloan walking across he stage.
"You've just confessed, Richard," Mark said, one hand in his jacket pocket as his walk slowed. "You showed us where that bullet was, something only the killer knew. You didn't have time to get it out, because Jack found you."
"Pesky doctor," Richard muttered, walking out of the spotlight, but it moved to follow him.
"Yes," Mark said, leaning on the back of one of the chairs that was on the stage. "That was your first mistake, and I never picked up on it until today. Doctor Bentley and I were in Jack's room when you walked in to speak to her. As well as getting jumpy when you recognised Jack, you asked Amelia to wait with the 'doctors.' You only knew that Jack was a doctor because you shot him at the Ball."
"I hate doctors," Richard snarled, malice in his voice. His hand brushed past his pants, and he felt the cold, hard lump inside his pocket.
"Is that why you killed Anthony? Because he was a doctor?"
Richard managed half a smile and shook his head. "No. I killed Anthony because he was a spiteful man. Look at his track record! He got Ben Dawson kicked out of Medical School so that he could be top of his class, and he got me to flunk my exams so he could impress my father and be better than me, so he could be the living legend in our family. He ruined everyone else so that he could rule in his sad little world. Then came the last straw, James Forrester. For eighteen years that man slaved away, and then Anthony shows up and crowns himself the King of Paediatrics at Oakes Valley. I had to stop him before he wrecked anymore lives. And now, Doctor Sloan, you've found me out, and that's not only going to wreck my life, but Amelia's too." He pulled the gun out of his pocket and aimed it at Mark.
Steve saw the danger his father had just been placed in and reacted immediately. He said a couple of words into his communicator and six police jumped out from behind various hiding places on the stage, each of their guns trained on Richard Holmes.
"Drop the gun, Holmes," Steve growled, taking one step towards the murderer.
Holmes hesitated for a moment. If he shot Doctor Sloan, then in an instant he'd surely be shot and killed. But then again, he'd committed murder so in the end he'd be killed anyway, so there was nothing to lose. He had just touched the trigger when he thought of Amelia. His little sister was the only thing he had to live for, and he had to make sure she had a home to go to before he served his punishment. Richard carefully placed the gun on the floor and raised his arms in the air, stone-faced.
~~
Mark did the buttons on Jack's shirt up as the patient sat patiently, waiting to be discharged from the hospital. "What happens to Amelia now that Richard has gone to prison?" He asked Steve, who was crawling under the bed looking for Jack's shoe, which had disappeared following his midnight excursion.
"An aunt of hers lives nearby, and has offered to take care of her," Steve explained as he emerged from beneath the bed, shoe in hand. "I'm told that a jury will probably be lenient, given Richard's responsibility for Amelia and his reasons for killing Anthony, but only time will tell."
"Good morning, Jack, going home today?" Amanda said cheerfully as she walked gracefully into the room.
"Yep, he's going home, where he's going to stay until Monday," Mark said, a warning tone in his voice, letting Jack know that if he decided to go against doctors orders for a second time, he would not be as lenient as he had been two days ago when he left the hospital in the middle of the night.
"Hold on, I gotta stay there? How am I meant to go get my groceries?" Jack wondered what on earth he was going to do being cooped up in his apartment for five days, alone.
"All that will be taken care of for you," Mark promised him. "You won't need to do a thing except rest."
"Doctor Stewart," the crisp voice of Norman Briggs filtered into the room just in front of the man himself. He had apparently recovered from his embarrassment enough to see Jack and to let him know that he was not impressed at being lied to. "Or, is it Double-O-Stewart today, I wonder?"
Jack knew that there was something he'd forgotten. "Oh, hi Norman, how are you?" he asked, ignoring the confused looks of both Amanda and Steve.
"Very well, thank you, Doctor Stewart," Norman said, his voice smooth, as if it was trying to control a volatile temper that was rarely seen beyond short shouting. "I hear you have until Monday off work. Got anything planned?"
"Rest," Mark said firmly, he and the rest of those in the room wondering where Norman's conversation was going.
