Part Two


As Steve felt his consciousness slipping slowly, inexorably away, a faint sound registered on his waning senses. It was the sound of a car door shutting, and it pulled him back from the brink. What if it was his dad? It wouldn't be the first time Mark had come home early because he knew his son was feeling under the weather. Though he hadn't admitted that he was feeling badly, his dad seemed to have a sixth sense about his well-being.


Steve's eyes creaked open as a wave of protective anxiety caused a surge of adrenaline to hit his system. He couldn't let his father walk into the house to face a couple of robbers with new-found homicidal tendencies. He had to do something, had to warn him, help him somehow.


The rain continued to come down in sheets, splashing into the ever-growing puddle that had formed beneath him. He used it, concentrating on the cool liquid splattering against his face as a means of focusing. Wrapping an arm around his injured side, he braced himself mentally and pushed himself up into a sitting position so that his back was against the wall.


The pain, though expected, was agonizing and left him panting for control. He laid his head back against the brickwork and allowed the driving rain to push hair that had been plastered across his brow back away from his face. Then it was time for the next step.


Refusing to allow his half-dazed mind to dwell on just how much this was going to hurt, he reached deeply into the shallow well of his remaining strength and pushed himself to his feet. The aborted cry that escaped couldn't be helped. His vision grayed around the edges and his legs threatened to go out from under him for several perilous moments, then things settled in at only slightly hazy and just shy of numbingly painful. Numbingly painful might have been a blessing if it didn't also mean that he would have been passed out in the wet grass.


Weak, dizzy and trembling, he leaned against the wall, half bent at the waist, trying to convince his feet to move him forward. He made first one, then another slow hobbling step. Frustration gnawed at him. It was taking too long for him to get any place. His father could have gotten out of the car and into the house twice over. And where were his two burglars? Had they given up the chase because they'd heard the sound of the car as well?


He'd just reached the corner of the house, headed for the sloping hill that would lead to the driveway when he heard the sound of a car door slamming again. Confusion and added anxiety rushed through his system. What was going on?


Spurred on, he put everything he had into reaching the front of the house. Then, pushing off of the wall, as if to give himself a boost, he started down the sloping hill. An old pewter gray van with its reverse lights on was backing out of the drive. It wasn't his dad after all. It was the burglars, and they were getting away!


Squinting against waning strength and the utter misery of being stabbed, ill, cold, wet and burglarized, he tried to focus on the vehicle's license plate. All that he managed to make out were the letters M E H S A B before his vision tunneled. The sound of rain and the storm seemed to recede as if coming from a very long distance. He didn't actually feel his legs go out from under him, but the sight of rain gray sky tilting fast at the wrong angle seemed a fairly reliable clue. He only had a moment to worry about rolling down the hill before he felt the distant jarring thump of his body hitting the cold, slick ground.


*


Mark replaced the receiver after speaking to Tanis Archer, his son's partner. He'd been a little worried about Steve, but he'd been called into the hospital early that morning, too early to really ascertain if there was a problem or not as Steve had been sound asleep when he left. He hadn't been inclined to wake him up! He knew that wouldn't have gone down well at all.


But he was always very observant when it came to his son, and he definitely thought he saw signs that he was coming down with an illness - probably the bad flu bug which was currently doing the rounds. The fact Steve had called in sick was very surprising. He didn't stay home lightly and must have been feeling bad to have done so. The night before he'd been very quiet and tired looking, even ignoring smart comments from Jesse. He'd resisted the temptation to ask Steve if he was okay, knowing it was best just to keep an eye on him initially. But it didn't stop him worrying, and he had a nagging feeling he should check on him. He knew Steve would accuse him of hovering and fussing, but he wasn't at all sure his stubborn son would look after himself.


The weather was starting to get very wild, and a quick look at his schedule showed he could leave the hospital early. He just had to look in on one of his surgical patients. In the meantime he would call home, and risk Steve's annoyance. Not that Steve really got annoyed with him; it was more good-natured frustration. But it was often a shared frustration for Mark only wanted to make sure Steve took care of himself. He usually didn't. He dialed the phone, frowning as the answering machine picked up. He knew Steve would not have called into work if he hadn't been sick. So where was he?


*


Steve's roll down the slope had left him semi-conscious. The rain continued pelting down on him, and the wind ripped through his thin singlet. He wasn't cold anymore; in fact he was feeling quite peculiar. Breathing was becoming a chore and he longed to be warm and comfortable. He was grateful for the fact he'd managed to escape, and he hadn't ended up being dumped in the ocean, but he was aware he was still in a great deal of trouble. He wondered if there was anyone else who could stay home sick and end up in so much trouble. Trying to cheer himself up, he tried to predict Jesse's response to this latest disaster. He wouldn't tease him while he was sick, but recovering would cause the jokes and bantering to start. He tried to smile at the thought, but it seemed to be too much trouble. He couldn't feel his body now, and the rain made it impossible for him to see if he was still bleeding or not. But there was a price to pay for the numbness: he'd also lost the ability to move. He tried valiantly to roll on his side, but his body was ignoring him. He'd pushed it beyond all endurance and he was now unable to push it any further. He could only lie there and pray someone would find him. Now that the burglars had gone, and the danger had passed, he wanted his father to come home. He would help him; he would make sure he was warm and safe again. He blinked his eyes, vainly trying to see through the heavy rain, again trying to concentrate on better things. On the ball game that he and his father were intending to see on the weekend. Although it seemed likely he would miss out on that. He'd probably be in the hospital again. That is if he was lucky enough to be found in time. He started wishing he'd told his father last night that he was feeling unwell but in his usual stubborn way, he'd not wanted to admit to ill health. But he had noticed his father's penetrating glances and he knew it was a safe bet that his doctor father would have picked up on the fact he wasn't himself. He wasn't the sort of doctor who saved everyone else while his own family suffered under a mountain of ailments. Far from it, and his father's powers of observation had often caused some bickering between them, especially when he didn't want to slow down and take care of himself. As such, he had every hope that he would come home early. If not, then he could only blame himself. He sighed, but immediately regretted the deep breath he took for it caused him to cough, and shooting pain through him again. Really he preferred the numbness. After a few moments of more pain, he tried to work out how much the burglars had taken from their home. This is going to take some living down, Sloan, he thought to himself. I'm a cop, and home when the burglars hit...


