Part 9 Portents Realised
Jesse pushed his way through the doors, he was about thirty yards behind Steve and just had time to turn and shield his face as the window that ran down the edge of the corridor exploded into a million shards of glass. He felt the heat as the debris peppered his back, the blast of air feeling like a boiling windstorm as it pushed him into the wall. The noise was painful forcing his hands to cover his ears in a reflex reaction. For a moment the shock robbed him of the ability to breathe, his lungs tightening painfully until the lack of oxygen forced a reflex that compelled him to take a huge gasping breath, only to inhale an acrid mix of dust and smoke in air that was still too hot. He coughed and moved his hand from his ear to his mouth trying to filter out the worst of the dust as he took another more cautious breath. He felt firm hands on his shoulders.
"Dr. Travis. . . Jesse," a welcomingly familiar voice spoke somewhere close to him, "Are you all right?" Nathan asked as he pulled the doctor back through the nearby fire doors that had protected the corridor beyond.
Jesse opened his eyes and blinked as they stung, instantly beginning to water with the dust. It took him a few moments to draw in enough clear air to speak. He leant against the wall, taking the opportunity to order his thoughts and decide on a plan of action. He looked up at Nathan and the three uniformed officers who stood with him. "Steve and Mark were in there when the explosion hit," he stated, his voce showing none of the shakiness that he felt, as he exercised a well practiced control, borne of working for many years in the crisis environment of the ER. "I saw them go down. There may be others in one of the ORs." He pushed himself off the wall. "We'll need medical, rescue and fire crews. I'm going to see what I can do." He was moving back towards the door as he spoke.
Nathan nodded. "OK I'm with you." He turned quickly towards one of the uniformed officers, "Spencer, get us some back up now." He glanced at the other two. "Driver, Peters, coordinate the help when it gets here."
Jesse waited for him to finish, pushing the door open as Nathan turned back to join him.
The corridor was still full of dust that hung cloyingly in the air, limiting vision to only a few feet. Jesse picked his way cautiously through the debris and glass that littered the floor. There were small fires still burning in the room that ran alongside, casting an orange glow through the dust and dim light and adding to the smoke that made him want to cough with each breath.
Jesse was almost on top of Steve before he realised it. The door, blasted off it's hinges, had landed on top of him so that only his head and shoulders were visible above it. Jesse quickly stepped round so that Nathan could get to the other side. "Steve," he said, trying to assess his friend's condition from the little he could see. "It's OK buddy, take it easy we're here to help," he added reassuringly. Steve seemed to be conscious if a little dazed. He was trying ineffectually to lift the door from his chest.
Steve struggled to clear his thoughts, his confused mind still trying to process the overwhelming sensory input from the explosion. He was aware of a ringing in his ears and the tightness in his chest from breathing in dust laden air. A brief panic gripped him as he tried to move and couldn't, but as awareness returned he realised that there was something on top of him that was restricting his movement. He tried to focus so that he could coordinate his limbs to remove whatever the something was, but somehow his mind wouldn't send the necessary signals, and there was another niggling concern that would not form into coherent thought. Another reason he urgently needed to move. Something he should be worried about.
Jesse's familiar voice cut through the haze as he tried to let the thought take shape. He blinked teared eyes and looked up trying to bring his friend's face into focus. It took him a moment to realise that whatever had been pressing down on him had been removed. He was about to say something when the memories finally connected with his consciousness. "Dad," he gasped out desperately, as he remembered the reason he was there. He began to look around and tried to sit up. This time the panic did take hold, his confused senses unable to exert any control over the fear response, as he realised that he didn't know what had happened to his father.
Jesse had been trying to quickly assess Steve's injuries, checking for anything that could be life threatening, well aware that he still needed to check on Mark whom he had spotted only a few feet away. He caught the adrenaline spike and the panic response instantly and firmly placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. He needed to get him calm.
"Dad," Steve turned his panicked gaze to his friend. "Jesse, you've got to find my dad he was. . . " He struggled against the hands that held him down.
"Steve it's OK," Jesse said firmly, "He's right behind me and I still need to check on him but first I need you to calm down and lie still for me, all right?"
Something in Jesse's confident and familiar tones and the hands that carefully restrained him, cut through the panic. He instinctively knew that he could trust the reassurances, knew that at the moment he would be more of a hindrance than a help, Jesse needed to be able to concentrate on helping his father, not dealing with him. So he repressed the strong urge to act himself and nodded, letting the fight drain away as he sank back to the floor.
Satisfied that Steve was not in any immediate danger and that he wasn't going to try to move, Jesse turned his attention to Mark. He turned and scooted across the small gap that separated him from the older doctor, not raising himself from the ground.
"Mark," he said trying to get the dazed doctor's attention.
Mark had managed to pull himself to a sitting position leaning against the wall. He turned his head towards Jesse as he tried to arrange his thoughts, still unsure as to what had happened or why he had found himself lying on the floor in a darkened corridor. He coughed against the smoke that filled his lungs. "Jess," he focussed bleary eyes on Jesse's face. "What happened?"
"An explosion," Jesse supplied without elaborating. "Are you hurt, in any pain?"
