Part Three: Things Found

Mark had gone quite some distance before it occurred to him that he might be getting out of earshot of the others. He was preparing to turn around and head back when he saw something glinting up ahead, just off the road.

He moved toward it, squinting as the early afternoon sun flashed off of it. He wasn't sure that it would mean anything, but he wanted to check out every possible lead that might help him to find Steve. It wasn't like him not to call, or at least let someone know what was going on. He knew without a doubt that his son was in trouble.

He had to scramble around some thick roadside bushes to get to the shiny object, and when he finally had it in hand all that he could do was stare numbly at it. It was the front edge of an Acer-B motor bike fender. It had once been a gleaming silver color, but was pitted with dirt and debris.

Mark remembered the day Steve had ordered just such a fender for his bike. A chill swept over him and his grip tightened on the piece of metal. It looked as if it had been sheered off from contact with something hard and unforgiving. Silver fenders weren't all that uncommon, but what were the odds that one the same color as Steve's would be found out here on the side of the road. The same road near where Ruhaas had been found.

A sudden thought occurred to him. What if Steve was still out here, as well? "Jesse! Amanda!" He began to frantically call to his friends. Despite the fact that Newman said that a team had covertly gone over the area, he felt the need to start a search. He had to find the answers for himself.

He trudged farther into the bushes, looking around, seeking any sign that his son was there. There had to be more to the motorcycle. "Steve!" he called, moving through the dense growth. "Steve! Are you out there?"

"Mark, what is it? What'd you find?" Jesse and Amanda appeared behind him at a run. "Where's Steve?" They skidded to a halt as Mark's phone started to ring.

He snatched it out of his pocket almost distractedly. The number on the caller ID wasn't one that he recognized. He had a lead to finding his son. Whoever it was, he intended to get rid of them quickly so that he could get back to the task at hand.

"Yes. This is Mark Sloan." His voice came out more sharply than he'd intended.

"Dad?" The quiet, insecure voice that greeted his ears froze him to the spot. For a half second he almost forgot to breathe.

"Steve? Steve is that you? Where are you, son?" The fender fell from his hand, completely forgotten.

"Dad." Steve's voice sounded so weak and unsteady. "I don't know. Can I come home?" 

Mark frowned. "Of course you can come home." He moved out of the bushes and headed along the road toward the car. "Tell me where you are and I'll come get you. Jesse and Amanda are with me, right now."

There was silence for several seconds on the other end of the line, then, "Can Mom and Carol come with you, Dad? I really miss them."

Mark stopped. "Steve? Son, your mom died, and Carol lives up in Barstow, remember? I can't bring them with me." He spoke the words slowly and carefully, but an urgency began within him. He reached into his pocket and handed Jesse the keys, directing him toward the car. The younger man took off at a run. "Where are you, Steve? Just tell me the name of the place and I'll find you."

There was a weighted silence from the opposite end of the connection. "Steve?" Mark spoke into the void, hoping that his son was still there. "Please tell me where you are."

A sound, almost like a sob sounded and then Steve spoke urgently into the phone. "I've gotta go, Dad. I'll call you again when I can." There was a soft click and then there was nothing.

Mark pulled the phone from his ear and began to go through the menu commands on his phone. He had to find the number that Steve had called from.

"Mark, what happened? What did he say?" It was Amanda. Mark had forgotten that she was standing there.

"That was Steve, but something was very, very wrong. I've gotta find out where he is."

~*~

Steve somehow managed to stumble out of the store and back to the truck. He'd wanted to ask his dad more questions, but Ray had come in and he didn't want to try to explain the phone call. And he didn't think he could deal with whatever else his father might have to tell him. From the sound of things, he had been gone for a while and his father wanted to know where he was.

Mark Sloan was the kindest, most loving person that he'd ever known. He couldn't imagine why he might leave without keeping in touch with him. But for now, he needed a minute to come to terms with the fact that his mother had died. How could he have forgotten that?

Settling heavily into the passenger side seat, he rested his head back and closed his eyes. His world felt so out of control. All he had to hold on to was the crumpled piece of paper on which he'd written the number that the hospital had given him when he'd quietly identified himself and asked to speak to Dr. Mark Sloan, and the remains of the battered twenty that he'd found in his pocket. It was all too much. He felt tears welling and a wave of grief coming that he was sure would overwhelm him. And then suddenly it was clear.

Cancer. His mom had died of cancer. He gasped as the realization hit, as well as other memories that accompanied it. They came at him in a slow rush. Himself going through the paces at the police academy. Graduating. His first patrol. But things began to fade after that.

Before he could come to terms with the fact that at some point in his life he'd become a police officer, Jake was climbing back into the truck beside him. As wordless as the trip in, they headed out of the parking lot. This time Steve forced himself to remain awake. He had to figure out what was going on.

~*~

Jesse pulled Mark's sedan to a stop near the camping store that they'd earlier visited. He was sure that he'd broken every back-road traffic law in his haste to return to the place where Steve had made the phone call from. During the high speed journey Mark had contacted Newman to explain their current situation. Once he put the car into park, they all climbed out and headed into the store.

