Part 19 Rescue
By the time Nathan's car pulled up outside the studio, there was already a gathering mass of vehicles, squad cars were busy establishing a perimeter allowing only the SWAT and command vehicles through. Nathan pulled his ID and was waved past the black and whites, pulling to a stop within sight of the boarded up building.
Mark was out of the car almost before it had stopped and he stood staring at the walls of the studio, scanning for some sign, any sign of what might be happening inside, as though, if he stared at it long enough he would be able to see through the brick and concrete to the room beyond.
Nathan came up beside him, concerned that the old doctor was making no attempt to take cover behind the vehicle. Although they were out of range of most handguns, they were well within range for a lot of weapons. He moved to guide Mark toward the relative safety of the rolling command post. The same vehicle that Mark had sat in the day before whilst observing their failed surveillance at the park.
The sound of the gunshot rang through the air, Everyone flinched and ducked in an automatic response before their conscious minds had time to process the fact that the shot had been entirely inside the building. Regardless the police officers followed their training and all weapons were sited on the building as they took up defensive positions and waited for further orders, or for something to happen.
Mark's response was very different, in his mind the shot could only signify one thing- death. Haunted by images of Steve and Jesse being shot. . . executed, in cold blood whilst he stood only yards away, he reacted in the only way that he could, he had to go to them, he had to help. Whatever the cost he could not just stand by and let it happen, he would never be able to forgive himself.
It took Nathan a moment to realise what Mark was going to do, a moment more to react. "Mark, wait," he shouted as he began to move, and then he was in front of the older man, gripping his arms, holding him firmly as he stopped his run toward the door of the building. He moved his head to force Mark to look into his eyes, found and locked his gaze.
"I have to get in there," Mark said, his voice cracking with the emotion, "Steve. . . Jesse. . . . We don't know what's happening, they could be. . ."
"Mark," Nathan said with a calmness and authority that he did not feel. "Rushing in won't do them any good. If they are still alive it could get them killed."
"If. . ." Mark repeated, but the word held utter defeat. He glanced across at the building, anguish and grief assaulting his senses in equal measure. The sound of the shot had ripped the heart out of any hope that he had been holding onto.
"Come on," Nathan said encouragingly. "Let's let the SWAT guys do their job."
Mark's gaze dropped to the floor and he gave a slight nod, allowing himself to be led back to the command vehicle, already mourning a loss so devastating that he knew that he would not be able to cope.
--
Steve felt the heat of the bullet as it whizzed past only inches from his head, but it was Jesse's anguished cry that drew his attention. He turned his head to try to catch sight of his friend, and in that moment of distraction misjudged the block to Bilson's latest blow. His own weapon made contact at the wrong angle and he did not have the force behind it to stop the downward swing of Bilson's sword, realising his error, he turned his head back in time to see the blade slice into the flesh of his shoulder.
Time stopped for a moment, his brain detached from the reality of what was happening, he watched in fascination as blood began to seep out on either side of the metal. Then survival instincts kicked in as a massive adrenaline boost hit his system. If he did not act he knew that he would die. He pulled his gaze back, focussed on the sword, adjusting the grip on his own, he slid it down so that the hilt now pressed against Bilson's blade and with every ounce of strength that he possessed he pushed Bilson back, crying out with the effort.
The countermove worked but not without cost. Wrong footed, Bilson was not prepared for an attack, the push knocking him backwards and he stumbled for several paces before he could finally regain his balance. The direction of the force however, meant that Bilson's blade was dragged sideways tearing painfully through flesh before finally coming free.
Steve backed cautiously away, a rolling wave of nausea and pain threatening to bring him down, even as he fought for control.
Jesse was locked in a deadly struggle of his own. Chloe had managed to maintain her grip on the weapon this time, and she had almost managed to point it at him before he could stop her. Now they both had a hold on the gun, gripped precariously between them as they rolled on the floor fighting for control. His entire world now focussed on the gun, the trigger, he had to gain control, failure was not an option. He ignored the screaming pain from his chest, the protest of aching muscles, he had to get the gun.
