Part Four: Things Not Forgotten
Night was falling, and still they didn't have any more leads on where Steve might have gone. He hadn't show up back at the store, and Mark felt as if they had covered half of the countryside. There were simply too many places to hide in the rural area. The two detectives that Newman had sent out to the area after Mark's call were headed back toward LA. Mark felt that he had little choice but to follow them.
He had gracefully allowed Amanda to take the wheel this time, leaving him to his own distracted musings. Jesse, who had joined them after a double shift, was dozing in the back seat. The dark sedan which belonged to the two detectives was directly ahead of them on the highway. They would be reaching the city limits soon. With each mile that separated them from the Lake Wickobee area, Mark felt as if he was losing that much more ground in finding his son.
Suddenly, the car ahead of them put on a burst of speed, shocking Mark out of his stupor. The blue cherry was turned on as they sped along the highway. "Amanda, keep up with them!" Mark encouraged. "Maybe they've found something about Steve?"
Amanda increased her speed, even as she argued. "They might be going on a police chase, too, Mark. Besides, wouldn't they just call if it was about Steve?" She weaved through the traffic like a professional, sticking with the flashing lights ahead of her.
One particularly abrupt lane change must have awakened Jesse, because he started a disoriented mumbling as he tried to right himself. "What's going on?"
"I'm following the detectives," Amanda replied. "They turned on their lights and starting driving fast." Her eyes remained glued ahead as she spoke. The detectives were taking a ramp off of the interstate.
"Huh?" Jesse sounded incredulous. "You? Maybe they got called for something somewhere?"
"Or maybe it's about Steve?" Mark said.
"That still doesn't mean that we can follow them. Aren't we speeding? Breaking some kind of law?"
"Jesse, I can't believe you're trying to be the voice of reason. Mark's a consultant to the police department. And, well, that's almost like being deputized."
Jesse made a face. "Now that sounds like
something I would say."
If Mark wasn't so worried, he might have found the entire conversation amusing. But, as it was, there was no time for anyone to respond because the officers ahead pulled into an industrial area. A narrow street led into a large parking area. Sirens wailed as other police cruisers, with lights flashing, appeared behind them.
In the parking lot itself, chaos reigned. Men came pouring out of a hulking building heading for motor cycles which were parked alongside a huge tarp covered truck. Mark's heart was in his throat as he urged Amanda to draw up closer to the truck so that he could scrutinize each of them.
But as some of them were getting their bikes moving around the lot, along with the policemen in cruisers trying to stop them, Amanda found that she wasn't sure where to go. So, she simply put the car in park where she was. "We don't want to get in the way, Mark."
Mark didn't take the time to argue with his friend. He simply opened the dark and climbed out into the melee.
~*~
Steve sat with his back against the wall of the dark little room, feeling relief flood his system when he heard the sirens. It was almost over. It had to be. After Doug had announced it was time to go, the bikes and men had been loaded into the back of the tarp-covered truck and then they'd set off. Though Steve had ridden in the front of the big truck with Tiny, he was hard-pressed to keep track of where they were going. He felt so near exhaustion that he could hardly focus on anything for more than a few minutes. Even the aches and pain seemed peripheral.
While the other guys were busy loading whatever stolen goods into the back of the truck, it had been no difficulty for Steve to convince Ray that he couldn't stand any longer and needed to rest for a few minutes. He'd taken the opportunity to sneak into the office sections of the building and find a phone. After having called the operator, he reported that there was a robbery underway in the building and that he couldn't help her with the address.
He'd then settled back onto the floor, leaving the phone off hook, and waited. He wasn't entirely sure that he could move if he wanted to. The sudden acrid smell of smoke changed his mind.
Calling on everything he had left, he made his way stiffly back to his feet and tried to get out of the building. The smoke was getting thick, but he knew the exit door was near. He simply put one foot in front of the other as he headed toward the sound of voices yelling. Some claimed innocence, some yelled derogatory statements to the policemen and others ordered ones to put their hands up. Beyond them all, he heard another voice yelling about the fire, pleading with someone to let him check on the inside of the building. Steve knew that voice. He followed its sound.
He cleared the dock door and half stumbled down the ramp in the direction of the form that was working to escape the restraining arms of a uniformed policeman. He noticed in his peripheral vision that other officers were starting to converge on him, but his primary focus was the white haired man that he would recognize anywhere.
Someone yelled his name. Steve wasn't sure who, because in the next moment, his dad turned toward him. Lines of worry seemed to ravage Mark's face, but right before Steve's eyes, they seemed to soften and ease.
"Steve."
His father's relieved voice reached his ears even though he'd spoken softly. The words echoed through Steve's mind, reverberating with a physical force as memories returned . . . .