"Is this the man who used the phone?" Mark displayed the 3" x 4" image of Steve that he'd brought with him. Jesse felt his own anxiety building within himself as the attendant took the photo from Mark's fingers and studied it for several moments. He was sure that neither he, Mark nor Amanda drew breath while they waited for the man's response.

After several moments the man nodded and handed the photo back. "Yeah, I believe it was. If you clean him up a bit. He really didn't look all that good, kinda pale, you know?"

"Where did he go?" Mark asked, immediately looking about the store.

"Sorry Mister." The attendant seemed to genuinely sympathize. "You just missed him. After he got off the phone, he headed straight out the door and went and sat in an old truck in the parking lot. He kinda looked like he'd just lost his best friend . . . ." 

Jesse rushed over to the doors and looked outward, his mind still focused on what the man was saying. His heart sank when he noted that the lot was empty save for Mark's car and a rusty blue Chevy Cavalier.

The attendant spoke more loudly as he followed Jesse's movements. "Uh . . . He left with the other guy."

"What other guy?" Mark wanted to know. Jesse moved back toward the group, anxious to hear the answer.

"The one who came in while he was on the phone. When he came in, the guy there in the picture got off in a hurry. Then with the other guy left, he got in the truck, too, and they drove off together. Couldn't have been gone more than a minute before you showed up."

Mark seemed to deflate at the news. "Did you see which way they went?" The question hadn't been asked with a lot of enthusiasm.

The man shrugged. "The road starts out past the filling station. I can't see which way they turned from here."

Mark acknowledged with a small nod and slipped his picture back into his pocket. "Thanks."

"Did you know the other man?" Amanda asked the attendant. "Have you ever seen him around here before?"

"Sorry." The attendant shook his head. "I've never seen him before. Looked like a drifter to me."

"Well, are there any hotels or lodges anywhere that you think he might have gone to? Did he say anything?" That question from Mark.

The attendant shrugged. "All the man wanted was a half dozen tubes of fire paste. Sounds like he's camping outside if you ask me. Since Parks & Rec took over some of the land around here there's been a lot of talk of marking trails and setting up rules and stuff, but aside from some old abandoned places up in the hills there's just the Motel 6 down the road, private property and a lot of empty spaces. Sorry I can't be more helpful to you."

~*~

Steve leaned heavily against the side of the old house and closed his eyes. Just for a moment. He rubbed the fingers of one hand against his temples, hoping that in some small manner it might lesson the painful ache in his head. Even the light of the sun where it poked through the trees hurt his eyes. It was making it hard for him to think straight, and the aspirin wasn't helping. Further clouding his thoughts was the fact that he was so tired. So very, very tired . . . .

He jerked awake as his body began to relax against the building. He was about to fall asleep right there leaning against the outer wall. But he couldn't afford to sleep right now. He now knew that he had gone to the police academy. Sure it had been a while ago, but no way did he believe he belonged here with these men. He couldn't accept that. There was something illegal going on there, but he just wasn't sure how he could prove it. He only knew that he needed to find out what it was so that he could call in the police and then he could go home. Home was the reward at the end of figuring out what was going on at the farm.

Pushing himself away from the building, he began another circuit around the yard. He'd done a head count and knew that excluding himself there were twelve men on the property. He'd discovered a kind of hierarchy among the ranks. Doug was the leader, and Ray Kreger seemed to be his right hand man. They talked often in subdued tones. Beyond that there seemed to be several cliques where no group seemed to trust the other. But all of them came together beneath Doug and Ray's authority. Steve figured that had something to do with the fact that Doug and Ray were armed at all times. 

He headed around toward the back of an old barn that was a part of the property. Ray and Doug had gone back there several times during the day. Since it was shielded from the rest of the yard, Steve wondered if there was something back there worth checking out.

He sighed at the relief that came as he walked along the side of the barn that wasn't exposed to the sun. The dimness brought on by being in the shadow of the building was a relief to his eyes. All of the motorcycles were lined up neatly there. Kreger was busy working on one that looked like it had seen better days.

The man looked up and pinned him with a look. Steve stared back, caught in the moment as a new memory flooded his mind.

That was his bike. He remembered the day that he'd purchased it. He was a young patrol officer at the time and had used money from his savings account. He'd worried about what his dad might think, but he'd taken care to learn as much as possible ahead of time.

After a couple of days of screwing up his courage, he'd invited Mark out to lunch one day where he'd broken the news. He'd been so worried that he'd just blurted it out, and then before his father had even spoken, had started to feel defensive. But, as usual, his father surprised him, letting him know that he trusted him. The memory touched him to his heart. He so loved his dad.

Steve came back to the present and found that the world was tilting around him. His back was up against the barn and his knees must have left him at some point. Kreger was again in his face.

"That's twice, Mick. You're gonna owe me big."

Steve pulled himself together enough to shrug the other man's hands off of his arm. "Yeah. Right." He made his way to his feet and looked at the other man, but in his mind he was remembering another. One with kind eyes and a gentle way about him. 

Kreger merely laughed and went back to working on what Steve now realized what his own bike. It wasn't in too good a condition, but it was repairable, though not anytime soon. Before Steve could decide whether there was anything aside from motorcycles to be found behind the barn, he heard Doug yelling from the yard. It was time to go.