Chapter 17

She really wasn't aware of the parking lot pavement whizzing by beneath her, because her thoughts were racing as fast as her feet: Damn. He hadn't made a sound, even with the sirens, even with the conversation. He must have heard my voice anyway, if he was in any state to hear anything. He hadn't been in that great shape BEFORE being hit by a car…twice…how the HELL was that possible?… still, if he had made it that far, maybe he wasn't in dire straits yet. On the other hand, if he was just lying there, dying or something, while…She deftly hurdled onto the Crown Victoria hood. She could feel the heat of the parched metal through the thin fabric of her slacks, slid on her knees to where the battered front end met the dumpster. It was a large dumpster - about as high as she was tall and at least as long as it was high, so kneeling she could just rest her arms on top to peer inside. It was hard to see anything for sure - the higher far wall cast the interior into shadow, and it wasn't quite half full, so the mounds of trash seemed to be far below her. She leaned over further, trying to see more clearly. "Steve?" she called tentatively. Her voice echoed a little. No answer. She stood and climbed up onto the rim, sitting with her legs dangling over the side. She had a little better view from here, thought she could make out a white blob that might be a hand. Steve's? Or some other body…she shivered, then rolled her eyes in disgust. Come on, Cheryl - you're a Homicide Cop. This is what you do. It's not like you've never seen a body before…

"Is he in there?"

She was even more disgusted when she actually jumped at the sound of the voice. Of course, if she'd thought about it, she would have realized that Dr. Sloan would be right behind her. He was standing next to the car, looking up at her.

"Can't tell. I'm gonna go in and take a look." She eyed the inner walls of the dumpster measuringly. "Trash isn't all that high - stand by in case I need a hand getting out?" From her higher vantage point she glanced around the entire area, wondering where they had lost Dr. Travis. She spotted him, and her lips quirked into a brief, involuntary smile. He was over by the front mall sidewalk, briskly keeping the crowd together. From his stance and gestures, he was doing a pretty good imitation of a patrolman - she wondered if that was intentional, or an unconscious reflex from seeing so many of them in action. Probably she should give him her lecture on impersonating an officer, but right now she was just plain grateful for the assist. She dropped into the dumpster, felt things squish under her feet and made a face.

"Cheryl?"

Dr. Sloan's voice sounded closer - he must have climbed up on the hood, too. Sheesh, she hoped she was doing that at his age. "Give me a second…" There was less light once you were actually in here, but when her eyes adjusted, she could see the contents much more distinctly. Yup, that was definitely a hand, a right hand, and a watch was on that wrist…she knelt down, forgetting to notice the squishing under her knees this time, batted absently at a small cloud of flies.

"Cheryl - "

She glanced up at the pale blob that was a face looming over the rim of the dumpster, her fingers meticulously tracking the pulse in the wrist with the watch, gave a reassuring smile that she hoped he could see. "Yup. I've got him." She put down the wrist and began carefully moving things aside, trying to get a better look. He had really burrowed himself in here…or something…

"Is he - ?"

She didn't look up this time, she was busy shifting a bag of trash to get a better look at the face and to create more breathing room, tried not to think about what might be in the bag as she tossed it aside. "He's a little worse for wear - how bad is your territory, not mine. Don't come down here - " she added hastily, anticipating his next move."Not until we're sure we can all get out. There should be a team on the way - "

The head stirred under her hand, and she smiled broadly. "Hey, partner. I can think of about a hundred better places for you to pick to have a nap." Steve's lashes flickered and he raised his head about a quarter of an inch before dropping it back into the muck with a faint cough. Cheryl kept her hand resting lightly on his hair. "Your Dad and Jesse are here…" She felt something unpleasantly sticky on her fingers and tried to get a better look in the dim light. Hm. Could be some residue from the garbage, but it looked more like…"And from the look of you, I'd say you might be needing their services. How are you doing? Can you talk to me?"

Steve coughed again, with more conviction this time, shifted as though groping for his bearings. He didn't speak, but after a second he nodded.

Cheryl chuckled encouragingly. "Well, that'll do for now."

"Cheryl, don't let him move until we've had a chance to examine him - "

Dr. Sloan's anxious voice told her that he was barely restraining himself from joining them, so she moved her hand from Steve's head to his shoulder as he showed signs of trying to turn over. "Hey, just lie still, okay? Don't make me look bad in front of your Dad. I'm going to try and make you a little more comfortable for the time being. Soon as somebody's had a look at you we'll get you out of here."

Steve's shoulders bunched under her hands as he tried to push himself up again. "'Mokay…" he grunted faintly.

"Yeah, you look swell, too." Cheryl held him down with disconcerting ease, sweeping a pile of crumpled fast food bags out of the way with her free arm. "Heard you were hit by a car?"

Steve stopped struggling against her, pulling in slow, shallow breaths. "Not…" He took another breath and tried again. "Sounds…"He opened his eyes and tried to focus on her. "…Brian Fuller?"

