Author's note:- decided not to post until I had finished this (apart from
the epilogue!) but I have split it into two chapters because of the length
Hope you enjoy- J
Part 18 Fighting back.
Mark wasn't asleep, he had made a half hearted attempt at getting some rest, lying down on the cot that Amanda had insisted be placed in his office, and pulling the blanket over him, but his mind would not shut down. He knew that he needed the rest, his tired and bruised muscles seemed to protest any movement, and there was a throbbing headache building just behind his eyes, but all he could seem to do was stare at the ceiling as his mind stubbornly refused to settle on a single train of thought or emotional state. Part of the time he worked through the clues, the images, the details of the case that he had absorbed over the last few days, trying to come up with something, anything that would give a hint of the whereabouts of his son, or even why Chloe would choose to take him. The rest of the time he repressed images of what could be happening to Steve, what may have already happened. Chloe Marsden was a cold blooded killer who seemed to take a perverse pleasure in the suffering of others, and Mark found it difficult to control his fear as he tried to cling desperately to the hope that whatever she wanted him for, she needed him alive.
Finally, after a particularly gruesome scenario tried to play itself out, his imagination conspiring to worsen his anxiety with 'might haves' and 'what ifs,' he decided that enough was enough and threw back the cover. Pushing himself to a standing position, he decided to go and check on Jesse, surmising that he would be having just as much difficulty sleeping.
Mark nodded a greeting to the police officer who stood outside Jesse's room before cautiously pushing the door open, if Jesse had managed to drop off to sleep he didn't want to risk waking him. He stepped quietly into the dimly lit room and waited for a second for his eyesight to adjust to the contrast, before moving further inside.
The second he caught sight of the empty bed his stomach did a nosedive into his abdomen. He covered the few paces to it, his eyes frantically scanning the room as he pressed his hand onto the disheveled sheets. They were cold indicating that the bed had not been occupied for some time. Even so he moved to the bathroom, just to double check that it too was empty.
He stood momentarily in the bathroom door as an overwhelming dread gripped him, everything briefly ceased in a paralysis of anxiety, and then his mind was working again. There was no way that Chloe Marsden would be subtle enough to take Jesse from the room without alerting the officer on the door. Mark cursed silently to himself. Somehow Jesse had gone after Steve. . . alone.
--
Jesse felt his position shift, and it took all of his willpower not to react as he was virtually dropped from the fireman's carry on to the floor. He managed to stifle the grunt of pain as bruises made contact with the hard ground and his ribcage seemed to explode in reaction to the jarring, taking slow deliberate breaths, he waited for the throbbing waves of pain to pass, concentrating his hearing on the figure that had dropped him. Bilson stood over him for a few moments, and Jesse could almost feel his eyes examining him, boring into him, and he found himself holding his breath, sure that he would give away the fact that he was conscious. Just as he was about to give up his pretense, unable to hold his position, his breathing in check any longer, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps moving away, the door closed and there was a metallic click as a bolt was shoved into place.
He let out a cautious sigh and tried to roll to a position where things didn't hurt as much, still keeping his eyes closed as though that would somehow help with the pain.
"Jess?"
There was a deep questioning concern in the voice which Jesse recognised instantly. "Steve," he replied automatically as he opened his eyes and tried to push himself to a sitting position, so that he could face the direction the voice had come from. His ribs instantly protested the movement and he gasped in pain, even as he continued to sit up determined to locate his friend. It took a moment before he could speak as he drew in more breath. "Man that hurts," he complained plaintively looking down at the floor as he finally brought himself to a sitting position.
"Jess?" Steve questioned again, some relief colouring the concern this time. He had feared the worst when Jesse's limp body had been carried in and dumped unceremoniously on the floor, and although his friend was clearly hurt, the fact that he was conscious and complaining was a relatively positive sign.
Jesse wasn't ready to move again just yet. He took another deep breath. Recognising the continued concern, he tried to give some reassurance. "I'm fine. . .just need . . .to catch my breath. . . .here."
Steve studied his friend's pale features in the early morning light that filtered through the small windows high on the wall behind him. "You don't look fine," he said earnestly, his vision blurring slightly as he tried to focus.
Jesse took one last steadying breath, before looking up at Steve for the first time. He gasped at what he saw, his own injuries suddenly of minor importance as he moved to his friend's side. "Well I'm sure I look a lot better than you," he countered, trying to keep his tone light, even as a rolling nausea assaulted his senses at the damage that had been done to his friend. Steve was propped up against the wall, his right arm resting awkwardly across his chest, obviously positioned to relieve as much of the pain from his shoulder as possible, his left arm was handcuffed to a pipe that ran the length of the room at floor level, both wrists were cut and bleeding and his face was a mess. There was a swollen cut above one eye and bruising to the cheek and jaw, the thin sweatshirt that he had been wearing in the hospital was ripped and Jesse was sure he would find evidence of more bruising underneath. "What happened?" He asked, gently turning Steve's head into the light so that he could get a better look at the cut and his eye.
"Turns out Bilson really," he emphasised the word, "hates cops." He paused for a moment. "He decided to show me how he would carry out an interrogation." He took a breath and swallowed, his eyes clouding. "Only it was the kind without any questions." There was a justified bitterness in his tone, but he refused to dwell on it. "What about you?" He asked, attempting to look his friend over again, but Jesse gently pushed his head back up, still examining the damage.
"Any blurred vision, loss of consciousness, dizziness?" Jesse asked ignoring Steve's question as he lifted his sweatshirt and began to probe for signs of internal injuries amongst the impressive array of bruises both new and old that mottled Steve's torso.
"You didn't answer my question." Steve stated using some avoidance of his own.
"In a minute," Jesse replied, his tone and expression clearly indicating that he thought his own question should take priority. ""So? any. . ."
"Some."
"Which?"
"All three," Steve admitted reluctantly.
"Nausea?"
Steve nodded.
"Headache?"
Another nod.
"OK I'll see if I can get you something for that, just give me a minute."
Steve was about to point out to Jesse that they weren't at the hospital and that the utility room in which they had been locked was unlikely to carry any medical supplies when he noticed that Jesse had begun to remove his shirt, revealing the vest he was wearing, the kevlar vest he was wearing, and there was a neat hole through the shirt at chest height, a corresponding telltale ring of white underneath, showing where the bullet had entered and been stopped by the vest.
"Jesse you've been shot," Steve exclaimed incredulously.
"Yeah," Jesse replied, looking up from his task to meet Steve's gaze and resisting the temptation to point out that that wasn't something that you needed to be told, "And it was a lot more painful than I expected, I mean, I've seen enough injuries through one of these things." He carefully began to undo the straps on the vest, "But somehow I always thought that it hurt less than if the bullet actually penetrated, you know?"
Steve shook his head, remembering having the same thought himself the first time he'd taken a hit to a vest. "Just as painful," he agreed, "Although the recovery time is a lot less."