"No, I'm fine," Mark said shaking his head, but wincing slightly to counter his statement.
Jesse sighed wondering if Steve's stubborn refusal to accept his own limitations sometimes, weren't inherited or at least learnt from his father who, although he thankfully had less cause to test his stoicism, still found it difficult to be a patient and get his own ills treated. With gentle fingers Jesse probed Mark's head to find the source of his pain and found a developing swelling on the back right of Mark's skull.
Mark hissed in a breath as Jesse's fingers touched it. "I think I hit the wall."
"Did you lose consciousness?"
"No, I don't think so," Mark replied, gently shifting to test that the rest of his statement hadn't been a lie. Apart from numerous aches and twinges and a throbbing headache, there were no sharp pains, no areas of numbness that might indicate more serious injury.
"OK," Jesse nodded completing his own initial exam. "We'll have you and Steve out of here in no time."
The mention of his son brought with it a stab of fear, although the memory of what had happened stubbornly refused to return, Mark knew that Jesse had mentioned an explosion. "Steve, was he here when. . ."
"He's fine Mark," Jesse interrupted. "He pushed you out of the way of the blast, but he's going to be fine. Now I need you to keep still so that I can check on him. OK?" Jesse hadn't felt guilty moments earlier when he had used Steve's concern for his father to force him to relax and calm himself, and he did not feel guilty now about repeating the tactic with Mark. He was grateful that their injuries appeared to be minor but they had still inhaled a lot of smoke and dust, and panic would not improve either man's condition. As he turned his attention back to Steve, he was grateful to see help in the form of medical teams arriving.
--
Dr. Bill Taylor sighed in his exasperation at his three patients, none of whom seemed prepared to follow his advice.
"Look Bill," Mark took the lead in trying to quell his colleagues' unease. "When all of this is over, we'll be able to get the rest that you suggest but someone is killing people in this hospital and we have to stop them."
"He's already killed at least three people," Steve took up the argument, "And if the hospital hadn't been made blast proof when it was rebuilt, he might have killed a lot more."
Bill nodded, he knew that what they were saying made sense, knew that they were all too much an integral part of what was going on for him to have any hope of persuading them to take the rest that their bodies needed after the trauma they had suffered, but he also knew that he would not be doing his job if he did not try. Mark and Jesse both had head injuries that at the very least needed monitoring and he was worried about the amount of smoke that all three men had inhaled. Steve had bruising covering virtually his entire left side where the door had pushed him to the floor and he had various cuts from flying glass that had needed minor sutures, but overall they had been lucky. The door had protected Mark and Steve from the worst of the heat from the explosion and Jesse had been far enough away for the real sting to have gone before it reached him. Their injuries could all have been much worse.
"All right," Bill acquiesced, "you all know what symptoms to look out for and I don't suppose that under the circumstances you'll be venturing too far from the hospital, so I'll get a nurse to fill out these prescriptions for you. Just promise me that you'll all try to take it easy and you'll have me paged if there are any problems."
The three men nodded their agreement. "Thanks, Bill," Mark said, clasping his hand on his friend's shoulder, "We appreciate your help."
Steve and Jesse had already stood and were making good their escape from the room before Bill, or Mark for that matter, changed their minds and tried to persuade them to be admitted, leaving others to solve the crime. They both had enough aches to remind them that they should be lying in bed and allowing their bodies to recover from the various physical and emotional traumas of the last twenty four hours, and they both had equally powerful motivators that would prevent them from doing that
Mark waited until they were out of earshot before adding. "Don't worry I'll keep my eye on them."
Bill Taylor turned from watching the two men leave to meet Mark's gaze. "And who's going to keep an eye on you?" He asked only half joking.
--
"Maybe he was right," Jesse said, resignedly sinking down into the leather chair in Mark's office, his gaze dropping to the floor.
Steve looked up from the files he was retrieving, he had headed straight for Mark's desk and the personnel files that were there, keen to make a fresh start, this time with Jesse's help, at looking for possible suspects. He looked confused at Jesse's comment and tried to trawl back through his memories of recent conversations to see if he could figure out who was right and what they could be right about. He realised that up to that point his friend had been uncharacteristically silent, apart from asking him how he was feeling there had been very little conversation. He gave up when nothing came to mind. "Who was right about what?" He asked.
"The porter," Jesse said, not looking up from the floor. "He said that I should leave, get out of here, Maybe the attacks, the killings would stop if. . ."
"Jess," Steve interrupted, sighing inwardly as he recognised his friend's guilt once more, he had half expected this to come out sooner, had seen the look of guilt and pain that had crossed his friend's features when he had been helping to treat his father down in the ER, stubbornly refusing to let anyone check on his injuries until he was sure that neither Steve nor Mark was seriously hurt, and then only accepting treatment when they were both resting comfortably. Given the guilt that the young doctor felt for the injuries and deaths of strangers, he could only imagine how hard it must be for his friend, thinking himself responsible for almost getting Mark killed. "I don't think that it would make a difference where you were," Steve continued, "this maniac would go on killing, as long as they know that they are getting to you, which, by using your story, they can do wherever you are."