"In custody."

He nodded once and closed his eyes again.

After a second, she felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten again as he tried to push himself up and pressed down gently. "Hey, hey - none of that. Your Dad sees us wrestling down here, he's gonna get the wrong impression about us. Just relax."

She was rewarded with a short gust of breathless amusement. "Easier…if it…smelled better…"

"Yeah, well, you chose the venue, partner, not me - too late to complain now…" She dislodged a couple of cardboard boxes, then gingerly used them to push away some substances whose origins she refused to think too much about. "I'd just as soon do this sort of thing in a Roman Spa myself, but you seem to have a taste for dark alleys."

Steve laughed shortly again. The laugh turned into a sharp, dry cough, and she wordlessly tightened her grip on his shoulders.

"Cheryl, I'm coming down there!" Dr. Sloan sounded at his wit's end and Cheryl was out of ideas for stopping him.

"Hey. You got 'em?"

The new voice sounded out of breath and Cheryl looked up to see Jesse's face appear next to Dr. Sloan's. Dr. Sloan paused his attempt to climb the wall.

"Yeah, he's down here and conscious - a little fuzzy, maybe."

"More than usual?"

Steve opened his mouth to retort, coughed again instead.

Jesse didn't wait for her consent; he landed in the garbage next to her with an indescribable squelching noise and a speed that surprised her. It was a big dumpster, but a little small for three full grown people - especially two extra-longs like her and Steve.

Cheryl tried to shift to give him room next to Steve. "You need me, or would I be better out of your way?"

"Stay for a minute, in case. Say, Mark?" Jesse raised his voice. "You got a bag in your car by any chance?"

"I might - let me check." Dr. Sloan's face disappeared from above the dumpster.

"Okay, buddy - let me see what you've done to yourself here…boy, there's just no point putting stitches in you, is there? Next time I'm using a staple gun." Despite his casual tone, Cheryl was impressed with how gently and surely his hands worked their way down the length of Steve's spine, probing.

Steve grit his teeth hard, his breath coming in labored puffs. "You mean…you don't…usually…?"

Jesse clucked his tongue softly against his teeth. "No appreciation, that's your problem. Can you tell me where you were hit?"

Steve shook his head slightly. "Wasn't. Just…a little."

"A little, huh?" Cheryl watched as Jesse moved his fingers carefully along Steve's ribs next, working his way out from the spine. "Hit by a car just a little." He stopped abruptly at the sound of a choked cry from Steve. "What was that - here?" He pressed again, Cheryl saw Steve go rigid beneath his hands.

"Yes!" Steve hissed ferociously between his teeth.

"Uh huh." Jesse touched the rib directly beneath it. "How about here?" The sound of Steve pulling in his breath sharply answered him. Jesse frowned in concentration and moved down one more. Steve relaxed a little and he nodded to himself.

"Jesse?"

He glanced over his shoulder and up to where Mark was holding up a medical bag. "Uh - Cheryl, could you…?"

Cheryl stood up and stumbled over the uneven piles of debris to take the bag. She paused to give Dr. Sloan a quick smile, handed the bag down to Jesse, then stayed near Dr. Sloan to keep him company, so he wouldn't feel so separated from what was going on. They watched as Jesse first checked Steve's blood pressure, then patted him lightly on the back.

"Be right back." He stood carefully, sliding a little until he could find his balance, then smushed his way over to them, wiping his hands futilely on his jacket. He cleared his throat and squinted up at Mark, lowering his voice. "I think we need an ambulance."

Mark's face fell. "You think he's that bad?"

"Well…" Jesse shot a look at Steve, who didn't seem to be listening. "He's kinda shocky and I wouldn't mind having him on an IV line before we move him. And I think he has a couple of cracked or broken ribs back here - " he pressed his hand against his back. "Can't tell for sure without an X-ray, but means I don't really want to turn him over without a board, so I can't even get a look at what's going on in front. Wouldn't hurt to take him in and have him checked out. If everything looks good, you can take him home."

"I want to take a look at him myself."

"I know…" Jesse glanced back at Steve. "But it's kind of close quarters down here, and I'm smaller. Why don't you let me get him set up, and you can ride along in the ambulance?" Mark was silent and Jesse continued, "Look, I really think he's okay - just banged up. Can't see all that well down here anyway."

Cheryl looked from one to the other, waiting. Mark shifted his eyes to Steve for a long, frowning moment, then nodded reluctantly.

"What about me?" The look on Jesse's face told her that he had almost forgotten about her. "Still need me, or am I in the way?"

"Oh - " Jesse blinked. "Should probably make way for the ambulance crew. Your crime scene team is here taking statements, too - you might want to check in with them." He slopped back through the garbage to Steve, crouched down and touched his shoulder. "Hey." Steve lifted a hand slightly in acknowledgment, but didn't open his eyes. Jesse shook the shoulder lightly. "Listen. I've got some bad news for you."

