Hey all!! Wow, I was really overwhelmed by your reviews, thanks that you like the story so much and give me feedback (especially this kind of feedback). I'm so happy, I could hug all of you! Hey hey hey, don't run away, I won't do it, here is the next part of the story for you instead.
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It hadn't taken Steve more than half an hour until he pulled his truck into the the parking lot that belonged to one of the huge glazed skycrapers in downtown LA. For once in his life the traffic Gods had been with him, and where they had put a red traffic light into his way Steve had mercilessly ignored it. Fortunately Mark had agreed to take a cab back to the hospital where he and Amanda would wait for any sign of Jesse. Steve was grateful for his father not being with him right now. This was something he rather wanted to handle his own way. He didn't know if it would be dangerous for him.
The elevator seemed to take ages while Steve couldn't stop pacing in front of the still shut doors. Of course, he could have walked up the stairs, but his goal was on the 13th floor and he figured that he'd still need his breath. When he finally heard the 'Hell, I'm already there, okay?!' – ringing and the doors slid open in provocative calmness, Steve made his way into the elevator cabin and impatiently pressed the button to make sure that he would land on the thirteenth floor without any disturbing breaks.
James Barlow's secretary was busy answering a phone call while manicuring her nails, but –just like to the traffic lights- Steve paid no attention to her existance. Instead he walked directly over to the door on which nicely swung brass letters read that Mr Dr law Barlow was residing there. By the time the woman had noticed that someone unauthorized was stomping past her desk, Steve had already vanished behind the heavy, wooden door and since there came no complaints from inside, she decided that there were more important things – like her vulgarly red-painted nails for example- waiting for her.
Lieutenant Sloan found himself standing in a sun-flooded room, in expectation of the upcoming noon heat the Venetian blinds had been halfly shut as a precaution. In despite of the warmth in his office, James Barlow was dressed –as Steve had almost suggested- in a gray suit, again a strangely colored tie was slightly disturbing the impression of the otherwise oh so smooth lawyer.
Looking up from his paperwork, an arrogant little smile was hushing over Mr Barlow's face when he saw Steve who hadn't moved one inch from the door towards the desk where the lawyer was seated. "Lieutenant Sloan, what a great mispleasure to see you, how can I help you?", in inquired, getting to to his feet, obviously bored.
Steve's eyes narrowed at the condescending tone Barlow was using. "Where is he?", he asked merely and didn't waste a thought about showing how furious he really was. He knew that wasn't the way to deal with Barlow.
"Pardon? I'm afraid, I think I'm not quite able to follow you...", Barlow replied, sneering.
Steve slowly approached him and also the lawyer had left his position behind his desk. "Harris", said Steve, "Where is he?"
Barlow raised one eyebrow and answered with a half-heartedly supressed giggle. "Come again? Apart from the fact that you run into my office as though it was donut shop, you really have the guts to ask me where a trusting client –who is a free man by the way- is spending his time?!" The indignation in Barlow's voice was evident, however, it was as artificial as everything else that came out of his mouth.
Steve shrugged unimpressedly. "You have the guts to cover a murderer and kidnapper, so I think we are both not the ones to discuss moralistic matters here. I only wanna know where Harris is!"
"That's none of your buisness. As said, my client is a free man on bail and our law allows those people to walk wherever they want as long as it isn't out of our state", the lawyer stated cooly.
"Yeah and the law also allows me to put away those people as soon as they committ another crime!", Steve retorted.
Barlow scratched his plainly shaved chin. "I don't exactly see your point, Lieutenant. Why do you wanna know where Harris is, why do you guess that I know where he is and –most important- why do you think I would tell you?"
Steve raised his brows and innocently put his hands into the pockets of his Jeans. "Oh well, that's a whole bunch of questions. So, first of all, Harris has kidnapped one of my friends and I somehow have the feeling that you know that as well as I do. I have trouble with the third question, though. You know, maybe I was thinking of that accessory-to-a-crime-is-illegal-thing..."