"But. . . maybe if. . ."
"No, Jess, look, you've got to stop blaming yourself for what is happening around you, for what someone else is doing to you."
Jesse finally looked up to meet his friend's gaze. "I was almost responsible for getting you and Mark killed this afternoon." The volume of his voice had dropped to barely above a whisper, a stark contrast with the confident professional tones that he had used to reassure his friend in the aftermath of the explosion. "And, whatever you say, it would have been my fault." There was a pause as both his gaze and his tone dropped further. "I don't think I could live with that." The last sentence was spoken as much to himself as to Steve.
"Don't think you could live with what?" Mark asked from the doorway. Both Steve and Jesse looked up, slightly startled, neither had heard the door open. Steve was surprised that his father had heard the softly spoken phrase.
"He thinks he's responsible for what happened. . . for what almost happened to you this afternoon." Steve supplied when it was clear that Jesse was not going to answer the question.
Steve felt reassured by his father's arrival partly because he knew that Mark would help Jesse deal with his mercurial emotions, and partly because he was finding it difficult to shake the fear of loss that had pervaded his senses ever since he had received the call from the computing section that afternoon. He had insisted on staying in the same room whilst Mark was being treated and had only just managed to stop short of insisting that he accompany his father when he was taken for a CT scan and X-ray. Seeing him walk through the door now, slightly paler and moving a little more slowly than was usual, but nonetheless alive and well, brought Steve some measure of relief from the fear he hadn't consciously acknowledged that he had been feeling.
Mark met Jesse's gaze, then shook his head slowly. "No Jess, there's no way you can hold yourself responsible for what happened this afternoon." He moved towards his desk. "I mean there is no way on earth that you would have compared me to Dr. Romano would you?"
It took Jesse a moment to process the unexpected question and it had the effect that Mark had wanted, making Jesse shift his thinking.
Mark knew from the confused expression that now crossed Jesse's features, replacing the guilty one that had been there, that his tactic was working. He continued to speak as he moved across the room "I mean the man is pompous and overbearing and shows no consideration for either his patients or his staff, the man is nothing like me." He fixed Jesse with his gaze, "Is he?" He asked earnestly.
Jesse's mind worked for a moment on the comparison. "No, nothing," he replied.
"Well maybe there's something in the pompous part," Steve interjected, unable to resist the gentle jibe as he joined in with his father's distraction.
Mark shot him a withering look that held no venom, trying to resist a smirk. "As I said the man is nothing," he emphasised the word, "like me. So you can't be responsible for what happened to me. Only the killer would have made that comparison."
Jesse tried to make sense of the skewed logic, unable for the moment to counter Mark's argument, the guilt temporarily abated.
"In fact," Mark sat as he continued his reasoning. "I don't know whether to be more upset that someone tried to kill me, or that they compared me to such an unsympathetic character."
Steve marveled at the way his father worked, deliberately lightening the mood, despite the seriousness of what they were facing. Jesse had been spiraling down into a well of guilt and depression, but his expression and the dark cloud that seemed to have been settling over him were both lifting. Still, he also acknowledged that this was only possible because they had all emerged relatively unscathed from the incident. They might not be so lucky next time. He forced his attention back to the files.
"So, Jess, you going to help me go through these personnel files again, see if you can spot anyone familiar."
Jesse looked across at his friend, "Sure," he said.
Steve distributed the files around and the three men began working their way through them.
--
Nathan's knock on the door about half an hour later came as a welcome relief, Steve stood and stretched aching muscles and stiffening joints as the young detective entered.
Nathan greeted them making polite inquiries about how they were all feeling before he got round to reporting his progress. "I've got a preliminary report back from forensics on the device in the OR, it was rigged to an anaesthetic and oxygen cylinder, and seemed to have some sort of timer delay on it. There was a remote contact switch on the door."
"So it was designed to go off a few seconds after someone walked into the room?" Steve asked, remembering that there hadn't been long between him shouting as his father pushed the door open and the explosion going off.
Nathan nodded, "Just long enough for someone to get through the doors and take the full force of the blast."
Steve's jaw clenched as his mind formed images of what might have happened if he had arrived just a few seconds later, and it took a conscious effort to shake them and remind himself that he had arrived in time and that his father was all right. He cursed the killer in tones too soft to be heard. "Has anyone at the station come up with anything."
Nathan shook his head. "Nothing except to confirm that there is no one that Jesse has helped you to put away who is out on the streets. They are all either serving life sentences or on Death Row for their crimes and we've confirmed the location of all of them. So unless it's a friend or relative it doesn't look like the motive comes from cases that Jesse's helped out on. We may have to look for our psychopath elsewhere."
Something in what Nathan said, triggered a thought in Steve's mind. He could almost feel the cogs turning, the gears sliding into place and locking, as the idea took shape. "Maybe it's not a case he helped on. . ." Steve said his mind still working through the possibilities, the checks he would have to make.
"You got something?" Mark asked, recognising the shift in his son's mood.