"Amen to that." Jesse looked down again to a swathe of bandages that were wrapped around his waist and began to undo them.
"So how did it happen? How come you're here?" Steve asked.
Jesse thought about stalling the explanation again, but one look into Steve's eyes and he knew that his friend wouldn't allow it. He sighed, deciding to start at the beginning. "Well Chloe used the set up at the park to get to you,"
Steve nodded, that much he had figured out. "She took advantage of the fact that most of the cops had been pulled off the hospital detail, but I don't understand what she wanted with me," he paused "Apart from Bilson needing an extra punch bag."
Jesse winced at the thought. "She needed you to get to me," he stated simply, repressing the renewed guilt he felt at the statement. "She left me a message in the reviews to the story." He watched the emotions play across Steve's face as he recited word for word the contents of the review. He hadn't even realised he'd memorised it.
Steve was watching his friend equally carefully as he processed the implications. Anger warred with exasperation and frustration as he realised how Jesse had responded to the threat. "Please Jess tell me you didn't go to the park alone at 5 a.m. this morning to meet a crazed killer."
Jesse had the grace to look slightly guilty. "I didn't have a choice."
"At least you told someone right? My Dad? Detective Turner?. . .Amanda?"
Jesse shook his head.
"Jesse!!" The exasperation was now clear. "What were you thinking?"
"If I'd told anyone, they would have insisted on coming, or bringing the police, and she made it clear that if I didn't come alone she'd kill you." He looked into Steve's eyes briefly before the strength of emotion made him look down again. "I couldn't risk that."
Steve's anger and frustration were building now, even as he recognised the depth of friendship and self- sacrifice that had gone into that last admission, he couldn't help his own reactions. Jesse had placed himself in danger, had almost got himself killed, still might. "Of all the stupid. . . half- brained. . ."
"Besides," Jesse interrupted. "I took precautions," he stated, briefly stopping the unraveling of the bandages around his waist to grab the material of the vest.
"She shot you Jess, what if she had gone for a head shot, or strangulation, or used a knife or just. . ."
"She didn't," Jesse stated, pausing once again from his task to look Steve in the eye. This time he did not shy away from the emotional exchange in the eye contact, somehow conveying in the shared gaze that he had known the risks and taken them anyway, that he would do the same again. He saw Steve relax slightly as some of the tension drained away from his shoulders. The anger borne of concern ebbing away as Steve recognised a mirror of his own conviction, possibly his own actions, had the situation been reversed. Jesse took advantage of the easing of tension. "And anyway that wouldn't have fitted with my plan."
"You had a plan?" Steve asked sardonically, deliberately lightening his own tone, "Did that include getting yourself shot and kidnapped?"
Jesse favoured him with a half grin, returning to his unraveling with renewed vigor. "Well I was hoping that she'd give me some clue as to where she was holding you and leave me behind. This was really my backup plan."
Steve repeated his earlier tone, this time raising an eyebrow. "You had a backup plan?"
"Yeah, I figured she was either going to try to kill me in the park or, if she didn't, then she'd bring me to you and I could help you escape."
"And exactly how does getting yourself captured help. . ." Steve didn't finish the question as his attention was finally drawn to the items that Jesse was busy retrieving from the folds of bandages around his waist. "What are you doing?"
Jesse finished loading the small syringe from the vial that he had pulled out from between the bandages. "I figured by the time I got to you the pain meds from the hospital would have worn off, so I brought this. Hold still," He took Steve's arm and wiped an antiseptic swab over it before administering the injection. "There that should help." He tried not to grin at the astonished look on Steve's face as he placed the syringe on the ground and proceeded to retrieve several other items.
"Thanks," was all Steve could manage to say as he watched the pile grow and tried to identify them all.
"I figured I couldn't bring anything too bulky or they'd get suspicious and check out the bandages, so I brought what I could," he said apologetically. "They took my cell but I did manage to bring this." Jesse held up the wire that he had been wearing earlier.
"Jess that thing only has a range of half a mile at most. . ."
"I know that's why I brought this too." He held up a small black box.
"How did you. . ." Steve began to ask.
"Hey, some people's dads teach them baseball, others football, mine shows me how to remove tracking devices from police vehicles. Who knew it would actually be useful to have a father who was a spy."
Steve looked at his friend with renewed admiration, impressed by his resourcefulness if still slightly exasperated by his willingness to walk into such a dangerous situation. However light the banter became it couldn't fully cover the fear that they still both might die here. "Still, that's only any use if someone looks for my truck and realises that the tracking device isn't on it anymore."
"Oh, I think your dad will find it, I left it at the park."
"You drove my truck?" Steve responded with an automatic protectiveness.
Jesse grinned at the reaction, the normalcy of the response helping to draw him away from his own fears. He knew that if he stopped to consider the real shape that they were in, particularly Steve, and the chances of any escape attempt succeeding, then the hopelessness would probably overwhelm him. So he pushed it back under the optimism. This was going to work. It had to work. "Don't worry I was real careful with it."
"I suppose it's too much to hope that you left my dad some kind of note so he'd know where to look."
Jesse shook his head, "Couldn't risk him finding it before I met with Chloe. Don't worry he'll figure it out." The latter was added with utter conviction.
Steve gave his head a slight shake and shifted position. He shared Jesse's faith in his father's reasoning abilities but the time frame worried him. Mark may not even know that Jesse was missing yet, and he knew that he couldn't count on Chloe leaving them alone for too long. Now that she had what she wanted, there was no reason to keep either of them alive, unless she intended to torture them before killing them, he shuddered at the thought. "So what have you got that can help us get out of here?"
--
It didn't take Mark long to wake up everyone involved in the case and get them to the hospital. Jesse's disappearance renewed the urgency that had pervaded the investigation in the hours after Steve's abduction, but was fading as time passed with no results. Many officers had worked late into the night running down any possible lead on Chloe's whereabouts.
Jesse's movements from the night before were relatively easy to trace, since he had been under police guard the whole time, but since the officers had always respected his privacy and remained outside the rooms he was in, it took a little longer to establish the details of his conversation with nurse Johnson and consequently what he had accessed on the computer. Reading the review left Mark in no doubt as to what the young doctor had done and so, within an hour of finding Jesse's bed empty, he found himself standing once more near the entrance to Southside park, staring at his son's truck as a forensic team began to sweep the vehicle for clues.
He stood for a moment and drew in a deep breath as he waited for news from the team that had entered the park. He tried hard to cling onto the hope that they would find Jesse alive and well, knowing that at best they would find nothing. If Chloe had taken Jesse there was a chance that he was still alive, that they would be able to find him and Steve before she had a chance to. . .He cut off his own train of thought, knowing that he could not allow his mind any speculation if he was going to maintain control. He had to stick to the facts, examine the evidence, it was the only way to survive until they were both found.
He wasn't sure how long he stood before Nathan moved up beside him. "No sign of Dr. Travis I'm afraid, but we did find this." He held up the drawing of Jesse slaying the dragon.