Steve stood, his shoulders hunched, the end of his sword trailing on the floor and eyed his opponent warily. His defense had drained his last reserves of strength, blood was dripping from the fingers of his now completely useless right hand, and he knew that the fight was all but over. Realistically all Bilson had to do was stand and wait, but Steve knew that he would not do that, he was sadistic enough to want to strike the killing blow. Steve mentally squared his shoulders, the physical act was beyond him, preparing himself for the inevitable. Whatever happened though, he wasn't going to make it easy.
--
"I think I have something," the technician said, directing his comment at Nathan. "I'm picking up sound on the same frequency as the wire we gave to Dr. Travis.
Nathan looked across. "Put it on speaker."
The technician obliged, turning up the volume so that the faint grunts could be clearly heard. "Sounds like a struggle of some sort," he stated.
Mark listened to the sounds, his sharp mind engaging despite the shroud of emotion that wrapped itself around his thoughts. A struggle meant that there was someone other than Chloe and Bilson left alive. He concentrated, trying to make sense of what thy were hearing, as a little hope resurfaced.
The second gunshot rang out in glorious amplified stereo from the speakers of the van, simultaneously echoing from the building. The technician pulled off the earphones he had been wearing, wincing in pain, as those around him automatically started at the sharp report.
"Oh God!" Mark let the exclamation leave his lips, even as those around him scrambled to take action. He looked back across at the building as the brief resurgence of hope was once again buried under an avalanche of negative emotion. Once more the only thing that the bullet could signify in his mind was death, the death of those closest to him. He watched with growing despair as members of the SWAT team moved in, keeping low as they ran before dropping into position either side of the doors and windows. He knew only too well the significance of their actions. If they were preparing to storm the place, then it meant that those in charge believed that there was little left to lose.
--
It took several seconds before Jesse registered the sound and connected it with the gun that he still gripped, several more for him to process the implications and realise that he could feel no new sources of pain. He opened eyes that he hadn't even realised were closed and stared at the face that was only inches from his own. The shocked expression and empty staring gaze told him all that he needed to know, and he swallowed back the bile that accompanied the realisation that Chloe Marsden was dead. His were the only hands now gripping the gun, as he pulled back and rolled onto his knees. Still staring at the lifeless form in front of him.
Bilson had been poised to make his final move when the gunshot drew his attention. He turned his head, his expression changing to horror and rage as he realised whom the bullet had hit.
Steve watched, sure that in his rage Bilson would now turn his attack towards Jesse. He prepared himself to intercede, to use anything he had left to prevent that from happening, but then Bilson just seemed to dissolve, the sword dropping from his hand, he took slow awkward steps forward. His head beginning to shake from side to side in disbelief. "No, no, no. . ." he began to repeat softly, as he dropped to his knees by Chloe's corpse and gently scooped her into his arms.
Jesse stared at him for a moment, bewildered. He looked across at Steve and saw the same bewildered expression on his face, before turning to watch Bilson again. He had dropped his thuggish persona completely. Suddenly it was impossible to equate this grief stricken figure with the violent killer that had been attacking Steve only minutes before.
With infinite care Bilson gently wiped the hair from Chloe's forehead, bringing his fingers down to close her eyes. He then placed a gentle kiss on her cheek and pulled her into a close embrace, rocking gently backwards and forwards, as his lips continued to mouth the denial. "No, no, no. . ."
The sharp metallic clatter of Steve's sword falling to the floor, drew Jesse's attention and his head snapped up to his friend. He was on his feet and moving even as his mind acknowledged the blood soaking down the front of Steve's shirt from his shoulder. "Steve!"
--
The anguished cry crackled out over the speaker, simultaneously allowing some hope to resurface and drawing Mark further into his despair. He recognised Jesse's voice instantly, the young doctor was alive, but the despair in his voice as he uttered Steve's name made Mark's blood run cold. Before anyone could stop him, he snatched up the microphone and spoke into it.
"Jesse, this is Mark, can you hear me? What's happening? Is Steve all right?"
--
Steve staggered back to the wall, leaning heavily against it, he tried to use it's support, but it wasn't enough. His ever weakening system now had no reason to fight, as it struggled against the blood loss and injury to maintain some minimal function. His vision blurred as he tried desperately to focus on his surroundings, willing himself to concentrate against the growing burning pain that now seemed to engulf the whole of his right side.