Steve looked round, his thoughts still clearly distracted, "What? . . Oh, it may be nothing," he said, as three expectant pairs of eyes gazed at him. He didn't really have anything beyond an idea but it was something that was worth checking out. "Its just another angle that we haven't looked at." There was a slight pause whilst he considered giving them more details but one look at Jesse was enough to decide him against it. He really didn't need to be reminded of traumatic incidents from his past on top of what was happening at the moment. He would only need to tell him about it if something came of the idea. "I'm going to head for the station, check a few things out. I'll let you know what I find. You keep going on the personnel files."
"Do you want me to get someone to drive you?" Nathan asked, concerned by Steve's stiff movements and the dark circles under his eyes.
"No, I'll be OK," he said moving for the door, He met Nathan's gaze. "Just make sure neither of these two get into any trouble whilst I'm gone."
"Easier said than done," Nathan replied, but nodded. "I'll do my best."
Satisfied Steve hurried off as quickly as his battered limbs would allow. Some instinct told him that he was on to something, so the sooner he could check his theory out the better.
--
Jesse read the file again and tried to figure out what was wrong with what he was reading but he couldn't quite make the connection. The file was for a Paul Bilson, the hospital porter who had attacked him that morning. He had been working at the hospital for the last six months having transferred from a secure mental facility, out of state, his references were good and although Jesse recognised the address as being in an apartment complex a few blocks from the hospital, he had never been in the area, as it wasn't one of the more salubrious neighborhoods. He also couldn't recall any other connection with the man, apart from the encounter that morning and yet, something was nagging at him. Before he could consider it further, Nathan's cell phone began to ring.
All three men froze from their tasks as Nathan retrieved the phone from his pocket, he glanced at the display as he hit the connect and moved it to his ear. "Computing section," he stated quietly for the benefit of the other two men, confirming their fears. The tension in the room rose a notch.
Nathan listened intently, his brow creasing in confusion as he absorbed what he was being told. He hit the disconnect and looked across at Jesse. "Well it looks like the killer has changed their MO and has stopped using the stuff you've written. The latest chapter ends with an attack on a detective Slade in the hospital parking lot."
The reaction of both doctors took Nathan by surprise, as both visibly paled the colour draining from their cheeks.
"Oh God, Steve!" Jesse exclaimed. "We have to find him and warn him now."
Mark was already standing shakily, the file he had been holding, falling forgotten to the floor. "Lieutenant Slade is so obviously based on Steve," he explained as he began to move. "That's who they're going after next." He was at the door. "Come on I know where he parks."
"I'll try his cell," Nathan said as he moved to follow.
"No use," Jesse said, "it was destroyed when he was caught in the explosion."
--
The three man emerged into the parking lot at a run and frantically scanned the area for Steve or his truck. "I don't understand," Mark stated, "he always parks here."
"Unless he left already?" Jesse suggested.
"No," Mark shook his head, "he didn't have that much of a start on us."
"And he would've responded to dispatch by now if he was in his car. They've been trying to radio him since I called this in." Nathan's own frustration with the situation was beginning to show. "Damn, if only we'd had advanced warning of this I could have had his car covered."
Mark was caught up in his own concerns. "Why would he park somewhere different?" he asked, still looking round, as though there might be something he had missed.
Jesse forced himself to look up into Mark's eyes as an overwhelming guilt swept over him again, this time for helping Steve to keep a secret from his father, a secret that could cost him his life. "I think I can explain. . ."
--
Steve pushed himself from the side of the elevator, trying to ignore the overwhelming tiredness that had swept over him in only the few moments of forced inactivity, as the car crawled slowly up towards his floor. His muscles once again protested being asked to move and he actually found himself wishing for the comparatively minor discomfort of cramped muscles that he had felt earlier that day. He headed for his truck, once again turning his thoughts to the checks he needed to do.
Pain and fatigue robbed him of his memory of the need for caution, prevented his mind from focussing on anything other than his purpose for leaving the hospital. He was almost at his truck before a slight movement in his peripheral vision alerted him that there was anything wrong, alarms instantly going off in his head, but it was too late.
He felt the dull thump on his back, as though someone had punched him hard. He tried to turn to see who it was and was mildly surprised when his muscles did not respond. His knees jarred and he looked down, even more surprised to realise that he had dropped down onto them, but surely the punch hadn't been that hard, and it was just below his shoulder so not his head, so why was he. . . Thoughts became more difficult to connect as he felt the cool concrete next to his cheek. He blinked, trying to focus on his surroundings, he could just see the tyre of his truck, the shiny wheel trim above, the concrete spreading out away from him and the growing crimson stain emerging from under his shoulder. . . blood. . . his blood, and then the memories connected.
He cursed himself, he was supposed to be being careful so that this didn't happen, he had promised himself, had promised Jesse, and yet here he was the embodiment of Jesse's description of the ending of chapter 9. 'Steve lay in a growing pool of his own blood, each second more of the precious fluid leaking away as he slipped into unconsciousness.'
He tried to move, tried to force himself up, to deny the prophetic nature of his friend's words but the stab of agony from his back forced him down, forced tears into his eyes as he rode out the waves of pain. "Sorry Jess," he whispered, as his eyes slid closed and blackness claimed him.