It was getting dark out when Steve pushed his bike through the tree covering that led to a small clearing beyond. It was where the vehicles were kept to keep them out of the sight of any who might pass by. He'd nearly gotten through the trees when a gruff voice barked, "I asked you what you were doing near my bike?"
Ray Kreger looked toward Steve as he stepped more fully into the fading light. His expression turned suspicious as he looked at the very quiet Ruhaas before returning his gaze to Steve. "You in on this with him?"
Steve looked toward Ruhaas and read the worry behind the could-care-less expression. He'd known Ruhaas since he'd taught him how to ride when he was 17 years old, and he knew that the young man was scared. This was one of the younger officer's first undercover ops. Something must have gone wrong. He focused back on Kreger and affected the gritty attitude that was rampant among the gang members. "In what with him? I just came to stow my bike."
"He was messing around with my cycle," Kreger growled.
Steve grunted noncommittally while he pushed motorcycle toward the other vehicles lined up in two neat rows. "Maybe he likes it," he muttered, moving in closer. He'd seen something in Kreger's hand and thought he had an idea of what had gone wrong. If Kreger had found the tracking devices, there was no way that the operation could be saved. He was hoping to get himself and his bike between Ruhaas and the other man. If they hit hard and fast, they could get the drop on Kreger and perhaps get away before he was able to sound an alarm. If Kreger got off a yell, though, they'd have twelve no-holds-barred bikers on their backs in a moment.
"No, I don't think so." Kreger shoved a handful of small squarish devices toward him. "He was up to something else. Found these on some of the other bikes. You might want to check yours."
Steve looked down at them, and prepared to throw himself bodily at the other man. But in that instant, something happened. Ruhaas pushed the first of the neatly lined bikes and three of them tumbled like dominoes.
While Kreger was reacting, Ruhaas jumped on his bike, started it and headed off through the field behind them. Steve cursed under his breath, jumped on his own bike and followed.
He'd just started out after Ruhaas when he heard gunfire behind him, he thought he saw Ruhaas flinch up ahead in the growing darkness, but couldn't be sure. Either way, he didn't slow down, but kept up his speed across the rough terrain.
The ride was harrowing dashing between trees and shrubbery, but Ruhaas managed to make it to the road with Steve fast on his trail. Unfortunately, so were Kreger and whomever else had been spurred into action by that gunshot. Full night was upon them as they sped along the back country roads. Ruhaas was riding like a mad man and Steve was pushing it in the hopes of catching up to the other man before someone else did. Already, some of the other guys with more powerful bikes were gaining behind them.
They were on a straight stretch and Steve had managed to come up nearly alongside Ruhaas. It was only a matter of time now before they were overtaken, and then there would be real trouble. He could hear the sound of the throaty bass of their engines as the others drew ever closer.
Ruhaas turned his head toward Steve and started to try to yell something. Before he could speak, there was a spark at the back of his bike as someone behind them took a shot. The bullet impacted somewhere along the rear of the machine. Bits of rubber and plastic began to come off the bike directly into the path of Steve's front tire.
Ruhaas' head turned abruptly forward, and Steve knew that maintaining control was the young man's primary focus now. Steve backed off a bit, giving him room. He seemed to be pulling it off when a bit of the debris flew off Ruhaas' bike and got caught beneath one of Steve's tires.
The younger cop shot forward as Steve began his own struggle. The road was narrow and they were heading into a turn now, the other bikes were nearly upon them. By the time he regained control Steve could only think of one option. It was a dangerous maneuver, but he'd done it before in stunt shows. He fought to cut back on his speed so that he could swing out into a side skid. But suddenly, something in the road flew out at his tires. There was nothing he could do as he'd already started the bike into the precarious leaning position.
The engine revved loudly as one of the tires abruptly left the ground. Steve felt the sick sensation of being unpleasantly airborne. He didn't remember the hard stop.
Steve came back to the present to the disorienting sensation of falling. The sound of the motor cycle's engine still echoed in his head even as the sound of hazy voices registered all around him. He couldn't make sense of any of it. But gentle hands had taken hold of him, easing him downward. Through fading vision he saw his father's worried expression. "Dad," he whispered the word. Then looking beyond his dad, he caught sight of two more familiar faces. "Jess. 'Manda."
All of the struggle and the fight went out of him. He was finally home. The tiniest of smiles touched his face as he closed his eyes and gave in to the night.
~*~
Steve opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Aside from feeling some residual aches, he didn't feel too bad. Still a little tired, perhaps, but definitely much better than the last time he remembered having his eyes open.