Under other circumstances Mark might have smiled at the image. "She drew this," he stated, "Jesse told me about it when he first met her."
Nathan nodded at the confirmation. "So we know they were both here. We also found a shell casing from a .38 caliber handgun but there was no blood and the vest is missing from the back of Steve's truck."
There was no acknowledgement from Mark as he studied the drawing intently. "Did anyone check out her studio?" He looked up at Nathan, "The one she was working in when she was arrested?"
Nathan trawled his memory. "I'm sure they have, hold on I'll check," He said taking out his cell. A hurried conversation later he had the answers. "The studio along with Chloe's other assets were frozen when she was locked up, there were no traceable relatives and she wasn't deemed competent to handle her own affairs so they were being handled on her behalf by a lawyer. Which basically meant that the studio remained empty until her death, at which point it was sold off to a developer who wants to redevelop the whole area. The place has been boarded up ever since."
"Has anyone checked it?"
Nathan nodded. "A couple of uniforms went out there yesterday morning, they found no signs of occupancy."
"But they didn't go inside?"
"No."
"That's where she is," Mark stated with conviction. "That's where she's taken Steve and Jesse."
Nathan studied Mark for a moment, trying to piece together himself any clues from what he knew, that would lead him to the same conclusion. "How do you know?" he asked.
Mark held up the paper. "Because that's where this came from. It's got that musty smell and yellowing that you only get when paper is left for a long time, I've got papers stored in my garage with the same look, the same smell. If all of her things were left at the studio then she must have been there to get this."
Nathan nodded, it made sense and they had nothing else to go on. He lifted his cell but was interrupted by one of the forensic team that had been examining Steve's truck.
"Someone has removed the tracking device," the young dark haired woman stated as she gave her report. "We've got a trace running on it now, we should be able to let you know where it is in a couple of minutes."
Nathan thanked her and continued with his call to get the SWAT and backup units rolling. Somehow knowing that both clues were going to lead to the same location, he only hoped that they would make it there in time.
--
Jesse took the small key and undid the handcuff that secured Steve's left wrist to the pipe. Despite the care that he took, the action still elicited a wince from Steve as the biting metal was pulled free from the damaged flesh. He briefly considered giving Steve more of the painkiller that he had brought, there was still some left, he had only administered enough to take the edge off the pain, but he knew that if he did it would slow Steve's reactions, and until they were out of this he could not afford to do that. Instead he took the end of the unraveled bandage and prepared to place a dressing around Steve's wrist.
Steve pulled his hand away. "Sorry Jess, we haven't got time for that, the only thing we have on our side is the element of surprise. We have to be ready the next time Bilson or Chloe opens that door." He nodded across at it, waiting for a moment for Jesse to acknowledge his statement.
Jesse followed his gaze to the door, turning his head to look at it, and for a fleeting moment the fear broke through, his skin tightened, his stomach somersaulted and he was sure that he was going to be sick, barely holding down the bile as it burnt the back of his throat. The next time that door opened it promised certain death, and they only had the slimmest of chances of avoiding it.
"Jess?" Steve asked in concern as Jesse seemed to remain frozen in place.
Steve's voice broke the spell as Jesse forced the fear back down. He turned to his friend letting the bandage drop. "OK what do we need to do?"
Steve held out his hand. "Well I could use a hand getting up."
Jesse had half expected something more complicated, "That I can do," he said, Shifting his position and gripping Steve's hand in his, he braced himself as Steve used a combination of his support and the wall to push himself to a shaky stand.
It took every ounce of determination to complete even that simple maneuver. Steve had to force unwilling muscles to cooperate as he gritted his teeth against the pain, grateful for the effects of the medication Jesse had given him. Finally standing, he drew in a deep breath and waited for trembling muscles to stabilize and for the room to stop spinning, forced to acknowledge his own limitations as his body betrayed him with its weakness.
Jesse watched him, every instinct he had as a doctor made him want to ask Steve to lie down again, to rest, but he knew that that wasn't an option, so he contented himself with monitoring Steve's colour, his breathing. Steve shifted his position and Jesse noticed for the first time a crimson smear against the stark white paint. He followed the trail down and saw the stain behind where Steve had been sitting and he let out a soft curse as he moved closer to his friend. "Steve could you just let me get a look at your back," he said, turning his friend as he spoke. Steve did not resist as he leant his side into the wall.
The blood had soaked through the bandage and the sweatshirt, the knife wound clearly bleeding again, and Jesse knew that there was nothing he could do about it, not at the moment. Even removing the bandage to see how badly the stitches had been torn would take time they didn't have. Damn this was hard, seeing his friend like this, hurting, being able to do nothing to help, and, more than that, needing him to keep going despite his injuries, their only chance of staying alive. At least the bandage was providing some pressure on the wound, and, from what he could see, the blood loss wasn't life threatening, not yet. "When did this start bleeding again," he asked softly.
Steve turned to look at Jesse, he knew that there was nothing he could do, wanted him to know that it was all right. "I think when Bilson, finally threw me in here," he stated, "He was pretty rough and I landed on my shoulder, I don't remember much after that I guess I passed out."
Jesse nodded, "Well I'm going to have to take a look at it when we get out of here."
Steve smiled at the optimism of the comment. "Speaking of which we'd better get ready."
--
Mark gripped the door of the police car as it swerved around the traffic on the freeway. Over the years he had had occasion to take several high speed rides with lights and sirens, mainly in ambulances, accompanying crews to emergencies, but occasionally in police vehicles, and the uncomfortable sensations were always the same. Being thrown around at high speed, whilst your insides struggled to keep up, and your brain tried to decipher signals that evolution had ill prepared it for, usually left him struggling hard to hold on to whatever meal he had last eaten, but that wasn't a problem today. His insides had tied themselves in knots long before the journey began. Fear and anxiety, his almost constant companions for the last two days now, were still conspiring to rob him of his focus and destroy any hope that he tried to cling to.
He forced his mind into a steady mantra, repeating a silent prayer over and over. The images that had plagued him during the night, conspiring on the edge of his consciousness to push their way into his thoughts, gathering with them new and ever more gruesome companions as, in each, he always arrived too late to save his friend, too late to save his son.
"How far?" He asked through dry lips, his voice cracking slightly.
"We should be there in five minutes," Nathan answered immediately, he'd just been doing the mental calculation himself. There was now no doubt that they were heading to the right location, Steve's tracking beacon had confirmed it. He risked a glance at the doctor beside him, not that he needed to, to gauge how the older man was feeling, his emotions pervaded the air around him. "Don't worry we'll get them out," he said, forcing confidence into his tone.
--
Steve walked slowly across to take up position by the door, his balance and strength improving with each step. He turned and leaned against the lintel and looked down at the Swiss army knife that was now open in his hand. As a weapon it wasn't much, but it was better than no weapon at all. In a straight fight, he wasn't sure that he would win against Chloe at the moment, let alone Bilson, so he needed every advantage he could. If he used it right, the small knife would at the very least make them wary of coming straight for him. Not that that would matter if he didn't manage to disarm them with his first attempt, he doubted that he would get a second.