The lawyer stared at the police man and though he was now completely controlled, Steve had meant to see some sort of astonishment in the other man's face for a moment. Nevertheless, with the shock effect gone, Barlow laughed out loudly and made a movement as though he wanted to wipe a tear away that had been caused by his amusement. "Pedants like you always fascinate me, Sloan!", he grinned. "Did you really think that if you come in here and threat me I would confess a crime of which you can't even prove it was committed?!" He shook his head in mild confusion. "I thought that even you would have learned by now that you need evidence to make somebody a suspect."
Steve could well imagine what his father would have said right now. 'Go and tell that Mr Dawn!' But the lieutenant didn't remain lost in thoughts for long. So he was right where he was supposed to be as Barlow mumbled an unfriendly "Excuse me!" and tried to pass him by.
By the time they met in the middle of the room, Steve had his arms already crossed in front of his chest, a posture that, added to the fact that he was about ten inches taller than James Barlow, was clearly telling that he wasn't someone you wanted to mess with.
James Barlow was still controlled, however, Steve sensed he was getting nervous. His eyes where wandering from one corner into the other, slight drops of sweat were visible on his forehead. Even his voice wore some of the umcomfortability the lawyer was probably feeling when he said:"Whatever you are trying here, Sloan, it's not going to work. You know, having holstered cops around always affects my memory considerably."
"Don't worry, I left my gun in the car...", Steve replied bitter-sweetly. He was blocking Barlow's path, his blue eyes coldly fixed on the gray man.
"I have a principle, Lieutenant. Everything my clients tell me is confidential. That also counts for Mr Harris!", Barlow said, his voice still firm.
Steve's gaze remained on the smaller man in front of him. Sometimes patience indeed seemed to pay. "Really?", he growled and took a deep breath. "So then, I recommed to you to forget your principles for once, Mr Barlow! Otherwise...", and now he only spoke through gritted teeth, "I'll forget mine!"
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Harris threw a look out of the window, he knew he was running out of time. The man he had been holding hostage for hours had friends and sooner or later they'd start to search for their lost doctor. Harris had seen them, the cop who had arrested and interrogated him and the pretty young women, who both had knelt down beside Dr Travis once Harris had send him to the floor with a blow into the face.
Fumbling on his lighter and at the same time producing a cigarett into his mouth, Jimmy's father stared through the pane into the gray-asphalted backyard of the run-down house. This was not his house, it was nobody's home at least as far as Harris knew. The multistorey houses which framed the old Los Angeles harbor were at present nothing more but some ruins no one cared about. In that way they had something in common with himself, thought Harris, considering that he had only come here because he had had nowhere else to go. Within a minute, he had lost everything.
Jimmy had always been a nice boy. His mother, well, she was somewhat demanding, but his little son, thought Harris, had been a great kid. He hadn't deserved what had happened to him. So far Harris had come with his conclusions, but he was still wrapped up in the believing that his son's death had been only this doctor's fault. That doctor was responsible for everything, he had destroyed the Harris' familiy, taken their hopes, he was the one and only reason why Harris had from one second to another lost everything he loved. Everyone he loved.
He couldn't help but feeling how he envied the young Dr Travis. This man had people who cared about him. People who did their best that nothing happened to him. 'I couldn't do that for Jimmy...', it suddenly popped up in Harris' mind. 'I couldn't protect him!'
Furiosity and nervousity crawled through his body. He didn't have any time. Travis had to pay. He had to confess.
Jesse had sunk into a semi-conscious state, which still allowed him to flinch from time to time when a breath he'd taken tortured his broken ribs, but prohibited him to clunch his arms around his chest when he felt the marrow-piercing pain. His hands both lay loosely on his stomach where a dull nausea had spread. As much as Jesse wanted to throw up, he surpressed th urge in the knowlegde that his upper body probably wouldn't be able to stand the convulsions it would necessarily cause.
The blood from his nose, lips and arms had soaked and dried into his clothes, and even though he couldn't see his hands, Jesse could feel the sticky liquid on his otherwise sweaty skin. Indeed some source of heat which occured in irregular, but certain intervals bathed him in cold sweat that ran into his eyes and wettened the parts of his shirt which hadn't been affected by the exessive blood flow. In the next second he was freezing again, shivering and clattering with his teeth and wished nothing more than closing his arms around his torso. However, every single effort he put up to move ended up being another shattering wave of pain and strain, so that Jesse had given in to the hurt.