"Well, here's a suggestion for you," Norman continued in his sickly slick voice, ignoring Mark's prescription. "Take up writing - with that story you spun I'm sure you could have a best-seller finished by the time you come back to work."
"Yeah, that's funny, Norman, real funny," Jack muttered, pushing his wheelchair forward slightly with one arm. "Just out of interest, how many people did you have to ask to figure out that yes, I really did get shot on the way to the bathroom and no, I am not really a spy?"
Norman looked at his feet and blushed.
"If you'll excuse me, Mr Briggs, I've got go home and rest," Jack said as Steve and Amanda escorted him out of the room before asking questions about what just happened.
"How do you do it, Mark?" Norman asked, waiting for a moment until everyone was out of earshot.
"Do what, Norman?" Mark asked, placing the paperwork in a file.
"Get people to like you."
"Well, you've got to trust people, for starters," Mark said, walking down the hospital corridor with Norman.
Norman thought about this for a moment, almost warming to the idea, until he realised something and he burst out, "Trust? How can I trust Jack Stewart after the stunt he pulled? I wouldn't trust him to treat my sore throat! Good day, Mark!"
Mark chuckled to himself as Norman marched down the hallway, glaring at anyone who was unfortunate to pass him. Yes, Mark thought to himself, things were back to normal once again.
~~
The End
A figure crept through the window in the bathroom backstage, and flicked his torch on. He moved with stealth through the shadows, feeling that guilty paranoia that he was being watched in the dark, empty function room. Creeping onto the stage, he found what he was looking for quickly. He carefully peeled back the silver tape that held down one of the thick, black electrical leads running over the stage. Beneath it was the bullet hole and the bullet buried deep in the wood. Earlier, after he had fired the second shot that had missed, he'd had neither the time nor equipment required to prise the bullet from the hole, so he had just moved the tape and cable to conceal it. What Doctor Sloan had said to him over the phone a couple of hours ago have given him the incentive to retrieve that stray bullet.
"It'll be hard to trace the killer," Mark had said to Richard, speaking to him in confidence. "Jack and another woman both had exit wounds, both the bullets in both Anthony and a woman's back both broke up - how she escaped paralysis is a medical wonder - and the rest suffered grazes. We couldn't find any of the bullets, we think that the killer came back disguised as a guest and picked up the stray bullets, but the police are going to continue looking tomorrow."
All this was a lie on Mark's part, of course, none of the victims had exit wounds, none of the bullets had broke up, and the police had accounted for all of them, including the one hidden beneath the tape. But, Mark wanted Richard to think that there was still something left to find, and taking the bait the killer returned to the scene of the crime.
As Richard turned away, having got the bullet out from the hole, he heard the curtains fly back and felt a heated spotlight upon him. He turned around, shielded his eyes, and saw Mark Sloan walking across he stage.
"You've just confessed, Richard," Mark said, one hand in his jacket pocket as his walk slowed. "You showed us where that bullet was, something only the killer knew. You didn't have time to get it out, because Jack found you."
"Pesky doctor," Richard muttered, walking out of the spotlight, but it moved to follow him.
"Yes," Mark said, leaning on the back of one of the chairs that was on the stage. "That was your first mistake, and I never picked up on it until today. Doctor Bentley and I were in Jack's room when you walked in to speak to her. As well as getting jumpy when you recognised Jack, you asked Amelia to wait with the 'doctors.' You only knew that Jack was a doctor because you shot him at the Ball."
"I hate doctors," Richard snarled, malice in his voice. His hand brushed past his pants, and he felt the cold, hard lump inside his pocket.
"Is that why you killed Anthony? Because he was a doctor?"
Richard managed half a smile and shook his head. "No. I killed Anthony because he was a spiteful man. Look at his track record! He got Ben Dawson kicked out of Medical School so that he could be top of his class, and he got me to flunk my exams so he could impress my father and be better than me, so he could be the living legend in our family. He ruined everyone else so that he could rule in his sad little world. Then came the last straw, James Forrester. For eighteen years that man slaved away, and then Anthony shows up and crowns himself the King of Paediatrics at Oakes Valley. I had to stop him before he wrecked anymore lives. And now, Doctor Sloan, you've found me out, and that's not only going to wreck my life, but Amelia's too." He pulled the gun out of his pocket and aimed it at Mark.