Looking around, he was happy to find it very familiar. He was in a room at Community General. The only thing missing was his father beside the bed. He didn't have much time to worry about it though as he heard his voice from the hall outside of the door.
Steve smiled at the comfort just the familiar sound brought. Briefly contemplating his temporary memory loss, he felt fairly certain that everything had returned. But it had been disconcerting, to say the least, to be unable to recall 20 years of one's life. He was half afraid that it might happen again. He made up his mind then and there that if his dad wanted him to stay in the hospital a few more days and go through a million tests, he would do it. Gladly. He couldn't risk losing all the memories that he had made with his family and friends over the years. Even the bad times were precious to him.
And he was happy to know that for the moment he remembered everything. Even the times when he had been missing chunks of his life. He hoped the Ruhaas had gotten away safely. He would have to remember to ask his dad. Unfortunately, he hadn't been conscious to even make a memory of how that event ended for everyone else.
"I see you're awake," Mark interrupted his musings. A warm smile was spread across his face as he continued on toward the side of the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Whole again." Steve drank in the sight of his father. It was that he didn't appreciate him, but having had his world turned on its side, however briefly, had given him a renewed appreciation for how fortunate he was to have such a relationship with his dad.
"You're looking better, too." Mark replied as he rested a hand on the side of the bed. Close, but not quite touching. "I take it all of your memories have returned?"
"Yes. It all came back when I walked out of that warehouse and saw you."
Mark's expression softened. "For a while there I was pretty worried," he admitted. "Especially when Newman showed up and Officer Ruhaas couldn't help us."
"So he did get out?" Steve asked, relief in his voice. "They moved the camp after he got away. I realize that now."
"He got out, but he was hurt pretty badly. Fortunately some boy scouts found him in the woods. He's still in ICU, and he's going to have a long road ahead of him, but I think he's going to be okay."
Steve was glad that he'd gotten away, but saddened that he'd been so gravely injured. Ruhaas was a good cop who had just been frightened by the situation. He regretted that he hadn't been able to keep him safe. He blew out a heavy breath. "That's too bad. Things got a little sketchy out there for a while."
He saw the acknowledgement in his father's gaze. He remembered how he had sounded over the phone when he'd called him from that store. It couldn't have been easy for his father to hear that he didn't remember something as important as his mother's death and the location of his sister. "I'm sorry I worried you."
"Oh, there is nothing for you to apologize for," Mark scoffed. "You did the best you could with the situation you were in. And, unless I miss my guess, you even managed to contact the authorities from that factory despite the injuries you were suffering."
"I might have a vague recollection of doing that," Steve admitted, with a grin. He sighed, then, "Dad, please tell me that I'm never going to lose my memory like that again. I don't think I could stand it."
"I can't promise you that, Steve," Mark said gently. "Memory can be a funny thing. But I can tell you that along with dehydration, a moderate concussion and quite a surprising array of cuts, abrasions and contusions, I believe that you were also suffering from a condition known as Transient Global Amnesia or TGA. Opinions vary widely on what causes it from restricted blood flow to certain portions of the brain, to intrathoracic pressure. I think that blow to your head contributed to your experiencing TGA. The condition usually clears up in 1 to 24 hours."
"So what does that mean?" Steve asked, conditional relief flooding his system. "Am I all clear, or are you going to tell me that I need some more tests and observation or something?"
"Well, you do still have a concussion, so you're not out of here scott-free. And a neurologist is going to follow up with you. But, TGA clears up on its own with no medical intervention needed. I think you're going to be just fine."
When Mark started to move slightly away, turning toward the chair that sat near the foot of the bed, Steve reached forward and touched the hand that was still lying on the bed. He wasn't quite ready for that much space yet. Mark turned back, immediately attentive at the contact.
"You know, through everything, there was something that I didn't forget," Steve told him. The emotion in the words came out more readily than under normal circumstances. Though Steve knew that it was probably just an after-affect, he didn't want to hold them back. His father deserved to hear them, and he needed to say them.
"Yeah? What's that?" Mark asked him.
Steve didn't hesitate. "That I love you, and what a great dad you are."
His father's eyes softened, and they both seemed to move automatically into a rare embrace. Mark's softly spoken words came from over his shoulder. "I feel the same way about you. I love you, son."
The End
End Notes: For those who might have noticed, I wrote this story before I saw Blast From The Past and realized that Mark bought Steve a dirt bike when he was a young boy. I had thought to modify the story to match this episode, but then decided against it because I think it rather works for the story. So, please forgive that bit of creative license, and consider this one Alternate Universe as far as the bikes go.
If anyone is interested, this link has info on Transient Global Amnesia: (see, I really didn't make it up - although I might have skewed it just a bit to suit my needs)