Jesse reached him just as Steve's legs gave out, barely able to stop him from pitching forward, he managed to press him back against the wall, helping to support him as he slid to the ground. He gasped at the blood loss from the new injury, and shifted his position to try to get a better look at the wound. He had forgotten completely about the wire and the tiny earpiece that he had hooked on in the utility room. When he heard Mark's voice, heard him ask in concern about his son, he thought for a moment that he was hallucinating, projecting his own concerns, but something in the insistent tones made him answer. "Mark?" He asked tentatively.
"Jess, what's going on?" Mark's voice was slightly distorted by the headset.
The memories slid into place and a huge surge of relief crashed through Jesse's system, Mark was on the other end of the wire, he was nearby, help was nearby. His elation was short-lived however as Steve groaned at his side, he looked down. "Mark, where are you? Get in here."
Mark heard the groan and his heart skipped a beat, he forced himself to remain where he was as he asked the next question. "What's the situation?"
"Chloe's dead and Bilson. . ." Jesse glanced up to check, Bilson hadn't moved from his position, still holding and rocking Chloe in his arms. "Bilson is disarmed," he stated, "but we need a paramedic unit in here now, Steve's been hurt. . .it doesn't look good."
Mark did not need to hear any more. He dropped the microphone and jumped from the van, hitting the ground running. He was oblivious to Nathan ordering the SWAT team in ahead of him, oblivious to the police vehicles moving back to allow the ambulance closer to the building. His only focus was getting into the building and to his son.
Jesse did his best to examine the wound, but the shoulder was a mess, fabric from Steve's sweatshirt was caught up with torn flesh as the blood flowed freely over it obscuring part of the injury. Jesse grabbed a cloak from one of the nearest mannequins and did his best to staunch the flow. "Come on Steve, stay with me," He said encouragingly as Steve fought weakly against the added pain that the pressure on the wound brought. "I need to try to stop the bleeding, Take it easy, that's it." He was gratified as Steve calmed a little. "Come on buddy, help will be here soon."
Steve was finding it increasingly difficult to string thoughts together, the pain from his shoulder like a huge chasm, sucking his awareness into it, wrapping each thought with it's tendrils and dragging it away, even as he tried to fight it. Jesse was only a vague blur, his soothing words barely making sense as Steve's system weakened further. Current and past images merged as memories of the recent knife attack returned, the sensations so similar that sensory memory prevailed. He felt the cold of the concrete, the emptiness of being left alone to die, the all encompassing pain, and he struggled to move, he did not want to die here, did not want to die alone.
There was soft pressure on his shoulder, someone gripping his left hand, relief washed over him, not alone then. He forced tired eyes to open, briefly gaining focus on the tear stained face above him. "Dad," he whispered softly.
Mark could not help himself, he smiled through the tears. The belief that Steve was already dead, that he would never see his son again had been so real, the sense of foreboding so powerful, that despite his deep concern at his Steve's condition, he couldn't help but feel some relief. "It's OK son." The reply was barely whispered
Steve struggled to draw in enough breath to speak again. "Dad, , , need you. . . Don't. . . .leave".
Speech failed Mark for a moment as painful memories resurfaced, he tightened his grip on Steve's hand, and briefly glanced across at Chloe's prone form, he could feel no grief at her loss, not after what she had put them all through. "Don't worry I'm not going anywhere." He stated in a voice that trembled as he fought for emotional control.
Jesse watched the exchange quietly, shifting position as the EMT's arrived, allowing them in to work.
One of them went to Mark's side. "Excuse me sir but I need you to move," he said, but there was no response.
Jesse grabbed the young man's arm, the paramedic looked up, slightly startled by the action, and met Jesse's gaze.
"Work round him," Jesse said firmly. "They need each other at the moment."
The paramedic looked back at the old doctor and down to the patient, there was something indefinable in the contact, the air heavy with emotion, and he knew that it would be pointless, would only waste time, if he tried to get the older man to move. He turned back to Jesse and nodded, shifting to a different position, he began working on Steve.