Steve saw the danger his father had just been placed in and reacted immediately. He said a couple of words into his communicator and six police jumped out from behind various hiding places on the stage, each of their guns trained on Richard Holmes.
"Drop the gun, Holmes," Steve growled, taking one step towards the murderer.
Holmes hesitated for a moment. If he shot Doctor Sloan, then in an instant he'd surely be shot and killed. But then again, he'd committed murder so in the end he'd be killed anyway, so there was nothing to lose. He had just touched the trigger when he thought of Amelia. His little sister was the only thing he had to live for, and he had to make sure she had a home to go to before he served his punishment. Richard carefully placed the gun on the floor and raised his arms in the air, stone-faced.
~~
Mark did the buttons on Jack's shirt up as the patient sat patiently, waiting to be discharged from the hospital. "What happens to Amelia now that Richard has gone to prison?" He asked Steve, who was crawling under the bed looking for Jack's shoe, which had disappeared following his midnight excursion.
"An aunt of hers lives nearby, and has offered to take care of her," Steve explained as he emerged from beneath the bed, shoe in hand. "I'm told that a jury will probably be lenient, given Richard's responsibility for Amelia and his reasons for killing Anthony, but only time will tell."
"Good morning, Jack, going home today?" Amanda said cheerfully as she walked gracefully into the room.
"Yep, he's going home, where he's going to stay until Monday," Mark said, a warning tone in his voice, letting Jack know that if he decided to go against doctors orders for a second time, he would not be as lenient as he had been two days ago when he left the hospital in the middle of the night.
"Hold on, I gotta stay there? How am I meant to go get my groceries?" Jack wondered what on earth he was going to do being cooped up in his apartment for five days, alone.
"All that will be taken care of for you," Mark promised him. "You won't need to do a thing except rest."
"Doctor Stewart," the crisp voice of Norman Briggs filtered into the room just in front of the man himself. He had apparently recovered from his embarrassment enough to see Jack and to let him know that he was not impressed at being lied to. "Or, is it Double-O-Stewart today, I wonder?"
Jack knew that there was something he'd forgotten. "Oh, hi Norman, how are you?" he asked, ignoring the confused looks of both Amanda and Steve.
"Very well, thank you, Doctor Stewart," Norman said, his voice smooth, as if it was trying to control a volatile temper that was rarely seen beyond short shouting. "I hear you have until Monday off work. Got anything planned?"
"Rest," Mark said firmly, he and the rest of those in the room wondering where Norman's conversation was going.
"Well, here's a suggestion for you," Norman continued in his sickly slick voice, ignoring Mark's prescription. "Take up writing - with that story you spun I'm sure you could have a best-seller finished by the time you come back to work."
"Yeah, that's funny, Norman, real funny," Jack muttered, pushing his wheelchair forward slightly with one arm. "Just out of interest, how many people did you have to ask to figure out that yes, I really did get shot on the way to the bathroom and no, I am not really a spy?"
Norman looked at his feet and blushed.
"If you'll excuse me, Mr Briggs, I've got go home and rest," Jack said as Steve and Amanda escorted him out of the room before asking questions about what just happened.
"How do you do it, Mark?" Norman asked, waiting for a moment until everyone was out of earshot.
"Do what, Norman?" Mark asked, placing the paperwork in a file.
"Get people to like you."
"Well, you've got to trust people, for starters," Mark said, walking down the hospital corridor with Norman.
Norman thought about this for a moment, almost warming to the idea, until he realised something and he burst out, "Trust? How can I trust Jack Stewart after the stunt he pulled? I wouldn't trust him to treat my sore throat! Good day, Mark!"
Mark chuckled to himself as Norman marched down the hallway, glaring at anyone who was unfortunate to pass him. Yes, Mark thought to himself, things were back to normal once again.
~~
The End