Since most parts of his body were numb as soon as he decided to sit still, resting against the wall, he felt more or less free of pain right now. But the other part of his mind which had never turned its attention to the physical shape of his body wasn't to be held still just like that.
His memories were hovered around and a wild mix of fast appearing and vanishing images tormented him as soon as he tried to close his eyes and sink into the welcoming blackness of unconsciousness. Jimmy's pale and lifeless body on the examing table in the path lab, Morton mumbling something, Mark's untypically instable glare when he said:"You don't mean this...I know you don't...". Jimmy, Morton, Mark, Jimmy, Morton, Mark, they continued to be there, penetrating his mind with their faces, their words, going faster and faster, becoming louder and louder, boring deeper and deeper into his subconciousness until Jesse wanted to scream.
The scream was nothing but an agonized gasp when Jesse felt that he was fully awake by the time his lungs hit against the broken bones in his chest. This was worse than everything before, this moment of breath-stealing pain was worse than he had ever imagined it to be. His blood was pounding heatedly through his throat, he heart was making noises loud enough for him to be able to count every beat, his eyes felt as though two thumbs were trying to push them out of his head from inside.
Jesse waited a few seconds before the pain had lost some of its paralysing strength and even then he was hell of scared of breathing in. It was hardly bearable, yet, compared to the hurt before a remarkable improvement.
The young man had just settled back against the wall, expecting to slide back into the state which held the enjoyment of being only halfly-aware of his surroundings and his circumstances when the door of his prison opened with a bang.
Still dizzy from the past ordeal, Jesse was even more blinded by the weak light that backed- up Harris tall figure and –ironically- bestowed him the congenial picture of a holy stature. Nevertheless, if that thought had ever crossed Jesse's mind, it was destroyed as soon as he witnessed Harris stomping towards him, the faiding glim of a cigarette giving a vague image of how many feet seperated his face from his wincing victim.
"Get up!", he commanded uncreatively.
Jesse shivered. He clearly recalled what had happened the last time when the physical state of his limp body had refused to do what was expected from him. He only about remembered the pain itself, but he still knew that he had been sure then that he wouldn't survive another attack to his collarbone. However, he knew he would never get to his feet. He could bearly breath, he didn't even dare to think of what would happen if he tried to stand up.
Harris bent over. He didn't say anything again and Jesse couldn't sense what he was up to since his view was blurred and the light from outside wasn't strong enough to really reach his eyes. At first Jesse even thought he was save for moment, but as he found out too soon he had erred. Badly.
The glowing cigarette was so darn hot that it was almost not perceptible in the very first second it was pressed onto the skin on the inside of Jesse's arm. Then however, it took its turn of torture. Jesse cried out, this time his body was so numb with burning pain that he forgot about his chest. The end of the cigarette scortched into the flesh, Harris had wisely picked a point where the skin was fairly thin. Having screamed once, the young man pressed his lips together, his teeth so tightly gritted that they were virtually wedging between each other.
"So will you finally confess? Will you say that you killed my son?", Harris asked his sweating hostage.
Jesse was shaking with hurt. He didn't want to fight anymore. For what? Why not leave Harris his success. It didn't matter anyway. He would give in.
Jesse was so caught up with pain that he didn't hear what the other man suddenly heard. Harris inwardly sweared. He was getting visitors. "I'll be back!", he growled and pushed the doctor back against the wall to fasten his threat. Then he hurried off.
Steve had found the adress Barlow had given him all of sudden very voluntarily without any problems. He had problems though, finding his way through the endless, confusing corridors of the old house. Before going in, he had called for back-up, of course, but he hadn't wanted to wait. For the second time today Steve was relieved to be here without his father. His dad would have probably insisted on him to stay outside as long as back-up arrived or –and that would have been even worse- to join his son inside. Steve neither wanted to wait for anything in this world while he knew his friend was with a totally nuts guy somewhere in one of the empty flats, nor did he want to endanger his father. Having two people he loved from the deepest ground of his soul in the shooting line, were already two too many.