Jesse stood and backed away, knowing that in his current state he was likely to be more of a hindrance than a help as they fought to stabilise his friend. He leant heavily against the wall, finally allowing his own injuries and exhaustion through, and watched as the last gasps of the drama played out in front of him.
For a surreal moment, he felt as though he had melted into the fabric of the wall, becoming a silent observer..
A few feet in front of him the paramedics worked on Steve, as Mark kneeling by his side gripped his hand, watching every rise and fall of his son's chest in silent vigil, grateful for the contact
Over on the opposite side of the room, the armed SWAT unit had forced Bilson to kneel, his hands interlaced on the back of his head. He was still staring down at the corpse of the woman he loved, the woman he had loved enough to kill for, still rocking gently backwards and forwards. Several rifles pointed at his head in a redundant show of force..
Chloe's body lay stretched out in front of him, her eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling, and Jesse had to swallow down a burst of nausea at the thought that he had killed her.
Ignored, as if he did not exist in the bustle of the room, Jesse felt more and more like a spectator, not a part of what had happened at all. He was watching the final chapter of the drama play out in the same way that the images formed in his head when he tried to write. He knew that he was witnessing the ending, with Chloe dead the story would be over. The thought triggered a collapse of his own system, weakened by injury and exhaustion he sank to the floor.
--
Jesse sat staring at the computer screen, his finger hovering over the button that would transmit his words to the internet and access to anyone who wanted to read it. Part of him had wanted to erase the whole thing, expunge it from his memory, but he knew that it would take more than the touch of a few computer keys to achieve that. A stronger part of him had wanted to finish it, the story had gone so far that it needed an ending. He needed an ending.
He had started writing as soon as he had known that Steve was out of danger, fighting with pain and exhaustion he had carried on typing as though possessed, not pausing until he had finished.
He clicked the mouse button, and dropped back onto his pillows in relief, now it was over.
--
FIN
Author's note: I'd just like to thank everyone who has written a review or sent me any encouragement whilst writing this. It has made a huge difference in what has been, at times, a very difficult year. I want you to know that every single review is read and appreciated in the spirit in which it has been sent. I'd love to know what you thought of the ending and the story as a whole and thank you again for taking the time. Judith.
By the time Nathan's car pulled up outside the studio, there was already a gathering mass of vehicles, squad cars were busy establishing a perimeter allowing only the SWAT and command vehicles through. Nathan pulled his ID and was waved past the black and whites, pulling to a stop within sight of the boarded up building.
Mark was out of the car almost before it had stopped and he stood staring at the walls of the studio, scanning for some sign, any sign of what might be happening inside, as though, if he stared at it long enough he would be able to see through the brick and concrete to the room beyond.
Nathan came up beside him, concerned that the old doctor was making no attempt to take cover behind the vehicle. Although they were out of range of most handguns, they were well within range for a lot of weapons. He moved to guide Mark toward the relative safety of the rolling command post. The same vehicle that Mark had sat in the day before whilst observing their failed surveillance at the park.
The sound of the gunshot rang through the air, Everyone flinched and ducked in an automatic response before their conscious minds had time to process the fact that the shot had been entirely inside the building. Regardless the police officers followed their training and all weapons were sited on the building as they took up defensive positions and waited for further orders, or for something to happen.
Mark's response was very different, in his mind the shot could only signify one thing- death. Haunted by images of Steve and Jesse being shot. . . executed, in cold blood whilst he stood only yards away, he reacted in the only way that he could, he had to go to them, he had to help. Whatever the cost he could not just stand by and let it happen, he would never be able to forgive himself.
It took Nathan a moment to realise what Mark was going to do, a moment more to react. "Mark, wait," he shouted as he began to move, and then he was in front of the older man, gripping his arms, holding him firmly as he stopped his run toward the door of the building. He moved his head to force Mark to look into his eyes, found and locked his gaze.
"I have to get in there," Mark said, his voice cracking with the emotion, "Steve. . . Jesse. . . . We don't know what's happening, they could be. . ."
"Mark," Nathan said with a calmness and authority that he did not feel. "Rushing in won't do them any good. If they are still alive it could get them killed."