Jesse pushed his way through the doors, he was about thirty yards behind Steve and just had time to turn and shield his face as the window that ran down the edge of the corridor exploded into a million shards of glass. He felt the heat as the debris peppered his back, the blast of air feeling like a boiling windstorm as it pushed him into the wall. The noise was painful forcing his hands to cover his ears in a reflex reaction. For a moment the shock robbed him of the ability to breathe, his lungs tightening painfully until the lack of oxygen forced a reflex that compelled him to take a huge gasping breath, only to inhale an acrid mix of dust and smoke in air that was still too hot. He coughed and moved his hand from his ear to his mouth trying to filter out the worst of the dust as he took another more cautious breath. He felt firm hands on his shoulders.
"Dr. Travis. . . Jesse," a welcomingly familiar voice spoke somewhere close to him, "Are you all right?" Nathan asked as he pulled the doctor back through the nearby fire doors that had protected the corridor beyond.
Jesse opened his eyes and blinked as they stung, instantly beginning to water with the dust. It took him a few moments to draw in enough clear air to speak. He leant against the wall, taking the opportunity to order his thoughts and decide on a plan of action. He looked up at Nathan and the three uniformed officers who stood with him. "Steve and Mark were in there when the explosion hit," he stated, his voce showing none of the shakiness that he felt, as he exercised a well practiced control, borne of working for many years in the crisis environment of the ER. "I saw them go down. There may be others in one of the ORs." He pushed himself off the wall. "We'll need medical, rescue and fire crews. I'm going to see what I can do." He was moving back towards the door as he spoke.
Nathan nodded. "OK I'm with you." He turned quickly towards one of the uniformed officers, "Spencer, get us some back up now." He glanced at the other two. "Driver, Peters, coordinate the help when it gets here."
Jesse waited for him to finish, pushing the door open as Nathan turned back to join him.
The corridor was still full of dust that hung cloyingly in the air, limiting vision to only a few feet. Jesse picked his way cautiously through the debris and glass that littered the floor. There were small fires still burning in the room that ran alongside, casting an orange glow through the dust and dim light and adding to the smoke that made him want to cough with each breath.
Jesse was almost on top of Steve before he realised it. The door, blasted off it's hinges, had landed on top of him so that only his head and shoulders were visible above it. Jesse quickly stepped round so that Nathan could get to the other side. "Steve," he said, trying to assess his friend's condition from the little he could see. "It's OK buddy, take it easy we're here to help," he added reassuringly. Steve seemed to be conscious if a little dazed. He was trying ineffectually to lift the door from his chest.
Steve struggled to clear his thoughts, his confused mind still trying to process the overwhelming sensory input from the explosion. He was aware of a ringing in his ears and the tightness in his chest from breathing in dust laden air. A brief panic gripped him as he tried to move and couldn't, but as awareness returned he realised that there was something on top of him that was restricting his movement. He tried to focus so that he could coordinate his limbs to remove whatever the something was, but somehow his mind wouldn't send the necessary signals, and there was another niggling concern that would not form into coherent thought. Another reason he urgently needed to move. Something he should be worried about.
Jesse's familiar voice cut through the haze as he tried to let the thought take shape. He blinked teared eyes and looked up trying to bring his friend's face into focus. It took him a moment to realise that whatever had been pressing down on him had been removed. He was about to say something when the memories finally connected with his consciousness. "Dad," he gasped out desperately, as he remembered the reason he was there. He began to look around and tried to sit up. This time the panic did take hold, his confused senses unable to exert any control over the fear response, as he realised that he didn't know what had happened to his father.
Jesse had been trying to quickly assess Steve's injuries, checking for anything that could be life threatening, well aware that he still needed to check on Mark whom he had spotted only a few feet away. He caught the adrenaline spike and the panic response instantly and firmly placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. He needed to get him calm.
"Dad," Steve turned his panicked gaze to his friend. "Jesse, you've got to find my dad he was. . . " He struggled against the hands that held him down.
"Steve it's OK," Jesse said firmly, "He's right behind me and I still need to check on him but first I need you to calm down and lie still for me, all right?"
Something in Jesse's confident and familiar tones and the hands that carefully restrained him, cut through the panic. He instinctively knew that he could trust the reassurances, knew that at the moment he would be more of a hindrance than a help, Jesse needed to be able to concentrate on helping his father, not dealing with him. So he repressed the strong urge to act himself and nodded, letting the fight drain away as he sank back to the floor.
Satisfied that Steve was not in any immediate danger and that he wasn't going to try to move, Jesse turned his attention to Mark. He turned and scooted across the small gap that separated him from the older doctor, not raising himself from the ground.
"Mark," he said trying to get the dazed doctor's attention.
Mark had managed to pull himself to a sitting position leaning against the wall. He turned his head towards Jesse as he tried to arrange his thoughts, still unsure as to what had happened or why he had found himself lying on the floor in a darkened corridor. He coughed against the smoke that filled his lungs. "Jess," he focussed bleary eyes on Jesse's face. "What happened?"
"An explosion," Jesse supplied without elaborating. "Are you hurt, in any pain?"