The parquet was creaking among his feet and every door he pushed open cautiously, holding his gun ready to fire, squealed. Steve never made it to fire. He had been aware of the fact that he had been making noises, what he hadn't know was that he had obviously made the hell of a din. Opening the entrance door of apartement no. 6 on the fourth floor –it could as well have been no.9, the numbers were so rickety that they would easily fall down or turn around- Steve could hear the sound that wasn't like any sound a house would make. However, he knew it. It was the clicking release of a half-automatic gun and it was directly over his left ear.
"Well, look who's come to join us!", Harris snarled, taking the gun Steve was holding. "You know the procedure, cop!"
Steve put up hands, moving slowly and prudently. "Where is Dr Travis?"
"He is fine..."
"He'd better be for your own sake! But where is he?!"
"I'm gonna show you..."
The door Harris unlocked finally lead to a room that had no light in its inside, the only window was blocked by bars of wood. The room at first seemed empty to Steve, but at the second look he discovered something on the floor, something that at the first sight looked more like a pile of clothes than like a human being. Steve gasped. "Oh God, Jess!!" Fast approaching his friend, Steve became more and more aware of Harris deed with every step he took.
In the dim light Steve couldn't see a lot, but what he saw was enough to get an idea of how sickly Harris had been treating his friend. Crouching next to his best friend, who sat huddledly on the ground, seemingly not aware of anything around him, Steve snorted in disgust.
"Didn't you say he was fine?!", he barked over his shoulder into Harris' direction. Gently, he put one of his strong hands on Jesse's cheek, immediatly noticing the stained blood all over Jesse's face, the cheeks, the nose and the mouth. A small rim of obviously fresh blood ran from one corner of his mouth, dropping down on...at the sight of his friend's shirt Steve didn't know if he should vomit or turn around and try to strangle Harris with his bare hands.
"I meant fine as in 'not dead'", retorted Harris in the meantime, watching the scene with growing mispleasure.
Steve was at a loss of words, throwing a quick-witted answer into Harris' face was the least he was interested in now. Jesse's shirt hadn't kept much of its once light-blue, instead the frontal part was covered with blood and at several other places the red liquid had seeped through and formed dark spots.
"He got exactly what he deserved!", shouted Harris and added more quietly, speaking to the Lieutenant's back "And you will, too!" Then he shut the door and left the two men in the dark. He had to think of a plan.
With the light gone, it was impossible for Steve to examine his friend furtherly, though Jesse looked as though he was in bad need of professional medical attention. Sighingly, Steve let himself sink onto his knees next to his friend and found whose shoulder in the darkness. Softly he started to ruttle the younger man, careful not to cause anymore damage than had already been done. "Jesse! Can you hear me? You have to wake up, Jess!"
He indeed earned a reply, however he was not really satisfied by its content. "Please, stop! I will make that confession, but please..."
"No, Jess, it's me! Steve! I won't hurt you!", Steve was speaking intensely to make sure he was reaching his friend.
Jesse's eyelids flickered open. He couldn't see anything, it was dark and tears, the remains from the treat with the cigarette, covered his pupils with a layer of water. Nevertheless, he recognised his friend's voice. "Steve?...Wha...what are you doing here..."
"Well, I was just dropping by to see how you're doing...", Steve joked half-heartedly, but Jesse had realized anyway that he question had been kind of stupid. "I came looking for you, but Harris...caught me...", he mumbled, sounding a bit ashamed.
Jesse almost grinned. "You can't seem to get used to waiting for back-up, can you?"
Instead of an answer, a sudden flash of bright light struck his eyes, it wasn't coming from the door, but from the same direction as Steve's voice. The younger man moaned and squeezed his eyes shut. "Whoa, Steve, what's that?"
"You should know, doctor!", Steve teased friendly.
Jesse now blinked and slowly opened his eyes again. "A penlight?" It really was a small penlight Steve had pulled out of his pocket. Since Mark was champion in losing these little, but very effective lamps, the Sloan's had about half a dozen of them lying around at home. Steve had once picked up one, in his job one never knew what it might be good for to have a little more light than available spent.