The loud clap of thunder startled him, and to make matters worse, the streak of lightning followed, and the rain started to fall even more heavily. He coughed again, and with a final surge of strength, he forced himself to turn onto his side. He knew it would take more strength than he possessed to get back to the house. But he vaguely became aware of another problem. His father wouldn't be able to see him if he remained where he was. He certainly wouldn't find him as quickly as he needed to be found. Another clap of thunder coincided with his sudden coughing fit. He closed his eyes and finally lapsed into unconsciousness, the storm raging on.


*


Mark glanced at his watch as he stopped by the doctor's lounge for a quick cup of coffee. Mrs. Frumway should be out of recovery soon. He'd just see her out of the anesthetic and settled in her room and then he'd head for home. He saw Jesse seated at the table working on a cup of his own and gave him a quick smile on his way to the coffee pot.


"You still here?"


"Yeah," Jesse took a long draught of his coffee. "I'm hanging around as long as I can. My power lines go down without fail in even the slightest breeze - I'm betting this storm has already taken them out. At least here I've got lights."


Mark filled a mug, watching it pour sluggishly into his cup and wondering absently exactly how long it had been sitting there. "You could come home with me if you like," he suggested. "That is, if you're not afraid of catching this flu bug - I think Steve's picked it up."


"I think if I was going to get it, I'd have gotten it here. Is that what was wrong with him last night? I wondered - couldn't even get a rise out of him."


"Well, he hasn't mentioned it of course, but I think so." Mark added a generous amount of sugar to his coffee and slid into a seat at the table. "I didn't like the way he looked last night either, and when I called the station, Tanis said he'd called in sick. Couldn't reach him at home though..."


Jesse noted the faintly uneasy tone and offered, "Maybe he's sleeping."


"Maybe. But after all those years as a cop, he usually jumps awake at the sound of a phone."


"Well, you sleep harder when you're sick. Or maybe he just rolled over because he knew he wasn't on call."


"That's possible." Mark smiled, his expression lightening some. "Well, the offer stands, if you're interested. I just have one more patient to see to, then I'm heading home. Power could be down, but it usually takes quite a bit before that happens. And even if it is, at least you'd have company."


Jesse half-smiled. "I don't know - a sick Steve for company - not any fun to tease at all."


Mark chuckled. "I was referring to myself. I expect Steve will be sleeping."


"Yeah - that would be good," Jesse decided. "I really hate sitting in the dark alone with nothing to do."


"Good," Mark swallowed what was left of his coffee and glanced at his watch again. "Let me check on Mrs. Frumway and I'll be back."


"Want me to call ahead for ribs or something? So nobody has to cook. It's right on the way."


Mark hesitated. "Jess, I know it sounds silly, but do you mind if we don't stop any place? I have plenty of food for us, it's a gas stove even if the power is out and - well - I would kind of like to check on Steve, since I wasn't able to reach him. I realize he's a grown man, but..."


"But fathers are fathers," Jesse finished for him. Mark shrugged sheepishly. "No problem. I can either help you whip something up or bug Steve - see if I can't get a rise out of him after all."


"Oh, Jess - I really wouldn't while he's not feeling well. Makes him grouchy as a bear."


Jesse grinned. "Yeah, sure. That's part of the fun."


Mark shook his head, starting for the door. "I'll see you shortly."


*

Jesse watched as Mark cut the power to his cell phone and put it aside, moving the car through the light as it turned green. "Still nothing?"


Mark shook his head. "Of course, if he is trying to sleep and I keep ringing the phone then he's probably about ready to kill me..." He laughed lightly, but it sounded a little hollow.


"Or if he has the stomach version of this bug then he could be a little...busy..."


"That's true." Mark turned the windshield wipers up another notch. The rain was really coming down now, hammering against the windshield, the wind rising and buffeting the car. Lightning split the sky and Mark gave a low whistle. "Some storm. I'd hate to be out in this."


"Yeah. It'll feel good to settle in for the night. Popcorn and a few vids or candles and ghost stories - Mark! Look out!"


Mark slammed on the brakes at exactly that moment, registering what Jesse saw at the same time. The car hydroplaned for a minute, then righted, skidding to halt with a whining of wet rubber. He sat for a second, taking a deep breath to steady the sudden rapid hammering of his heart, trying to peer through the sheets of water pouring down the windshield. He couldn't make out much more than the brake lights of the car ahead of him. "What is it? Can you see....?"


Jesse shook his head. "An accident, maybe. Or something blocking the road." He squinted at the figure of a policeman wrapped in a slicker, trying to divert traffic. "One way or another, we're stuck here for a while."


Mark frowned at the blur of road before him, forehead creasing. Jesse reached down and picked up the cell phone. "Um...want me to...?"


Mark nodded quietly. "Please. If you wouldn't mind."


To be continued . . . .