"No, I'm fine," Mark said shaking his head, but wincing slightly to counter his statement.
Jesse sighed wondering if Steve's stubborn refusal to accept his own limitations sometimes, weren't inherited or at least learnt from his father who, although he thankfully had less cause to test his stoicism, still found it difficult to be a patient and get his own ills treated. With gentle fingers Jesse probed Mark's head to find the source of his pain and found a developing swelling on the back right of Mark's skull.
Mark hissed in a breath as Jesse's fingers touched it. "I think I hit the wall."
"Did you lose consciousness?"
"No, I don't think so," Mark replied, gently shifting to test that the rest of his statement hadn't been a lie. Apart from numerous aches and twinges and a throbbing headache, there were no sharp pains, no areas of numbness that might indicate more serious injury.
"OK," Jesse nodded completing his own initial exam. "We'll have you and Steve out of here in no time."
The mention of his son brought with it a stab of fear, although the memory of what had happened stubbornly refused to return, Mark knew that Jesse had mentioned an explosion. "Steve, was he here when. . ."
"He's fine Mark," Jesse interrupted. "He pushed you out of the way of the blast, but he's going to be fine. Now I need you to keep still so that I can check on him. OK?" Jesse hadn't felt guilty moments earlier when he had used Steve's concern for his father to force him to relax and calm himself, and he did not feel guilty now about repeating the tactic with Mark. He was grateful that their injuries appeared to be minor but they had still inhaled a lot of smoke and dust, and panic would not improve either man's condition. As he turned his attention back to Steve, he was grateful to see help in the form of medical teams arriving.
--
Dr. Bill Taylor sighed in his exasperation at his three patients, none of whom seemed prepared to follow his advice.
"Look Bill," Mark took the lead in trying to quell his colleagues' unease. "When all of this is over, we'll be able to get the rest that you suggest but someone is killing people in this hospital and we have to stop them."
"He's already killed at least three people," Steve took up the argument, "And if the hospital hadn't been made blast proof when it was rebuilt, he might have killed a lot more."
Bill nodded, he knew that what they were saying made sense, knew that they were all too much an integral part of what was going on for him to have any hope of persuading them to take the rest that their bodies needed after the trauma they had suffered, but he also knew that he would not be doing his job if he did not try. Mark and Jesse both had head injuries that at the very least needed monitoring and he was worried about the amount of smoke that all three men had inhaled. Steve had bruising covering virtually his entire left side where the door had pushed him to the floor and he had various cuts from flying glass that had needed minor sutures, but overall they had been lucky. The door had protected Mark and Steve from the worst of the heat from the explosion and Jesse had been far enough away for the real sting to have gone before it reached him. Their injuries could all have been much worse.
"All right," Bill acquiesced, "you all know what symptoms to look out for and I don't suppose that under the circumstances you'll be venturing too far from the hospital, so I'll get a nurse to fill out these prescriptions for you. Just promise me that you'll all try to take it easy and you'll have me paged if there are any problems."
The three men nodded their agreement. "Thanks, Bill," Mark said, clasping his hand on his friend's shoulder, "We appreciate your help."
Steve and Jesse had already stood and were making good their escape from the room before Bill, or Mark for that matter, changed their minds and tried to persuade them to be admitted, leaving others to solve the crime. They both had enough aches to remind them that they should be lying in bed and allowing their bodies to recover from the various physical and emotional traumas of the last twenty four hours, and they both had equally powerful motivators that would prevent them from doing that
Mark waited until they were out of earshot before adding. "Don't worry I'll keep my eye on them."
Bill Taylor turned from watching the two men leave to meet Mark's gaze. "And who's going to keep an eye on you?" He asked only half joking.
--
"Maybe he was right," Jesse said, resignedly sinking down into the leather chair in Mark's office, his gaze dropping to the floor.
Steve looked up from the files he was retrieving, he had headed straight for Mark's desk and the personnel files that were there, keen to make a fresh start, this time with Jesse's help, at looking for possible suspects. He looked confused at Jesse's comment and tried to trawl back through his memories of recent conversations to see if he could figure out who was right and what they could be right about. He realised that up to that point his friend had been uncharacteristically silent, apart from asking him how he was feeling there had been very little conversation. He gave up when nothing came to mind. "Who was right about what?" He asked.
"The porter," Jesse said, not looking up from the floor. "He said that I should leave, get out of here, Maybe the attacks, the killings would stop if. . ."
"Jess," Steve interrupted, sighing inwardly as he recognised his friend's guilt once more, he had half expected this to come out sooner, had seen the look of guilt and pain that had crossed his friend's features when he had been helping to treat his father down in the ER, stubbornly refusing to let anyone check on his injuries until he was sure that neither Steve nor Mark was seriously hurt, and then only accepting treatment when they were both resting comfortably. Given the guilt that the young doctor felt for the injuries and deaths of strangers, he could only imagine how hard it must be for his friend, thinking himself responsible for almost getting Mark killed. "I don't think that it would make a difference where you were," Steve continued, "this maniac would go on killing, as long as they know that they are getting to you, which, by using your story, they can do wherever you are."