From the lieutenant himself, however, there was no answer to this question. Scrutinising his friend in the well-pointed ray of light, it almost let him swallow his tongue. Jesse's face was pale and swollen, his eyes and temples framed with gashes. Around his neck there were a few red marks in a strange, seemingly foreseen order. Looking closer, Steve noticed that this pattern was the exact print of what finger-tips of a male hand would leave behind. His friend chest rose and fell flatly, every breath was joined by an obviously painful shudder that stroke his body. Jesse mostly rolled up the sleeves of his shirt a bit, so Steve had a pretty good view a both wrists which were bleeding for some reason. Only when he directed all the brightness of the lamp at the wounds on the wrists, Steve could see the little pieces of wood, partly still visible on the surface of Jesse's clammy skin. Between the splinters, he noticed another one, different to those from the wood. At that point the skin was deep red and looking glazed, its edges marking a perfect red circle. It left no doubt to Steve that the skin was burned. "Damnit, what did that bastard do to you?", he mumbled in undertone, but Jesse was totally listening to him.
"Alphabetically or thematically ordered?...", he replied in mute sarcasm, suppressing a moan because speaking hurt as well.
"But why...", Steve trailed off. The question was pointless, it seemed obvious that Harris was crazy. Crazy men didn't need any reasons to be cruel.
"He wants a confession. He wants me to confess that I killed Jimmy. When I refused to admitt it, he..", Jesse stopped talking, but Steve ended the sentence for him.
"Tortured you...", saying that, his stomach turned around, even more when Jesse attempted a weak nod.
Steve exhaled in rage. How could anybody do this to a human being. More precisely, how could anybody do this to Jesse? Why should anybody feel invited to treat him like this while Jesse treated everyone with respect and affection? Even people who didn't deserve it at all. Steve remembered what Jess had said when Harris had hit him at the hospital. "I still feel sorry for him..."
Next to him Jesse whimpered slightly, but only for a short moment, then he was quiet again.
"Something wrong, Jess?" Great question, Steve cursed himself.
Jesse shook his head while another wave nausea and heat felt as though it was crushing him. However, he collected all his strength to answer. Steve was only in this because of him. It wouldn't help if he worried about something he couldn't change. "No, it's nothing...just feelin' a bit heated..."
The crease on Steve's forehead deepened visibly. His friend was shivering, more, he clattered with his teeth as though he was about to freeze. "Just hang on, Jess. Help will be here soon, they will get us out of here!", he told his friend, glancing at his watch. In this prison with his best friend next to him, randomly coughing, moaning and struggeling for his next breath, every minute passed like an hour to Steve.
As though having paid no attention to what Steve had said, Jesse spoke out his own idea of sorting things out. "You heard him, Steve. He won't let us go just like that. He wants my confession...and if he so badly wants it, I will confess. It doesn't matter anymore..."
Steve's head whirled around, Jesse didn't need to face him to know how he was looking at him. Pure bewilderment speaking from his eyes, Steve shook his head determinedly. "You must be kidding, pal! Do you really think he will be satisfied with you making a simple confession? After that, what do you think, he will do to you?!"
Jesse shrugged. "I don't care...", he muttered under his breath, he felt the pressure in his chest was increasing.
"You are lying, Jess!", Steve had to force himself not to grab his friend and ruttle him out of this nonsense talking. He didn't want to shout, the least he wanted to do was scare Jesse, but he couldn't be serious with that.
In the dim light the penlight was giving them, he could see Jesse shooting him a look. His eyes were glazed, a feverish sparkle lay in them, giving the blue a hazy, yet undistracted expression. "You want the truth?", Jesse winced. As much as he wanted to sound eager, he was in no condition to raise his voice. So he continued hoarsely: "Fact is, that no matter what I did or didn't, no one wants to believe me. So what difference does it make if I make that confession or not? It's probably still gonna save you. You shouldn't even be here, nothing of what happened is your fault!"
"Nor it was yours! You didn't kill Jimmy!" Steve took a deep breath. That wasn't an answer he would have expected to hear from Jesse Travis. What had shattered his best friend's faith in himself so deeply that he didn't want to fight anymore? More calmly he adressed Jesse now:"I know you're innocent, Jesse! And you know that, too! Why do you think, you deserve all this more than anyone else?!"
Obviously also Jesse had run of of strength for a really hostile tone. "But I thought about it! I thought that it was better for everyone if Jimmy had died! I would have spared so many people a lot of pain, him, his family..."