He looked up at Jesse, "I need you to get back on the floor, roughly where Bilson left you."
"But I can help. . ." Jesse began to protest.
Steve shook his head interrupting. "No, our only hope is for me to disarm whoever comes through the door, and to do that they're going to have to come into the room. If they open the door and see no one it will put them on their guard. Surprise is our only chance."
Jesse thought for a moment before replying. "They still might spot the fact that you're missing."
"That's why I need you to draw their attention, groan or something, anything to get them to look at you."
Jesse thought again and then nodded. "OK." He started to turn.
"Jess?"
He turned back to meet Steve's gaze.
"If I manage to take them down, you should try to get out of here, bring back help."
Jesse held the eye contact, he didn't bother protesting, he simply asked. "If the situation were reversed, would you leave me?"
The reply was an infinitesimal shake of the head, that Jesse was sure Steve didn't even know he had made. The answer never in doubt Jesse allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips as he moved to take up his position on the floor, and tried to prepare himself for what was to come.
The waiting was like torture for both men, had they been healthy it would have been bad enough, but in their current condition every movement caused shooting pains, as new and old injuries protested. Remaining still was not an option either, throbbing cramps and awful stiffness accompanied any attempts to remain motionless. Pain demanded their attention and wore away at their defenses, each passing second building the tension and exhausting their resolve.
Steve could feel the beads of sweat forming on his forehead as the seconds stretched to minutes and nothing happened, no one came for them. Idly he wondered how long he would be able to maintain his position, knowing that as time passed he would grow gradually weaker, he could already feel the effects of the blood loss on his only partially recovered system. The shot that Jesse had given him would also wear off with time, the pain was at barely manageable levels now. He looked down at his friend, at least he had persuaded Jesse to lie down, take the weight off his injured leg. If nothing else he hoped that Jesse would make it. He looked back at the door willing it to open, needing something to happen soon.
The click as the bolt was drawn back made both men jump. For a split second their gazes locked, a thousand words of mutual hope and understanding conveyed in the short glance before each refocused on the task at hand.
Steve finally allowed the fear through his careful defenses, holding it, embracing it, as he channeled its effects. He felt the accompanying flood of adrenaline hit his system, as his heartrate kicked up and his senses cleared. He was aware of Jesse beginning to move on the floor, rolling to his side and groaning as the door was pulled open, and then his entire focus was on the gun hand which moved through the opening at about waist height beside him. He held his breath and waited, a little further was all he needed. The world seemed to slow down and he was sure that the gun and the hand that held it would retreat again before he had his chance, and then it was moving forward and Steve felt himself move too as he brought the knife down and slashed across the arm.
Bilson screeched in pain as the knife blade cut into him, reflexively opening his hand the gun flew out of it and skittered across the floor disappearing under a cupboard on the far side of the room.
Jesse had pulled himself to a sitting position and watched it with dismay, realising that it would take time to retrieve. Ignoring it as a lost cause, he looked up in time to watch Bilson stagger back, gripping the back of his arm as blood started to appear between his fingers. Then his eyes were drawn to the figure behind Bilson, Chloe stood motionless an expression of shock on her face. He caught the moment at which her expression changed, hardening into one of hatred as she realised what Steve had done and she began to move. Ignoring everything else Jesse scrambled to his feet, he knew that he had to get to Chloe before she had a chance to get a weapon.
Steve pressed his advantage stepping out in front of Bilson, the small knife gripped firmly in his hand. Bilson continued to back away as the shock and pain temporarily blocked his ability to act. Steve followed him, waiting for another opening, but Bilson was beginning to recover, he eyed the knife before looking up at Steve's battered form assessing his chances of disarming the cop. It should be easy, his opponent was already injured, but there was something in the determination, the desperation of Steve's gaze that made him think again. He licked his lips and started glancing around for something to even up the fight, after all, injured or not, Steve had a weapon.
Steve was gratified to see some fear in Bilson's eyes as he looked at him, as long as there was fear there, the man would not go for an all out attack, Steve knew that he would not survive that. He continued to back the man into the room, watching as he glanced about nervously, Steve saw the point at which his demeanour changed, and alarm bells sounded in his head, even as he watched his opponent take a more deliberate step backwards.
Bilson reached behind him and, with a feral gleam in his eye, turned to watch for Steve's reaction as he pulled the sword free from the costume where it had been hanging.
Steve looked at the long blade and down at the now pathetically small blade of his own knife and almost laughed at the contrast. It was his turn to take a step back, quickly scanning the room around him. There were various costumes, suits of metal and leather armour hanging from mannequins and draped over blocks, still here from Chloe's career as an illustrator for fantasy book covers. Seeing what he needed, he flipped the blade of the knife he was holding around and threw it straight at Bilson's chest.
Jesse had made it into the room behind him, focussing on Chloe as she ran across to her desk. He took the shortest path to intercept, reaching her just as she was about to grab a second gun. He had thrown himself headlong into the run and with no way of stopping he slammed into her and they both toppled over the surface of the desk and off the other side not coming to a stop until they impacted with the wall. Jesse's chest exploded in pain with the first impact, his back taking the second with the wall. The edges of his vision turned to grey and tunneled to nothing as for a moment he could do nothing, not even breathe, and then he could control the burning protest of his lungs no longer, his chest heaved and the agony of movement swallowed every part of him, until he felt like a mass of burning jangling nerve endings, and still he had to force his chest to move, to suck in air against the pain.
Bilson was forced to duck as the knife flew at him and it gave Steve time to run to the opposite side of the room, pulling his own sword from the costumed mannequin that held it. He turned to face a newly enraged Bilson who now charged forward, raising his own sword he brought it down in a screaming arc and it was all Steve could do to bring his own up to parry. Bilson pulled back as his blow was blocked and swung around again as Steve was forced to defend.
Bilson was driven by anger, each time Steve managed to block one of his blows his anger increased a little and he pulled the sword round and swung blow after blow at his weakening opponent.
Jesse shook his head to try to clear it, aware of a dull metal clanging sound which he could not identify, he pushed himself to a sitting position and tried to focus still blurry vision on the source of the sound. As his vision cleared his brain tried to process the slightly surreal image of Steve locked in a deadly sword fight with Bilson. Bilson was raining blow after blow at Steve who barely managed to parry each one. It didn't look like he would be able to keep it up for much longer.
Jesse scanned the area around him, looking for something that he could use as a weapon to help his friend, that was when he spotted Chloe. He cursed softly under his breath. How could he have forgotten about her? She was edging across the floor on hands and knees and Jesse could see the dropped handgun less than a foot from her grasp. Adrenaline kicked in once again and he launched himself in her direction even as her grip tightened around the pistol. In horror he watched as she lifted it and aimed it at Steve.