"But. . . maybe if. . ."
"No, Jess, look, you've got to stop blaming yourself for what is happening around you, for what someone else is doing to you."
Jesse finally looked up to meet his friend's gaze. "I was almost responsible for getting you and Mark killed this afternoon." The volume of his voice had dropped to barely above a whisper, a stark contrast with the confident professional tones that he had used to reassure his friend in the aftermath of the explosion. "And, whatever you say, it would have been my fault." There was a pause as both his gaze and his tone dropped further. "I don't think I could live with that." The last sentence was spoken as much to himself as to Steve.
"Don't think you could live with what?" Mark asked from the doorway. Both Steve and Jesse looked up, slightly startled, neither had heard the door open. Steve was surprised that his father had heard the softly spoken phrase.
"He thinks he's responsible for what happened. . . for what almost happened to you this afternoon." Steve supplied when it was clear that Jesse was not going to answer the question.
Steve felt reassured by his father's arrival partly because he knew that Mark would help Jesse deal with his mercurial emotions, and partly because he was finding it difficult to shake the fear of loss that had pervaded his senses ever since he had received the call from the computing section that afternoon. He had insisted on staying in the same room whilst Mark was being treated and had only just managed to stop short of insisting that he accompany his father when he was taken for a CT scan and X-ray. Seeing him walk through the door now, slightly paler and moving a little more slowly than was usual, but nonetheless alive and well, brought Steve some measure of relief from the fear he hadn't consciously acknowledged that he had been feeling.
Mark met Jesse's gaze, then shook his head slowly. "No Jess, there's no way you can hold yourself responsible for what happened this afternoon." He moved towards his desk. "I mean there is no way on earth that you would have compared me to Dr. Romano would you?"
It took Jesse a moment to process the unexpected question and it had the effect that Mark had wanted, making Jesse shift his thinking.
Mark knew from the confused expression that now crossed Jesse's features, replacing the guilty one that had been there, that his tactic was working. He continued to speak as he moved across the room "I mean the man is pompous and overbearing and shows no consideration for either his patients or his staff, the man is nothing like me." He fixed Jesse with his gaze, "Is he?" He asked earnestly.
Jesse's mind worked for a moment on the comparison. "No, nothing," he replied.
"Well maybe there's something in the pompous part," Steve interjected, unable to resist the gentle jibe as he joined in with his father's distraction.
Mark shot him a withering look that held no venom, trying to resist a smirk. "As I said the man is nothing," he emphasised the word, "like me. So you can't be responsible for what happened to me. Only the killer would have made that comparison."
Jesse tried to make sense of the skewed logic, unable for the moment to counter Mark's argument, the guilt temporarily abated.
"In fact," Mark sat as he continued his reasoning. "I don't know whether to be more upset that someone tried to kill me, or that they compared me to such an unsympathetic character."
Steve marveled at the way his father worked, deliberately lightening the mood, despite the seriousness of what they were facing. Jesse had been spiraling down into a well of guilt and depression, but his expression and the dark cloud that seemed to have been settling over him were both lifting. Still, he also acknowledged that this was only possible because they had all emerged relatively unscathed from the incident. They might not be so lucky next time. He forced his attention back to the files.
"So, Jess, you going to help me go through these personnel files again, see if you can spot anyone familiar."
Jesse looked across at his friend, "Sure," he said.
Steve distributed the files around and the three men began working their way through them.
--
Nathan's knock on the door about half an hour later came as a welcome relief, Steve stood and stretched aching muscles and stiffening joints as the young detective entered.
Nathan greeted them making polite inquiries about how they were all feeling before he got round to reporting his progress. "I've got a preliminary report back from forensics on the device in the OR, it was rigged to an anaesthetic and oxygen cylinder, and seemed to have some sort of timer delay on it. There was a remote contact switch on the door."
"So it was designed to go off a few seconds after someone walked into the room?" Steve asked, remembering that there hadn't been long between him shouting as his father pushed the door open and the explosion going off.
Nathan nodded, "Just long enough for someone to get through the doors and take the full force of the blast."
Steve's jaw clenched as his mind formed images of what might have happened if he had arrived just a few seconds later, and it took a conscious effort to shake them and remind himself that he had arrived in time and that his father was all right. He cursed the killer in tones too soft to be heard. "Has anyone at the station come up with anything."
Nathan shook his head. "Nothing except to confirm that there is no one that Jesse has helped you to put away who is out on the streets. They are all either serving life sentences or on Death Row for their crimes and we've confirmed the location of all of them. So unless it's a friend or relative it doesn't look like the motive comes from cases that Jesse's helped out on. We may have to look for our psychopath elsewhere."
Something in what Nathan said, triggered a thought in Steve's mind. He could almost feel the cogs turning, the gears sliding into place and locking, as the idea took shape. "Maybe it's not a case he helped on. . ." Steve said his mind still working through the possibilities, the checks he would have to make.
"You got something?" Mark asked, recognising the shift in his son's mood.
