Part 2 Hope and Despair --

"He said something," Jesse's words broke the silence that had settled in the car, his mind had suddenly flashed back to the crash. "When he was forcing Steve from the car, he said something." His voice held a hint of excitement at the returning memory

Mark tried not to get his hopes up, whatever it was might not help with the identification of his son's abductor. "Can you remember what?"

"Time for." there was a slight pause as the memories slid into place, "Time for the revenge of Tantalus," Jesse replied, as the unusual phrase became a clear echo in his mind. "Tantalus," he repeated the name, his brain trying to make more connections, his brow creasing with the pain of concentrating . Damn this headache wasn't making things any easier. "Something to do with a Greek Myth?" He asked, uncertainly.

Mark was also testing his memory. He thought for a moment. "Yes, Tantalus was a mortal who angered the gods," he replied, dredging up long forgotten facts in an effort to make sense of Jesse's memory. "His crime was to kill his own son and serve him up at a banquet for the gods to eat."

"Nice guy."

"Well the gods got their revenge, they punished him by chaining him up to his neck in water but every time he tried to take a drink the water dropped away so he couldn't reach it. There was also a branch above his head that held fruit but every time he reached for it, the wind blew it out of reach. He's supposed to have been left like that for eternity."

"Equally pleasant," Jesse commented, before trying to apply the information to what he had overheard. "So what does it mean, do you think this guy's gonna chain Steve up without food or water." He finally asked.

Mark shook his head, something told him that would be too slow, there was an immediacy, a violence about the abduction that seemed to preclude anything so subtle besides the man had said the revenge 'of' Tantalus. "No," he said quietly still thoughtful.

Jesse mistook the quietness of the reply for resignation that this new piece of information had brought them no nearer to figuring out who the abductor was, no nearer to finding Steve. "I'm sorry, I guess it doesn't help much."

Mark's mind however was working in overdrive, creating and dismissing ideas until something struck him that 'felt' right. He couldn't explain it, he rarely tried but sometimes his mind just seemed to focus, and somehow, some intuition led to a conclusion. When it happened he was rarely wrong and, with Steve's life on the line, it was never more important that he was right than it was now. "No Jess," he said, hearing the apology in the younger man's tone, "I'm sure it will help. There are several things it tells us. Firstly we're looking for someone who is well educated, I don't think your average street thug would start quoting Greek Mythology, and secondly I'm sure it gives us some idea of the guy's motives." He paused and glanced across at Jesse briefly before turning his attention back to the road. "It suggests to me someone who feels responsible for the death of their son but somehow also wants revenge."

"So we need someone who would blame Steve for the death of their son?" Jesse asked, quickly pulling out his cell phone in response to Mark's affirmative reply. "I'll see if I can get Captain Newman to get someone to concentrate on cases that involved suspects who died.

--

Steve pressed his hand into his side once more, pushing against the ragged wound, forcing it closed, bringing a brief respite from the fire that burned there. It still hurt but it was a different sort of pain, more manageable because he controlled it, could press harder or more softly, could change how it felt. He heard a low moan and although he knew it was his own voice, it sounded detached, distanced. He focused back on the pain for a moment concentrating, analysing it. It was so much easier than any of the other thoughts that vied for his attention.

He had faced death before, looked down the barrel of a gun pointing squarely at his head or his chest, felt the cold trickle of sweat down his spine and held his breath as he'd waited to see if the trigger would be pulled. On more than one occasion, he'd been sure that it would. Then there were the fights, gun battles, car chases, explosions, a myriad of different situations where, if he stopped to think about it, he would be facing his own mortality head on. So he didn't think about it. He reacted rather than considered.

It was only afterwards, in quiet moments when he was alone, that he reflected on the consequences, the effect it might have on those around him, particularly when he was forced to see it through the anguish in his father's eyes, the barely contained mixture of relief that he had survived, and the despair that he had almost lost him again, when things went wrong. The rarely spoken admission of how difficult he would find it to go on if he did lose him. So easy and clear to understand because Steve had felt it himself so many times when his father's sleuthing had put him in danger.

Now he was forced to consider his own death, it was so close, he couldn't fight against it for much longer, the cold was making his muscles tremble. Hot tears ran down his face, contrasting with the cool water just under his chin, but they were not for himself, they were for those he left behind, particularly his father. If only there was someway to leave him a message, to tell him one last time that he loved him, how much his friendship and support had meant to him. His dad knew that though, didn't he? Still there was the desperate urge to put it into words, Damn, why hadn't he been more expressive, more vocal, when he'd had the chance. More tears fell, tears of regret.