"If. . ." Mark repeated, but the word held utter defeat. He glanced across at the building, anguish and grief assaulting his senses in equal measure. The sound of the shot had ripped the heart out of any hope that he had been holding onto.
"Come on," Nathan said encouragingly. "Let's let the SWAT guys do their job."
Mark's gaze dropped to the floor and he gave a slight nod, allowing himself to be led back to the command vehicle, already mourning a loss so devastating that he knew that he would not be able to cope.
--
Steve felt the heat of the bullet as it whizzed past only inches from his head, but it was Jesse's anguished cry that drew his attention. He turned his head to try to catch sight of his friend, and in that moment of distraction misjudged the block to Bilson's latest blow. His own weapon made contact at the wrong angle and he did not have the force behind it to stop the downward swing of Bilson's sword, realising his error, he turned his head back in time to see the blade slice into the flesh of his shoulder.
Time stopped for a moment, his brain detached from the reality of what was happening, he watched in fascination as blood began to seep out on either side of the metal. Then survival instincts kicked in as a massive adrenaline boost hit his system. If he did not act he knew that he would die. He pulled his gaze back, focussed on the sword, adjusting the grip on his own, he slid it down so that the hilt now pressed against Bilson's blade and with every ounce of strength that he possessed he pushed Bilson back, crying out with the effort.
The countermove worked but not without cost. Wrong footed, Bilson was not prepared for an attack, the push knocking him backwards and he stumbled for several paces before he could finally regain his balance. The direction of the force however, meant that Bilson's blade was dragged sideways tearing painfully through flesh before finally coming free.
Steve backed cautiously away, a rolling wave of nausea and pain threatening to bring him down, even as he fought for control.
Jesse was locked in a deadly struggle of his own. Chloe had managed to maintain her grip on the weapon this time, and she had almost managed to point it at him before he could stop her. Now they both had a hold on the gun, gripped precariously between them as they rolled on the floor fighting for control. His entire world now focussed on the gun, the trigger, he had to gain control, failure was not an option. He ignored the screaming pain from his chest, the protest of aching muscles, he had to get the gun.
Steve stood, his shoulders hunched, the end of his sword trailing on the floor and eyed his opponent warily. His defense had drained his last reserves of strength, blood was dripping from the fingers of his now completely useless right hand, and he knew that the fight was all but over. Realistically all Bilson had to do was stand and wait, but Steve knew that he would not do that, he was sadistic enough to want to strike the killing blow. Steve mentally squared his shoulders, the physical act was beyond him, preparing himself for the inevitable. Whatever happened though, he wasn't going to make it easy.
--
"I think I have something," the technician said, directing his comment at Nathan. "I'm picking up sound on the same frequency as the wire we gave to Dr. Travis.
Nathan looked across. "Put it on speaker."
The technician obliged, turning up the volume so that the faint grunts could be clearly heard. "Sounds like a struggle of some sort," he stated.
Mark listened to the sounds, his sharp mind engaging despite the shroud of emotion that wrapped itself around his thoughts. A struggle meant that there was someone other than Chloe and Bilson left alive. He concentrated, trying to make sense of what thy were hearing, as a little hope resurfaced.
The second gunshot rang out in glorious amplified stereo from the speakers of the van, simultaneously echoing from the building. The technician pulled off the earphones he had been wearing, wincing in pain, as those around him automatically started at the sharp report.
"Oh God!" Mark let the exclamation leave his lips, even as those around him scrambled to take action. He looked back across at the building as the brief resurgence of hope was once again buried under an avalanche of negative emotion. Once more the only thing that the bullet could signify in his mind was death, the death of those closest to him. He watched with growing despair as members of the SWAT team moved in, keeping low as they ran before dropping into position either side of the doors and windows. He knew only too well the significance of their actions. If they were preparing to storm the place, then it meant that those in charge believed that there was little left to lose.
--
It took several seconds before Jesse registered the sound and connected it with the gun that he still gripped, several more for him to process the implications and realise that he could feel no new sources of pain. He opened eyes that he hadn't even realised were closed and stared at the face that was only inches from his own. The shocked expression and empty staring gaze told him all that he needed to know, and he swallowed back the bile that accompanied the realisation that Chloe Marsden was dead. His were the only hands now gripping the gun, as he pulled back and rolled onto his knees. Still staring at the lifeless form in front of him.