"No!" Jesse cried out as once again he slammed into Chloe's side, deflecting her arm just as she squeezed the trigger.
Part 18 Fighting back.
Mark wasn't asleep, he had made a half hearted attempt at getting some rest, lying down on the cot that Amanda had insisted be placed in his office, and pulling the blanket over him, but his mind would not shut down. He knew that he needed the rest, his tired and bruised muscles seemed to protest any movement, and there was a throbbing headache building just behind his eyes, but all he could seem to do was stare at the ceiling as his mind stubbornly refused to settle on a single train of thought or emotional state. Part of the time he worked through the clues, the images, the details of the case that he had absorbed over the last few days, trying to come up with something, anything that would give a hint of the whereabouts of his son, or even why Chloe would choose to take him. The rest of the time he repressed images of what could be happening to Steve, what may have already happened. Chloe Marsden was a cold blooded killer who seemed to take a perverse pleasure in the suffering of others, and Mark found it difficult to control his fear as he tried to cling desperately to the hope that whatever she wanted him for, she needed him alive.
Finally, after a particularly gruesome scenario tried to play itself out, his imagination conspiring to worsen his anxiety with 'might haves' and 'what ifs,' he decided that enough was enough and threw back the cover. Pushing himself to a standing position, he decided to go and check on Jesse, surmising that he would be having just as much difficulty sleeping.
Mark nodded a greeting to the police officer who stood outside Jesse's room before cautiously pushing the door open, if Jesse had managed to drop off to sleep he didn't want to risk waking him. He stepped quietly into the dimly lit room and waited for a second for his eyesight to adjust to the contrast, before moving further inside.
The second he caught sight of the empty bed his stomach did a nosedive into his abdomen. He covered the few paces to it, his eyes frantically scanning the room as he pressed his hand onto the disheveled sheets. They were cold indicating that the bed had not been occupied for some time. Even so he moved to the bathroom, just to double check that it too was empty.
He stood momentarily in the bathroom door as an overwhelming dread gripped him, everything briefly ceased in a paralysis of anxiety, and then his mind was working again. There was no way that Chloe Marsden would be subtle enough to take Jesse from the room without alerting the officer on the door. Mark cursed silently to himself. Somehow Jesse had gone after Steve. . . alone.
--
Jesse felt his position shift, and it took all of his willpower not to react as he was virtually dropped from the fireman's carry on to the floor. He managed to stifle the grunt of pain as bruises made contact with the hard ground and his ribcage seemed to explode in reaction to the jarring, taking slow deliberate breaths, he waited for the throbbing waves of pain to pass, concentrating his hearing on the figure that had dropped him. Bilson stood over him for a few moments, and Jesse could almost feel his eyes examining him, boring into him, and he found himself holding his breath, sure that he would give away the fact that he was conscious. Just as he was about to give up his pretense, unable to hold his position, his breathing in check any longer, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps moving away, the door closed and there was a metallic click as a bolt was shoved into place.
He let out a cautious sigh and tried to roll to a position where things didn't hurt as much, still keeping his eyes closed as though that would somehow help with the pain.
"Jess?"
There was a deep questioning concern in the voice which Jesse recognised instantly. "Steve," he replied automatically as he opened his eyes and tried to push himself to a sitting position, so that he could face the direction the voice had come from. His ribs instantly protested the movement and he gasped in pain, even as he continued to sit up determined to locate his friend. It took a moment before he could speak as he drew in more breath. "Man that hurts," he complained plaintively looking down at the floor as he finally brought himself to a sitting position.
"Jess?" Steve questioned again, some relief colouring the concern this time. He had feared the worst when Jesse's limp body had been carried in and dumped unceremoniously on the floor, and although his friend was clearly hurt, the fact that he was conscious and complaining was a relatively positive sign.
Jesse wasn't ready to move again just yet. He took another deep breath. Recognising the continued concern, he tried to give some reassurance. "I'm fine. . .just need . . .to catch my breath. . . .here."
Steve studied his friend's pale features in the early morning light that filtered through the small windows high on the wall behind him. "You don't look fine," he said earnestly, his vision blurring slightly as he tried to focus.
Jesse took one last steadying breath, before looking up at Steve for the first time. He gasped at what he saw, his own injuries suddenly of minor importance as he moved to his friend's side. "Well I'm sure I look a lot better than you," he countered, trying to keep his tone light, even as a rolling nausea assaulted his senses at the damage that had been done to his friend. Steve was propped up against the wall, his right arm resting awkwardly across his chest, obviously positioned to relieve as much of the pain from his shoulder as possible, his left arm was handcuffed to a pipe that ran the length of the room at floor level, both wrists were cut and bleeding and his face was a mess. There was a swollen cut above one eye and bruising to the cheek and jaw, the thin sweatshirt that he had been wearing in the hospital was ripped and Jesse was sure he would find evidence of more bruising underneath. "What happened?" He asked, gently turning Steve's head into the light so that he could get a better look at the cut and his eye.
"Turns out Bilson really," he emphasised the word, "hates cops." He paused for a moment. "He decided to show me how he would carry out an interrogation." He took a breath and swallowed, his eyes clouding. "Only it was the kind without any questions." There was a justified bitterness in his tone, but he refused to dwell on it. "What about you?" He asked, attempting to look his friend over again, but Jesse gently pushed his head back up, still examining the damage.
"Any blurred vision, loss of consciousness, dizziness?" Jesse asked ignoring Steve's question as he lifted his sweatshirt and began to probe for signs of internal injuries amongst the impressive array of bruises both new and old that mottled Steve's torso.
"You didn't answer my question." Steve stated using some avoidance of his own.
"In a minute," Jesse replied, his tone and expression clearly indicating that he thought his own question should take priority. ""So? any. . ."
"Some."
"Which?"
"All three," Steve admitted reluctantly.
"Nausea?"
Steve nodded.
"Headache?"
Another nod.
"OK I'll see if I can get you something for that, just give me a minute."
Steve was about to point out to Jesse that they weren't at the hospital and that the utility room in which they had been locked was unlikely to carry any medical supplies when he noticed that Jesse had begun to remove his shirt, revealing the vest he was wearing, the kevlar vest he was wearing, and there was a neat hole through the shirt at chest height, a corresponding telltale ring of white underneath, showing where the bullet had entered and been stopped by the vest.
"Jesse you've been shot," Steve exclaimed incredulously.
"Yeah," Jesse replied, looking up from his task to meet Steve's gaze and resisting the temptation to point out that that wasn't something that you needed to be told, "And it was a lot more painful than I expected, I mean, I've seen enough injuries through one of these things." He carefully began to undo the straps on the vest, "But somehow I always thought that it hurt less than if the bullet actually penetrated, you know?"
Steve shook his head, remembering having the same thought himself the first time he'd taken a hit to a vest. "Just as painful," he agreed, "Although the recovery time is a lot less."
"Amen to that." Jesse looked down again to a swathe of bandages that were wrapped around his waist and began to undo them.
