A/N: Wow! Thanks for the awesome reviews! I can't tell you how much I appreciate all those long ones you put effort and time into. It makes me feel so good to know you not only value my work, but you're willing to even discuss it a little. Keep it up! As for reviews that focus mainly on spelling errors, I welcome those, too, but I would be so grateful if you'd also talk about content. Thanks again and lemme know what you think!
Shot Through the Heart
Steve, Jesse, Amanda, and Mark sat in the doctor's lounge. The three scientists poured over Amanda's report and talked back and forth in medical jargon. Steve just drank his coffee, although he did recognize the part where Amanda pointed out there hadn't been any gooey stuff blocking his heart.
"I knew something was wrong!" Jesse finally exclaimed.
"I realize I'm just the lowly cop, but do you three want to clue me in?"
Amanda took over to explain her report. She pointed to a word on it and looked at Steve expectantly; he couldn't even pronounce it, let alone understand what it meant. He eyed her with a cocked brow. "There are some drugs that cause the hart to beat slower; so slow even, that it may appear to have stopped," she finally explained. Sometimes she forgot lay people existed. "It leaves the patient in a coma-like state and without proper distribution of the drug and medical supervision, it can be fatal."
"And you found this drugs in Mr. Harrow's blood?"
"Yes."
"And it definitely shouldn't have been there?"
"Absolutely not."
Steve nodded. "Then it looks like we officially have a murder, making this a police matter. Now don't worry, Jess," Steve precluded the younger man's argument. "I'm not going to leave you out of this; I'm just saying that we can utilize police records and warrants instead of merely your outstanding detective skills."
Jesse rolled his eyes but didn't look upset. As long they found Mr. Harrow's murderer and he was involved, he couldn't complain. "Then tell us, Mr. Super-Detective, what do we do now?"
"I go to the station and run a background check on Miss. Nelson and Mr. Harrow. I would really like to know if Miss. Nelson has any medical background."
"I can check around here and see if she visited him," Mark offered. "I mean, he was only here for a little over twenty-four hours, and half of that was spent in ER."
"And I'll go see if there are any drugs missing from the cabinets and any evidence left in Mr. Harrow's room. I don't see how anyone could get a drug that powerful outside of a hospital."
When the three men left with their assignments, Amanda stayed in the lounge sipping her coffee. Pathology could be so much easier than internal medicine or surgery; her patients never died on her. They didn't have the chance. And they never complained about having to wait for hours or her bedside manner or even cold hands. Actually, they didn't do much complaining at all.
Pete took a deep breath and stepped into the autopsy room. He knew Dr. Bentley wasn't in there, but his goal was to get information of her assistant, Dr. Shishanka Murthathra.
"Oh, hello," the resident said, looking up from his microscope. "Is something wrong?"
"No, no. I just came down to get the file on Mr. William Harrow. Dr. Laky asked to see it for a review."
"Dr. Laky?"
"Yeah, in urology."
"Urology?"
Pete had to push down an eye-roll. "Don't ask me to explain, I'm just running errands. She said she wanted to know if anything unusual showed up in the reports so that's what I'm down here for."
"Oh, Dr. Bentley has the file, but there was certainly some unusual findings!" Shishanka stood and walked towards Pete, his manner almost conspiratorial. "It turns out that Mr. Harrow was murdered!"
"Murdered?"
"Oh, yes! He was drugged to appear to be in cardiac arrest. Can you believe it? A murder in our own hospital!"
Pete feigned disbelief and promised that he would tell Dr. Laky immediately, then high-tailed it to a phone to call Julie. "They did an autopsy."
"And?"
"And I just heard a pathologist use the word "murder" three times in two minutes. Jule, I think we got a real problem here. Let's leave. Let's go to Mexico or something and chill out until this blows over."
"Absolutely not!"
"But they know it only looked like he was in arrest."
There was a long silence on the phone. "Then he wasn't dead when the doctors got to him. So technically the only bloody hands here are the doctor's."
Pete sighed; he knew that tone. "Fine. What do you want to do?"
"Don't worry your pretty little head, Pete. I've got this one. I know the perfect way to discourage everyone from digging around in what isn't their business."
It was three hours later when Mark walked into the doctor's lounge to see Jesse sitting on the couch with a letter in his lap. The young man looked dejected beyond hope.
"Jesse! What's wrong?"
Jesse handed Mark the letter, but never looked his mentor in the eye. Mark put on his glasses and read out loud. "'Dear Dr. Travis, please clarify what killed Mr. Harrow. Was it the cessation of his heart or the unnecessary passage of electricity through his body? Who, exactly, is to blame for his death?' Jesse, who gave this to you?"
"A receptionist. She said she found it at her station."
Mark looked up from the letter, stunned by the pain in his pseudo-son's voice. He truly loved the young man like a child. Oh, sure, he already had a son—one he loved beyond his realm of understanding—but Jesse was always so cheerful and eager, so full of compassion and warmth that it was hard not to love him. "You don't really believe this letter, do you?"
"Believe what?" Steve asked nonchalantly, making his entrance into the lounge with a few envelopes and files. "What letter?"
His father thrust the letter at him, then sat down next to Jesse while Steve read the note. His face instantly clouded with rage and a sense of injustice. "Who sent this?"
Mark could only repeat what Jesse had told him. Steve was not a happy man. "I can't believe this! A murderer walks right into the hospital—after committing the murder—to mock the person who cared for the victim? And whoever did this must know we're onto something, or they wouldn't have sent it! I can't believe the—wait a minute. Did you ask him if he believes this? Jesse, you don't believe this stuff, do you?"
Jesse shrugged. There was a pause before he answered as he struggled to find the words. "It isn't wrong. I mean, he wasn't having a heart attack."
"You are not responsible for this!" Steve yelled forcefully, causing Jesse, and even Mark to some extent, to cringe back. The cop sighed and gave the letter back to his father; he hadn't meant to sound angry. At least, not at Jess. "I'm sorry. It's just—I don't understand how you could believe this."
The young man shrugged again, but his face betrayed his pain and he couldn't even look his friends in the eyes. Steve sat down at the table, totally disgusted with the human race even as Mark put an arm around Jess and tried to soothe his anxiety. Meanwhile, the quietest of the three just looked at the letter in Mark's lap, rereading it over and over again.
"Jesse?" Mark asked softly, feeling the boy's trembling increased. "Jesse, are you okay?"
The doctor finally looked up at Mark as a tear slid down his face. "I think I killed him."