Cheryl rested her hands on the edge of the dumpster, testing to see if she had enough leverage to heft herself out. She looked back over her shoulder, noticed Steve had barely cracked one eye at Jesse.

Jesse smiled. "News is yer gonna need a new jacket. This one's a mess."

There was a pause, then she could actually make out Steve's slurred words. "Second…this week…"

"Yeah, I know - maybe you should start checking your horoscope before you leave the house or something …"

She looked down to hide a smile, found a small toe-hold in the dumpster wall and pulled herself up until she was kneeling on the rim. Dropping lightly back onto the car hood next to Dr. Sloan, she frowned suddenly and brushed uselessly at her own clothes. Speaking of needing new ones…

Dr. Sloan was just finishing his call for an ambulance. Jesse was still talking to Steve, shaking his shoulder lightly when he seemed inclined to drift off. Across the lot she could see her crime scene team, marking evidence and taking statements.

Dr. Sloan lowered his cell phone. "Ambulance on its way."

Jesse's voice drifted up toward her. "Hey, you aren't going to sleep, are you? Because I'm not sitting here in the garbage with nobody to talk to." Some kind of a mutter from Steve. "That's better. Hey - I said no sleeping. Stay with me."

Cheryl smiled faintly to herself. Dr. Sloan folded up his phone and put it away, shot her an inquisitive glance.

She shrugged in answer. "Just thinking." He raised his eyebrows and her smile grew broader as she slid from the hood of the car. "Just thinking that - having a medical consultant or two ride along might not be the worst idea anybody ever had after all."

*

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh…a flash of brightness whizzed past him, almost immediately replaced by another and another and another…he tried to count them, but they moved too fast and besides, he seemed to be having some trouble concentrating. He couldn't quite figure out what they were. They reminded him of something - of a ferris wheel, maybe - but he had promised himself no more amusement park rides - life was pretty much enough of a damned amusement park ride all by itself, thank you very much…They were really starting to annoy him now, and he turned his head away - they obediently disappeared, but now little white squares were racing by, and that was even more irritating, so he closed his eyes instead. People were talking…saying all sorts of things, sharp and fast, but none of it seemed to have any real meaning.

The sensation of flying, of things whipping past, came to an abrupt halt and he reached down to steady himself. Something stopped his hand from moving though and he frowned. The voices were louder now and one of them sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. He thought about asking, but the words wouldn't organize themselves in his head. He felt an odd, cool slither along his leg, then a sensation of release and relief, though until that moment he hadn't really been aware of a feeling of restriction. He sighed out loud, wanted to thank whoever had done it, then promptly lost that thought, too. Something cold stung his face and he tried to lift a hand again to swat it away, but his hands were entrapped somehow and wouldn't obey him. He tugged experimentally. Something was picking at his palm - like a bird walking across it and plucking at it with its beak. He tried to tug again, but the bird didn't stop.

"…local?"

"Yeah, I think…"

He really wished they'd speak more clearly. Curious to see the bird, he turned his head and cracked his eyes fractionally. Blinked. Frowned. Oh, you again. He glared. Well, you got what you wanted. Happy now? So why don't you just go away and leave me alone?

He turned his head away. The same figure filled his vision on the other side.

Huh. Good trick. He studied her resignedly.

He had decided that Brian looked like his father, but now he thought that that direct, unsettling stare must come from his mother. All right, what is it you want now? It wasn't you - I figured it out. Big, fat, happy ending. Satisfied? I know it's giving me a warm glow. Almost wish I'd left it alone and let you shuffle off to prison.

The figure didn't respond. A variety of vague discomforts, unspecific and difficult to identify, were making themselves known now, and he shifted cautiously, trying to get a clearer reading on them. That bird seemed to be really digging at his palm and he shook his hand, hoping to dislodge it. One of the voices, the one he almost recognized, detached itself from the others for a moment and said something - he could just about grasp it, then the words slid off of his brain and into nothingness again. He glanced back at where the figure used to be. Still there.

All right, I guess I don't really wish that. I know he's dangerous. Nobody knows it better. Almost nobody, anyway, I just…I wish it had been different. The world greyed unexpectedly, and he dropped his lids for a second to clear away the clouds.

So, did he do it and you lied to protect him, or did you take care of David and then he tried to take care of me to protect you? He opened his eyes again to wait for an answer, but the figure remained silent. A fine time to shut up on me - you certainly had enough to say the other night.

Something icy splashed over his knee and he gulped air in a quick, involuntary gasp, closing his eyes again quickly. When he opened them once more, his mysterious visitor was gone. He turned his head to see if she had moved to his other side again, but there was nothing there but a sea of blue scrubs. He let his lids sink shut. Fine. Be that way. You're supposed to be in prison anyway. Even if you didn't commit murder, there are plenty of other charges…the bird seemed to have left his one hand and started chewing at the other one. He didn't bother to try and shoo it away this time.

…I think I know the answer anyway. Sometimes I really hate my job.