"So how did it happen? How come you're here?" Steve asked.
Jesse thought about stalling the explanation again, but one look into Steve's eyes and he knew that his friend wouldn't allow it. He sighed, deciding to start at the beginning. "Well Chloe used the set up at the park to get to you,"
Steve nodded, that much he had figured out. "She took advantage of the fact that most of the cops had been pulled off the hospital detail, but I don't understand what she wanted with me," he paused "Apart from Bilson needing an extra punch bag."
Jesse winced at the thought. "She needed you to get to me," he stated simply, repressing the renewed guilt he felt at the statement. "She left me a message in the reviews to the story." He watched the emotions play across Steve's face as he recited word for word the contents of the review. He hadn't even realised he'd memorised it.
Steve was watching his friend equally carefully as he processed the implications. Anger warred with exasperation and frustration as he realised how Jesse had responded to the threat. "Please Jess tell me you didn't go to the park alone at 5 a.m. this morning to meet a crazed killer."
Jesse had the grace to look slightly guilty. "I didn't have a choice."
"At least you told someone right? My Dad? Detective Turner?. . .Amanda?"
Jesse shook his head.
"Jesse!!" The exasperation was now clear. "What were you thinking?"
"If I'd told anyone, they would have insisted on coming, or bringing the police, and she made it clear that if I didn't come alone she'd kill you." He looked into Steve's eyes briefly before the strength of emotion made him look down again. "I couldn't risk that."
Steve's anger and frustration were building now, even as he recognised the depth of friendship and self- sacrifice that had gone into that last admission, he couldn't help his own reactions. Jesse had placed himself in danger, had almost got himself killed, still might. "Of all the stupid. . . half- brained. . ."
"Besides," Jesse interrupted. "I took precautions," he stated, briefly stopping the unraveling of the bandages around his waist to grab the material of the vest.
"She shot you Jess, what if she had gone for a head shot, or strangulation, or used a knife or just. . ."
"She didn't," Jesse stated, pausing once again from his task to look Steve in the eye. This time he did not shy away from the emotional exchange in the eye contact, somehow conveying in the shared gaze that he had known the risks and taken them anyway, that he would do the same again. He saw Steve relax slightly as some of the tension drained away from his shoulders. The anger borne of concern ebbing away as Steve recognised a mirror of his own conviction, possibly his own actions, had the situation been reversed. Jesse took advantage of the easing of tension. "And anyway that wouldn't have fitted with my plan."
"You had a plan?" Steve asked sardonically, deliberately lightening his own tone, "Did that include getting yourself shot and kidnapped?"
Jesse favoured him with a half grin, returning to his unraveling with renewed vigor. "Well I was hoping that she'd give me some clue as to where she was holding you and leave me behind. This was really my backup plan."
Steve repeated his earlier tone, this time raising an eyebrow. "You had a backup plan?"
"Yeah, I figured she was either going to try to kill me in the park or, if she didn't, then she'd bring me to you and I could help you escape."
"And exactly how does getting yourself captured help. . ." Steve didn't finish the question as his attention was finally drawn to the items that Jesse was busy retrieving from the folds of bandages around his waist. "What are you doing?"
Jesse finished loading the small syringe from the vial that he had pulled out from between the bandages. "I figured by the time I got to you the pain meds from the hospital would have worn off, so I brought this. Hold still," He took Steve's arm and wiped an antiseptic swab over it before administering the injection. "There that should help." He tried not to grin at the astonished look on Steve's face as he placed the syringe on the ground and proceeded to retrieve several other items.
"Thanks," was all Steve could manage to say as he watched the pile grow and tried to identify them all.
"I figured I couldn't bring anything too bulky or they'd get suspicious and check out the bandages, so I brought what I could," he said apologetically. "They took my cell but I did manage to bring this." Jesse held up the wire that he had been wearing earlier.
"Jess that thing only has a range of half a mile at most. . ."
"I know that's why I brought this too." He held up a small black box.
"How did you. . ." Steve began to ask.
"Hey, some people's dads teach them baseball, others football, mine shows me how to remove tracking devices from police vehicles. Who knew it would actually be useful to have a father who was a spy."
Steve looked at his friend with renewed admiration, impressed by his resourcefulness if still slightly exasperated by his willingness to walk into such a dangerous situation. However light the banter became it couldn't fully cover the fear that they still both might die here. "Still, that's only any use if someone looks for my truck and realises that the tracking device isn't on it anymore."
"Oh, I think your dad will find it, I left it at the park."
"You drove my truck?" Steve responded with an automatic protectiveness.
Jesse grinned at the reaction, the normalcy of the response helping to draw him away from his own fears. He knew that if he stopped to consider the real shape that they were in, particularly Steve, and the chances of any escape attempt succeeding, then the hopelessness would probably overwhelm him. So he pushed it back under the optimism. This was going to work. It had to work. "Don't worry I was real careful with it."
"I suppose it's too much to hope that you left my dad some kind of note so he'd know where to look."
Jesse shook his head, "Couldn't risk him finding it before I met with Chloe. Don't worry he'll figure it out." The latter was added with utter conviction.
Steve gave his head a slight shake and shifted position. He shared Jesse's faith in his father's reasoning abilities but the time frame worried him. Mark may not even know that Jesse was missing yet, and he knew that he couldn't count on Chloe leaving them alone for too long. Now that she had what she wanted, there was no reason to keep either of them alive, unless she intended to torture them before killing them, he shuddered at the thought. "So what have you got that can help us get out of here?"
--
It didn't take Mark long to wake up everyone involved in the case and get them to the hospital. Jesse's disappearance renewed the urgency that had pervaded the investigation in the hours after Steve's abduction, but was fading as time passed with no results. Many officers had worked late into the night running down any possible lead on Chloe's whereabouts.
Jesse's movements from the night before were relatively easy to trace, since he had been under police guard the whole time, but since the officers had always respected his privacy and remained outside the rooms he was in, it took a little longer to establish the details of his conversation with nurse Johnson and consequently what he had accessed on the computer. Reading the review left Mark in no doubt as to what the young doctor had done and so, within an hour of finding Jesse's bed empty, he found himself standing once more near the entrance to Southside park, staring at his son's truck as a forensic team began to sweep the vehicle for clues.
He stood for a moment and drew in a deep breath as he waited for news from the team that had entered the park. He tried hard to cling onto the hope that they would find Jesse alive and well, knowing that at best they would find nothing. If Chloe had taken Jesse there was a chance that he was still alive, that they would be able to find him and Steve before she had a chance to. . .He cut off his own train of thought, knowing that he could not allow his mind any speculation if he was going to maintain control. He had to stick to the facts, examine the evidence, it was the only way to survive until they were both found.
He wasn't sure how long he stood before Nathan moved up beside him. "No sign of Dr. Travis I'm afraid, but we did find this." He held up the drawing of Jesse slaying the dragon.
Under other circumstances Mark might have smiled at the image. "She drew this," he stated, "Jesse told me about it when he first met her."