At least his dad would still have Jesse and Amanda, they were good friends, they would look after him, be there for him no matter what. He hoped his dad could draw strength from them in their shared grief. For a brief moment he was glad that he was the one who was dying, at least he wouldn't have to face the pain, wouldn't have to try to carry on with a piece of himself missing.

Damn this was too hard. A part of him wanted to just let go, to stop fighting the inevitable but somehow he couldn't do it, not consciously, he had to keep going for as long as he was able. He tilted his head back so that he didn't have to fight as hard against the downward pull to keep his mouth and nose above the surface and tried to ignore the aching in his legs.

--

Jesse disconnected his cell "OK, Newman's going to see what they can come up with, they should have something for us by the time we get to the station," he said, turning to look at his friend but it was clear that Mark's mind was elsewhere. He debated getting the older doctor's attention and repeating his information but decided against it. It could wait and it was just possible that Mark may be able to come up with something, after all Steve frequently shared information about his cases with his father.

Mark continued to surf through his memories, trying to link together anything that might help. Steve had been involved in thousands of cases over the years but ones where there were fatalities amongst the suspects cut the number considerably. Ones where Steve was directly involved in those fatalities were mercifully rare. Although Steve accepted it as part of his job, on the few occasions when he'd been forced to use his gun to take a life, it had always hit him hard. One by one Mark went through the incidents that he could recall, trying to remember the people involved, the names the places, filing them to ask about when he got to the station or dismissing them.

Jesse was startled by the sudden gasp at his side with a simultaneous swerve of the steering wheel that Mark quickly corrected to the tune of blaring horns and an uncomfortable rocking, as the suspension reacted to the sudden directional changes at speed. Bile rose in Jesse's throat as a wave of nausea hit, his body reacting to real and remembered sensations as the movement mirrored that of the crash only a couple of hours earlier. For a moment he was sure that it was going to happen again and he tensed, bracing for another impact. The steering, however, settled and Mark rolled the car to a safe stop on the shoulder.

--

Steve tried to focus his mind on his condition, he knew that exhaustion was getting the better of him, the weight of the chain dragging him under was increasingly difficult to fight against. Pain now throbbed constantly from his right ankle, to add to the sharp ache from his left side, there was no chance of respite, since moving either leg increased the level of pain and he had to keep moving both. He tried to figure how much longer he would be able to stay afloat.

'Afloat,' the word triggered an idea in his pain clouded mind. Of course, why hadn't he thought of it earlier. He berated himself for not having considered the simple survival technique before now, even with the pain and shock he should have thought of it, he just hoped that he wasn't too weak to act.

He began to fumble with the buttons of his shirt but quickly gave up and just ripped them open. Then he set about the painful task of manoevring his left arm out, easing it back until it was free.

Once he had the shirt off he gave himself a moment before, shaping it into a makeshift ball. The ragged hole in the side reduced the amount of material he could use but it would still be better than nothing. Drawing together as much strength as he could he blew and was gratified to see the shirt inflating. He drew in another breath and blew again, this time, however, his lungs protested and he coughed sharply, causing stabs of pain to radiate through his body. He waited for the worst of it to pass and, with a little more caution, resolutely continued to blow air into his newly forming lifeline.

Finally it was as full as he could make it and he held onto it, stopping the motion of his legs completely, he gripped the float against his chest and leant his head back, but his face sank below the surface, he kicked his legs again and pushed his head back up, trying not to give in to the wave of despair that washed over him. He had wanted a break from the pain so much, it somehow seemed doubly hard to move his legs at all.

He held on to his makeshift float and waited for his thoughts to settle, trying to focus on the positives. It wasn't as good as he had hoped but at least now he didn't have to move his arms and he could reduce his leg movement. He had managed to buy himself a little more time.

--

"Mark?" Jesse asked, concern overriding his own discomfort as he turned to face his friend, but Mark did not look distressed, in fact he looked more animated than he had for the last two hours.

As the car came to a standstill, Mark turned. "Do you remember a Jason Kelsey?" He asked.

Jesse searched back through his memory.