Steve looked round, his thoughts still clearly distracted, "What? . . Oh, it may be nothing," he said, as three expectant pairs of eyes gazed at him. He didn't really have anything beyond an idea but it was something that was worth checking out. "Its just another angle that we haven't looked at." There was a slight pause whilst he considered giving them more details but one look at Jesse was enough to decide him against it. He really didn't need to be reminded of traumatic incidents from his past on top of what was happening at the moment. He would only need to tell him about it if something came of the idea. "I'm going to head for the station, check a few things out. I'll let you know what I find. You keep going on the personnel files."
"Do you want me to get someone to drive you?" Nathan asked, concerned by Steve's stiff movements and the dark circles under his eyes.
"No, I'll be OK," he said moving for the door, He met Nathan's gaze. "Just make sure neither of these two get into any trouble whilst I'm gone."
"Easier said than done," Nathan replied, but nodded. "I'll do my best."
Satisfied Steve hurried off as quickly as his battered limbs would allow. Some instinct told him that he was on to something, so the sooner he could check his theory out the better.
--
Jesse read the file again and tried to figure out what was wrong with what he was reading but he couldn't quite make the connection. The file was for a Paul Bilson, the hospital porter who had attacked him that morning. He had been working at the hospital for the last six months having transferred from a secure mental facility, out of state, his references were good and although Jesse recognised the address as being in an apartment complex a few blocks from the hospital, he had never been in the area, as it wasn't one of the more salubrious neighborhoods. He also couldn't recall any other connection with the man, apart from the encounter that morning and yet, something was nagging at him. Before he could consider it further, Nathan's cell phone began to ring.
All three men froze from their tasks as Nathan retrieved the phone from his pocket, he glanced at the display as he hit the connect and moved it to his ear. "Computing section," he stated quietly for the benefit of the other two men, confirming their fears. The tension in the room rose a notch.
Nathan listened intently, his brow creasing in confusion as he absorbed what he was being told. He hit the disconnect and looked across at Jesse. "Well it looks like the killer has changed their MO and has stopped using the stuff you've written. The latest chapter ends with an attack on a detective Slade in the hospital parking lot."
The reaction of both doctors took Nathan by surprise, as both visibly paled the colour draining from their cheeks.
"Oh God, Steve!" Jesse exclaimed. "We have to find him and warn him now."
Mark was already standing shakily, the file he had been holding, falling forgotten to the floor. "Lieutenant Slade is so obviously based on Steve," he explained as he began to move. "That's who they're going after next." He was at the door. "Come on I know where he parks."
"I'll try his cell," Nathan said as he moved to follow.
"No use," Jesse said, "it was destroyed when he was caught in the explosion."
--
The three man emerged into the parking lot at a run and frantically scanned the area for Steve or his truck. "I don't understand," Mark stated, "he always parks here."
"Unless he left already?" Jesse suggested.
"No," Mark shook his head, "he didn't have that much of a start on us."
"And he would've responded to dispatch by now if he was in his car. They've been trying to radio him since I called this in." Nathan's own frustration with the situation was beginning to show. "Damn, if only we'd had advanced warning of this I could have had his car covered."
Mark was caught up in his own concerns. "Why would he park somewhere different?" he asked, still looking round, as though there might be something he had missed.
Jesse forced himself to look up into Mark's eyes as an overwhelming guilt swept over him again, this time for helping Steve to keep a secret from his father, a secret that could cost him his life. "I think I can explain. . ."
--
Steve pushed himself from the side of the elevator, trying to ignore the overwhelming tiredness that had swept over him in only the few moments of forced inactivity, as the car crawled slowly up towards his floor. His muscles once again protested being asked to move and he actually found himself wishing for the comparatively minor discomfort of cramped muscles that he had felt earlier that day. He headed for his truck, once again turning his thoughts to the checks he needed to do.
Pain and fatigue robbed him of his memory of the need for caution, prevented his mind from focussing on anything other than his purpose for leaving the hospital. He was almost at his truck before a slight movement in his peripheral vision alerted him that there was anything wrong, alarms instantly going off in his head, but it was too late.
He felt the dull thump on his back, as though someone had punched him hard. He tried to turn to see who it was and was mildly surprised when his muscles did not respond. His knees jarred and he looked down, even more surprised to realise that he had dropped down onto them, but surely the punch hadn't been that hard, and it was just below his shoulder so not his head, so why was he. . . Thoughts became more difficult to connect as he felt the cool concrete next to his cheek. He blinked, trying to focus on his surroundings, he could just see the tyre of his truck, the shiny wheel trim above, the concrete spreading out away from him and the growing crimson stain emerging from under his shoulder. . . blood. . . his blood, and then the memories connected.
He cursed himself, he was supposed to be being careful so that this didn't happen, he had promised himself, had promised Jesse, and yet here he was the embodiment of Jesse's description of the ending of chapter 9. 'Steve lay in a growing pool of his own blood, each second more of the precious fluid leaking away as he slipped into unconsciousness.'
He tried to move, tried to force himself up, to deny the prophetic nature of his friend's words but the stab of agony from his back forced him down, forced tears into his eyes as he rode out the waves of pain. "Sorry Jess," he whispered, as his eyes slid closed and blackness claimed him.