Nathan nodded at the confirmation. "So we know they were both here. We also found a shell casing from a .38 caliber handgun but there was no blood and the vest is missing from the back of Steve's truck."
There was no acknowledgement from Mark as he studied the drawing intently. "Did anyone check out her studio?" He looked up at Nathan, "The one she was working in when she was arrested?"
Nathan trawled his memory. "I'm sure they have, hold on I'll check," He said taking out his cell. A hurried conversation later he had the answers. "The studio along with Chloe's other assets were frozen when she was locked up, there were no traceable relatives and she wasn't deemed competent to handle her own affairs so they were being handled on her behalf by a lawyer. Which basically meant that the studio remained empty until her death, at which point it was sold off to a developer who wants to redevelop the whole area. The place has been boarded up ever since."
"Has anyone checked it?"
Nathan nodded. "A couple of uniforms went out there yesterday morning, they found no signs of occupancy."
"But they didn't go inside?"
"No."
"That's where she is," Mark stated with conviction. "That's where she's taken Steve and Jesse."
Nathan studied Mark for a moment, trying to piece together himself any clues from what he knew, that would lead him to the same conclusion. "How do you know?" he asked.
Mark held up the paper. "Because that's where this came from. It's got that musty smell and yellowing that you only get when paper is left for a long time, I've got papers stored in my garage with the same look, the same smell. If all of her things were left at the studio then she must have been there to get this."
Nathan nodded, it made sense and they had nothing else to go on. He lifted his cell but was interrupted by one of the forensic team that had been examining Steve's truck.
"Someone has removed the tracking device," the young dark haired woman stated as she gave her report. "We've got a trace running on it now, we should be able to let you know where it is in a couple of minutes."
Nathan thanked her and continued with his call to get the SWAT and backup units rolling. Somehow knowing that both clues were going to lead to the same location, he only hoped that they would make it there in time.
--
Jesse took the small key and undid the handcuff that secured Steve's left wrist to the pipe. Despite the care that he took, the action still elicited a wince from Steve as the biting metal was pulled free from the damaged flesh. He briefly considered giving Steve more of the painkiller that he had brought, there was still some left, he had only administered enough to take the edge off the pain, but he knew that if he did it would slow Steve's reactions, and until they were out of this he could not afford to do that. Instead he took the end of the unraveled bandage and prepared to place a dressing around Steve's wrist.
Steve pulled his hand away. "Sorry Jess, we haven't got time for that, the only thing we have on our side is the element of surprise. We have to be ready the next time Bilson or Chloe opens that door." He nodded across at it, waiting for a moment for Jesse to acknowledge his statement.
Jesse followed his gaze to the door, turning his head to look at it, and for a fleeting moment the fear broke through, his skin tightened, his stomach somersaulted and he was sure that he was going to be sick, barely holding down the bile as it burnt the back of his throat. The next time that door opened it promised certain death, and they only had the slimmest of chances of avoiding it.
"Jess?" Steve asked in concern as Jesse seemed to remain frozen in place.
Steve's voice broke the spell as Jesse forced the fear back down. He turned to his friend letting the bandage drop. "OK what do we need to do?"
Steve held out his hand. "Well I could use a hand getting up."
Jesse had half expected something more complicated, "That I can do," he said, Shifting his position and gripping Steve's hand in his, he braced himself as Steve used a combination of his support and the wall to push himself to a shaky stand.
It took every ounce of determination to complete even that simple maneuver. Steve had to force unwilling muscles to cooperate as he gritted his teeth against the pain, grateful for the effects of the medication Jesse had given him. Finally standing, he drew in a deep breath and waited for trembling muscles to stabilize and for the room to stop spinning, forced to acknowledge his own limitations as his body betrayed him with its weakness.
Jesse watched him, every instinct he had as a doctor made him want to ask Steve to lie down again, to rest, but he knew that that wasn't an option, so he contented himself with monitoring Steve's colour, his breathing. Steve shifted his position and Jesse noticed for the first time a crimson smear against the stark white paint. He followed the trail down and saw the stain behind where Steve had been sitting and he let out a soft curse as he moved closer to his friend. "Steve could you just let me get a look at your back," he said, turning his friend as he spoke. Steve did not resist as he leant his side into the wall.
The blood had soaked through the bandage and the sweatshirt, the knife wound clearly bleeding again, and Jesse knew that there was nothing he could do about it, not at the moment. Even removing the bandage to see how badly the stitches had been torn would take time they didn't have. Damn this was hard, seeing his friend like this, hurting, being able to do nothing to help, and, more than that, needing him to keep going despite his injuries, their only chance of staying alive. At least the bandage was providing some pressure on the wound, and, from what he could see, the blood loss wasn't life threatening, not yet. "When did this start bleeding again," he asked softly.
Steve turned to look at Jesse, he knew that there was nothing he could do, wanted him to know that it was all right. "I think when Bilson, finally threw me in here," he stated, "He was pretty rough and I landed on my shoulder, I don't remember much after that I guess I passed out."
Jesse nodded, "Well I'm going to have to take a look at it when we get out of here."
Steve smiled at the optimism of the comment. "Speaking of which we'd better get ready."
--
Mark gripped the door of the police car as it swerved around the traffic on the freeway. Over the years he had had occasion to take several high speed rides with lights and sirens, mainly in ambulances, accompanying crews to emergencies, but occasionally in police vehicles, and the uncomfortable sensations were always the same. Being thrown around at high speed, whilst your insides struggled to keep up, and your brain tried to decipher signals that evolution had ill prepared it for, usually left him struggling hard to hold on to whatever meal he had last eaten, but that wasn't a problem today. His insides had tied themselves in knots long before the journey began. Fear and anxiety, his almost constant companions for the last two days now, were still conspiring to rob him of his focus and destroy any hope that he tried to cling to.
He forced his mind into a steady mantra, repeating a silent prayer over and over. The images that had plagued him during the night, conspiring on the edge of his consciousness to push their way into his thoughts, gathering with them new and ever more gruesome companions as, in each, he always arrived too late to save his friend, too late to save his son.
"How far?" He asked through dry lips, his voice cracking slightly.
"We should be there in five minutes," Nathan answered immediately, he'd just been doing the mental calculation himself. There was now no doubt that they were heading to the right location, Steve's tracking beacon had confirmed it. He risked a glance at the doctor beside him, not that he needed to, to gauge how the older man was feeling, his emotions pervaded the air around him. "Don't worry we'll get them out," he said, forcing confidence into his tone.
--
Steve walked slowly across to take up position by the door, his balance and strength improving with each step. He turned and leaned against the lintel and looked down at the Swiss army knife that was now open in his hand. As a weapon it wasn't much, but it was better than no weapon at all. In a straight fight, he wasn't sure that he would win against Chloe at the moment, let alone Bilson, so he needed every advantage he could. If he used it right, the small knife would at the very least make them wary of coming straight for him. Not that that would matter if he didn't manage to disarm them with his first attempt, he doubted that he would get a second.