Steve's lips twisted wryly. "Well, I'm some sort of an expert for those matters and all I can tell you is that thinking about it doesn't make you a killer!", he reasoned.
"No, but a bad doctor!", Jesse retorted grievingly. "You don't understand that, Steve, I was just selfish, I wanted to make everything better, but only made it worse. I should have known better than to act like that. My opinion of what is good or bad doesn't give me the right to judge about anybody's life, if it's worth being lived or not ...I failed!"
Steve had been listening in all patience, yet he'd had the feeling that Jesse was more talking to himself. Now, he believed, it was his turn to say something. "I think, I do understand it, Jesse! I see tragedies every day, I see kids killing off their parents, I see parents killing their kids, women who kill their husbands, husbands who beat their wifes to death for money, fun, hatred, frustration or no reason at all. Most of the people who I spent my time with ain't even worth five minutes of it. I know how it is to deal with life and death, I know it sucks. I know how it is if you are willing to change the world and then, in fact, nothing happens. It's frustrating. And thinking that doesn't make you bad at anything and not at all as a doctor. You, my dad and Amanda, you do one hell of a job and if you wouldn't do it, no one would..."
"Thanks Steve. But it doesn't change anything. Harris doesn't believe me as you can see, Brandon Dawn and his superb lawyer don't believe me...even your father doesn't believe me!", Jesse launched, his words several times interrupted by surpressed groaning.
Steve lowered his head, biting on his lip. He had seen how Jesse had grimaced at the mention of his father. Steve felt that it wasn't his turn to explain what his father had been thinking, but he also wouldn't leave it just like that. I could imagine how the doubts of a man that he respected so highly and –and Steve was sure of this- loved so deeply must have hurt Jesse enormously. "As to my father...", Steve started carefully, "He does believe you. Please just give him a chance, I know he has made a terrible mistake, but..."
"No!", Jesse cut in sharply, shaking his head. "Your dad wasn't mistaken. He had all rights not to trust me! They were all right not to trust me...", he lowered his head.
Steve watched him in silent shock. This wasn't Jesse, indeed. Something about him had gone, his friend couldn't figure but it was, but it was an important part of what Jesse Travis was. Steve only knew that he had to help his friend regaining it...very soon.
"I trust you!", Steve said very clearly speaking, leaving Jesse no time to complain, argue, chip in or whatever. "I trust you with my life and I'm certain that you would never violate this trust. But I would never trust the person who sits next to me right now because this is not the Jesse Travis who is my friend and like a brother to me! Jesse wouldn't let go himself just like that, or drown himself in self-pity. Jesse wouldn't give up, even if all fates were against him. Dr Travis would never fail a friend or a patient because he doesn't stop believing in them or in himself. And...", Steve added, playing grumpily, "Jesse would have already stopped me babbeling all this mushy stuff and told me to shut up..."
Jesse grinned softly. "Shut up!", he said.
Steve smiled. "I want my little brother back!"
Jesse nodded. For the first time in days he felt that he had a friend. Maybe the best friend of all.
Despite of the pressure in his chest and the paralysing pain from his arm, Jesse was about to say something, though he knew that he couldn't say anything that would match the gratitude he felt. All of sudden, he recalled what Morton had told him, shortly before that monster of a security man had caused Jesse's arms to crack tormentingly. "It's no crime to lose faith in what you do. You only have to regain it."
For now no words should leave Jesse's mouth. Instead a nearby bang caused both man to wince, and while Steve's all of sudden realarmed cop-mode immediatly started following the bang to its source with his ears, Jesse once more flinched violately. It seemed to to have been a very wrong movement since the pain that spread in his chest within parts of a second felt deadening. Nothing else hurt anymore, just his chest, his chest burned, throbbed and convulsed all at the same time, leaving Jesse no chance to breath whatsoever flatly. His lungs refused to fill with air, as much as he tried, as much he clutched his hands around his chest, it wouldn't help.
Though his ears were still ringing from the shot, Steve could hear the struggeling desperate gasps from his friend and was at his side soon enough, not daring to turn his worried expressions away from his friend's painfully grimacing features. "Jess? What's the matter?", he inquired hastily.
Jesse was almost unable to to speak and when he did so, it was nothing more but a tortured whispering. "I...can't...breath..."
To be continued...