Mark continued, not waiting for Jesse to reply, filling in the details of the case. "He was 17 years old and quite brilliant a real child prodigy, already taking his Masters at UCLA."

"And dealing drugs," Jesse filled in as his memory caught up. "Down on the pier wasn't it."

Mark nodded.

"Oh God!!" Jesse exclaimed as the rest of the case details fell into place and he realised why Mark had reacted as he had. "The way the kid died, it fits."

Both men remembered clearly the anguish Steve had gone through at the time. Steve had spotted the young man dealing drugs whilst off duty, and had tried to make an arrest. The kid had pulled a gun and had opened fire. Steve had had no choice with so many innocent civilians around he had had to fire in retaliation, the bullet had hit Kelsey on the left side, but the wound hadn't been fatal. The kid had jumped off the side of the pier in an attempt to escape and had disappeared under the surface. Steve had gone in after him but hadn't been able to find him. Police divers later found the body where he had got caught up in some old mooring chains and had drowned.

Despite the justification for his actions, Steve had blamed himself, the fact that the boy had been so young and had such a promising future had made it doubly hard.

Jesse's memory stirred. Steve had insisted on going to the funeral to pay his respects and Jesse in turn had insisted on accompanying him. Although Steve would never ask, in fact he had tried to make out that he would be fine on his own, Jesse had known that his friend needed the moral support.

Jesse had been grateful that he hadn't listened to Steve's protestations, when Jason's angry father David had made a bee line for them. He had virtually accused Steve of murdering his son, and if Jesse hadn't been there to get between them, he was sure that he would have physically attacked Steve, instead he had angrily demanded that Steve leave and Jesse had had to help his stunned friend to do just that as the angry tirade continued. It had been an ugly scene and had made it harder for Steve to deal with the young man's death. It had been weeks before Steve had managed to put it behind him.

Jesse blanched slightly at the painful memory and his stomach twisted in a knot, as the memory meshed with one from earlier that day. He drew in a sharp breath. "David Kelsey," he turned to look at Mark. "That's it, that's who I saw, that's who took Steve."

"Call Newman," Mark said, pulling out his own cell and hitting the speed dial. He prayed that Amanda was still at the hospital. His prayers were answered "Amanda," he stated without preamble. "I need you to find me an address on a next of kin, David Kelsey, father of a Jason Kelsey who died last year, we think he's the one who took Steve."

Amanda did not need that last part to encourage her into action, just a request from Mark would have been enough but now she willed the computer in front of her to work faster as her fingers flew over the keys.

--

He wanted so much just to fall asleep but knew that there was some reason why he couldn't or was that shouldn't. He was no longer sure. Thinking was becoming difficult, fragmented. He had a vague awareness that his breathing was raspy and that he should feel something about that, but what?

He looked down, it was a mistake, his mouth dipped below the surface as he took a breath. He kicked with his feet to push his head back up as he coughed and spluttered the water out of his lungs, his side exploded in pain at the same time as he felt the chain tug on his right ankle.

Stupid, he was in water, and his ankle was caught on something and he was going to die and it was too damn cold, too damn cold to die.

Wasn't the moon pretty, a full moon tonight, why was he swimming if it was night? It had to be night if the moon was out didn't it?

Maybe he could go to sleep now.

--

It had taken Jesse three attempts to get back in touch with Newman, the first two times the phone had been engaged, by the time he actually made the connection, Mark had an address and was heading for it at speed. Jesse tried his best to stay in his seat but with his injured wrist he could not grip the door handle and slid across the seat each time they rounded a bend.

"No," Jesse answered the police captain's question, "We have an address on Kelsey and we're headed there now."

Newman uttered a curse in exasperation, it had been a forlorn hope that the two doctors would still be on their way to the station. Instead they were heading into a possible confrontation with an armed man who obviously had no fear of the law, after all he had abducted a police officer in broad daylight with the probable intention of killing him. "Tell Dr. Sloan that under no circumstances is he to try anything until the police units get there." He barked the order as though he were speaking to some of his men. He knew that it was unlikely to be followed but he had to try. His tone softened slightly. "I'll get people there as soon as I can, and we'll also check if Kelsey has any other property."

"OK Thanks," Jesse said, hitting the disconnect and bracing for another bend.