He looked up at Jesse, "I need you to get back on the floor, roughly where Bilson left you."
"But I can help. . ." Jesse began to protest.
Steve shook his head interrupting. "No, our only hope is for me to disarm whoever comes through the door, and to do that they're going to have to come into the room. If they open the door and see no one it will put them on their guard. Surprise is our only chance."
Jesse thought for a moment before replying. "They still might spot the fact that you're missing."
"That's why I need you to draw their attention, groan or something, anything to get them to look at you."
Jesse thought again and then nodded. "OK." He started to turn.
"Jess?"
He turned back to meet Steve's gaze.
"If I manage to take them down, you should try to get out of here, bring back help."
Jesse held the eye contact, he didn't bother protesting, he simply asked. "If the situation were reversed, would you leave me?"
The reply was an infinitesimal shake of the head, that Jesse was sure Steve didn't even know he had made. The answer never in doubt Jesse allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips as he moved to take up his position on the floor, and tried to prepare himself for what was to come.
The waiting was like torture for both men, had they been healthy it would have been bad enough, but in their current condition every movement caused shooting pains, as new and old injuries protested. Remaining still was not an option either, throbbing cramps and awful stiffness accompanied any attempts to remain motionless. Pain demanded their attention and wore away at their defenses, each passing second building the tension and exhausting their resolve.
Steve could feel the beads of sweat forming on his forehead as the seconds stretched to minutes and nothing happened, no one came for them. Idly he wondered how long he would be able to maintain his position, knowing that as time passed he would grow gradually weaker, he could already feel the effects of the blood loss on his only partially recovered system. The shot that Jesse had given him would also wear off with time, the pain was at barely manageable levels now. He looked down at his friend, at least he had persuaded Jesse to lie down, take the weight off his injured leg. If nothing else he hoped that Jesse would make it. He looked back at the door willing it to open, needing something to happen soon.
The click as the bolt was drawn back made both men jump. For a split second their gazes locked, a thousand words of mutual hope and understanding conveyed in the short glance before each refocused on the task at hand.
Steve finally allowed the fear through his careful defenses, holding it, embracing it, as he channeled its effects. He felt the accompanying flood of adrenaline hit his system, as his heartrate kicked up and his senses cleared. He was aware of Jesse beginning to move on the floor, rolling to his side and groaning as the door was pulled open, and then his entire focus was on the gun hand which moved through the opening at about waist height beside him. He held his breath and waited, a little further was all he needed. The world seemed to slow down and he was sure that the gun and the hand that held it would retreat again before he had his chance, and then it was moving forward and Steve felt himself move too as he brought the knife down and slashed across the arm.
Bilson screeched in pain as the knife blade cut into him, reflexively opening his hand the gun flew out of it and skittered across the floor disappearing under a cupboard on the far side of the room.
Jesse had pulled himself to a sitting position and watched it with dismay, realising that it would take time to retrieve. Ignoring it as a lost cause, he looked up in time to watch Bilson stagger back, gripping the back of his arm as blood started to appear between his fingers. Then his eyes were drawn to the figure behind Bilson, Chloe stood motionless an expression of shock on her face. He caught the moment at which her expression changed, hardening into one of hatred as she realised what Steve had done and she began to move. Ignoring everything else Jesse scrambled to his feet, he knew that he had to get to Chloe before she had a chance to get a weapon.
Steve pressed his advantage stepping out in front of Bilson, the small knife gripped firmly in his hand. Bilson continued to back away as the shock and pain temporarily blocked his ability to act. Steve followed him, waiting for another opening, but Bilson was beginning to recover, he eyed the knife before looking up at Steve's battered form assessing his chances of disarming the cop. It should be easy, his opponent was already injured, but there was something in the determination, the desperation of Steve's gaze that made him think again. He licked his lips and started glancing around for something to even up the fight, after all, injured or not, Steve had a weapon.
Steve was gratified to see some fear in Bilson's eyes as he looked at him, as long as there was fear there, the man would not go for an all out attack, Steve knew that he would not survive that. He continued to back the man into the room, watching as he glanced about nervously, Steve saw the point at which his demeanour changed, and alarm bells sounded in his head, even as he watched his opponent take a more deliberate step backwards.
Bilson reached behind him and, with a feral gleam in his eye, turned to watch for Steve's reaction as he pulled the sword free from the costume where it had been hanging.
Steve looked at the long blade and down at the now pathetically small blade of his own knife and almost laughed at the contrast. It was his turn to take a step back, quickly scanning the room around him. There were various costumes, suits of metal and leather armour hanging from mannequins and draped over blocks, still here from Chloe's career as an illustrator for fantasy book covers. Seeing what he needed, he flipped the blade of the knife he was holding around and threw it straight at Bilson's chest.
Jesse had made it into the room behind him, focussing on Chloe as she ran across to her desk. He took the shortest path to intercept, reaching her just as she was about to grab a second gun. He had thrown himself headlong into the run and with no way of stopping he slammed into her and they both toppled over the surface of the desk and off the other side not coming to a stop until they impacted with the wall. Jesse's chest exploded in pain with the first impact, his back taking the second with the wall. The edges of his vision turned to grey and tunneled to nothing as for a moment he could do nothing, not even breathe, and then he could control the burning protest of his lungs no longer, his chest heaved and the agony of movement swallowed every part of him, until he felt like a mass of burning jangling nerve endings, and still he had to force his chest to move, to suck in air against the pain.
Bilson was forced to duck as the knife flew at him and it gave Steve time to run to the opposite side of the room, pulling his own sword from the costumed mannequin that held it. He turned to face a newly enraged Bilson who now charged forward, raising his own sword he brought it down in a screaming arc and it was all Steve could do to bring his own up to parry. Bilson pulled back as his blow was blocked and swung around again as Steve was forced to defend.
Bilson was driven by anger, each time Steve managed to block one of his blows his anger increased a little and he pulled the sword round and swung blow after blow at his weakening opponent.
Jesse shook his head to try to clear it, aware of a dull metal clanging sound which he could not identify, he pushed himself to a sitting position and tried to focus still blurry vision on the source of the sound. As his vision cleared his brain tried to process the slightly surreal image of Steve locked in a deadly sword fight with Bilson. Bilson was raining blow after blow at Steve who barely managed to parry each one. It didn't look like he would be able to keep it up for much longer.
Jesse scanned the area around him, looking for something that he could use as a weapon to help his friend, that was when he spotted Chloe. He cursed softly under his breath. How could he have forgotten about her? She was edging across the floor on hands and knees and Jesse could see the dropped handgun less than a foot from her grasp. Adrenaline kicked in once again and he launched himself in her direction even as her grip tightened around the pistol. In horror he watched as she lifted it and aimed it at Steve.
"No!" Jesse cried out as once again he slammed into Chloe's side, deflecting her arm just as she squeezed the trigger.