--

Steve was barely aware of something gripped in his right hand, wasn't sure why he was holding onto it so tightly that his hand hurt, he let go. His legs and arms were impossibly heavy and yet at the same time he had the sensation of floating. He knew he had to keep them moving but could no longer remember why.

His mouth dipped under the surface as the shirt that was helping him stay afloat began to drift away and he coughed water from his lungs as he pushed himself back up.

Sporadically the pattern continued, he would forget to kick and sink below the surface, only to push himself back up. The quiet of the night air was broken by the spluttering and weak coughs that accompanied his attempts at breathing, each time it would remind him at some level to push that little bit harder, but it was no longer a conscious decision. The combination of pain, exhaustion and cold causing his higher brain functions to shut down. He could no longer fight the confusion, soon even his instinct would not be enough.

--

The car skidded to a halt at the end of the long driveway and Mark had jumped from the passenger seat with a speed and agility that belied his age. Jesse had trouble keeping up with him. He would have tried to deliver Newman's message to wait for back up, but he knew that it would be useless, knew that Mark would ignore it. He had never seen his friend and mentor so tightly focussed and he knew that he would do anything to find Steve, even if that meant placing himself in danger.

Jesse himself was not quite so focussed, recognised the dangers of heading unarmed into a confrontation, and it heightened his anxiety, but there was no way he could stop himself from following Mark's reckless path if there was the slightest chance that by doing so they would rescue Steve.

They passed the white van on the way to the door, if there had been any doubt that they had found the right place it was eradicated by the telltale crushing damage and streaks of silver paint that ran along the side where it had pushed Steve's car off the road. Mark paused only momentarily to look at it and Jesse saw an expression cross Mark's face that he had only seen once before, pure rage.

Mark could not help his reaction, seeing the van was the final straw, he now knew that David Kelsey, had hurt his son, was in all probability planning to kill him, if he hadn't already succeeded in doing so. A red haze settled across his mind and he headed at a half run for the door. It took two attempts, but he kicked in the lock and headed through the dimly lit interior to the only source of light.

As he moved into the sitting room at the back of the house, he saw his target immediately. Kelsey was sitting in a chair, slouched back, staring at the floor, his eyes glazed, a glass of whisky hanging from his hand.

Mark was across the room in four strides. He grabbed the man by the collar and, with a strength that he could not under normal circumstances have displayed, hauled him bodily from the chair. The glass clattered to the floor with a soft thump and the contents pooled on the light wooden surface.

"Where is he," Mark yelled, although his face was mere inches from Kelsey's. "What have you done to him?"

It took David Kelsey a few moments to focus on his change in circumstance. There was a face so close to his that he could feel the hot breath, as the face yelled at him. It took moments more for the words to form in his brain as he processed what he was hearing. "Who?" He asked, his senses dulled by alcohol, and the shock that he had experienced when he had finally allowed his rational mind to process what he was doing, what he had done, in the name of vengeance.

Mark resisted the almost overwhelming urge to place his hands around the man's throat and squeeze. He had to know who Mark was talking about, there was no time for games.

He looked into the eyes of the man he held and the part of his brain that was not clouded by fear and anger recognised the bewilderment on the man's face. He wasn't playing any games, he really was close to falling apart. Mark forced himself to answer his question, it was the only hope he had of getting a response. "Steve Sloan," he said, through partly gritted teeth, "The man you forced off the road and took at gun point. What have you done to him?" He repeated the question. "He's my son, what have you done to him?"

The last comment penetrated and David Kelsey studied closely the face of the man who held him. Deep in his eyes he saw a mirror of the anguish and despair, the deep pain that he felt himself. This was a father searching for a lost son whom he would never find, not alive, he would never see him smile, feel his touch or hear his voice again. The emotion touched the very core of his being and his mind acknowledged that he had caused this pain. He had thought that it would make him feel better, would take away the burning ache in his soul, but it hadn't. All he had accomplished was to condemn another to the same fate. "You're too late," were the last words he managed to articulate before his thoughts imploded and his mind ceased to connect to the outside world.

'You're too late,' each word was like a dagger of despair cutting into Mark's heart, penetrating his soul. No, the anger resurfaced, blazed a path of denial. He wasn't too late, couldn't be too late. "Where is he," his voice burned with fury as he shook the man he held, barely aware of what he was doing.

--

Steve's fight was over, the last bout of coughing too much for his weakened system, his eyes closed, his legs ceased their relentless movement and he slid silently under the water.