Bilson had been poised to make his final move when the gunshot drew his attention. He turned his head, his expression changing to horror and rage as he realised whom the bullet had hit.
Steve watched, sure that in his rage Bilson would now turn his attack towards Jesse. He prepared himself to intercede, to use anything he had left to prevent that from happening, but then Bilson just seemed to dissolve, the sword dropping from his hand, he took slow awkward steps forward. His head beginning to shake from side to side in disbelief. "No, no, no. . ." he began to repeat softly, as he dropped to his knees by Chloe's corpse and gently scooped her into his arms.
Jesse stared at him for a moment, bewildered. He looked across at Steve and saw the same bewildered expression on his face, before turning to watch Bilson again. He had dropped his thuggish persona completely. Suddenly it was impossible to equate this grief stricken figure with the violent killer that had been attacking Steve only minutes before.
With infinite care Bilson gently wiped the hair from Chloe's forehead, bringing his fingers down to close her eyes. He then placed a gentle kiss on her cheek and pulled her into a close embrace, rocking gently backwards and forwards, as his lips continued to mouth the denial. "No, no, no. . ."
The sharp metallic clatter of Steve's sword falling to the floor, drew Jesse's attention and his head snapped up to his friend. He was on his feet and moving even as his mind acknowledged the blood soaking down the front of Steve's shirt from his shoulder. "Steve!"
--
The anguished cry crackled out over the speaker, simultaneously allowing some hope to resurface and drawing Mark further into his despair. He recognised Jesse's voice instantly, the young doctor was alive, but the despair in his voice as he uttered Steve's name made Mark's blood run cold. Before anyone could stop him, he snatched up the microphone and spoke into it.
"Jesse, this is Mark, can you hear me? What's happening? Is Steve all right?"
--
Steve staggered back to the wall, leaning heavily against it, he tried to use it's support, but it wasn't enough. His ever weakening system now had no reason to fight, as it struggled against the blood loss and injury to maintain some minimal function. His vision blurred as he tried desperately to focus on his surroundings, willing himself to concentrate against the growing burning pain that now seemed to engulf the whole of his right side.
Jesse reached him just as Steve's legs gave out, barely able to stop him from pitching forward, he managed to press him back against the wall, helping to support him as he slid to the ground. He gasped at the blood loss from the new injury, and shifted his position to try to get a better look at the wound. He had forgotten completely about the wire and the tiny earpiece that he had hooked on in the utility room. When he heard Mark's voice, heard him ask in concern about his son, he thought for a moment that he was hallucinating, projecting his own concerns, but something in the insistent tones made him answer. "Mark?" He asked tentatively.
"Jess, what's going on?" Mark's voice was slightly distorted by the headset.
The memories slid into place and a huge surge of relief crashed through Jesse's system, Mark was on the other end of the wire, he was nearby, help was nearby. His elation was short-lived however as Steve groaned at his side, he looked down. "Mark, where are you? Get in here."
Mark heard the groan and his heart skipped a beat, he forced himself to remain where he was as he asked the next question. "What's the situation?"
"Chloe's dead and Bilson. . ." Jesse glanced up to check, Bilson hadn't moved from his position, still holding and rocking Chloe in his arms. "Bilson is disarmed," he stated, "but we need a paramedic unit in here now, Steve's been hurt. . .it doesn't look good."
Mark did not need to hear any more. He dropped the microphone and jumped from the van, hitting the ground running. He was oblivious to Nathan ordering the SWAT team in ahead of him, oblivious to the police vehicles moving back to allow the ambulance closer to the building. His only focus was getting into the building and to his son.
Jesse did his best to examine the wound, but the shoulder was a mess, fabric from Steve's sweatshirt was caught up with torn flesh as the blood flowed freely over it obscuring part of the injury. Jesse grabbed a cloak from one of the nearest mannequins and did his best to staunch the flow. "Come on Steve, stay with me," He said encouragingly as Steve fought weakly against the added pain that the pressure on the wound brought. "I need to try to stop the bleeding, Take it easy, that's it." He was gratified as Steve calmed a little. "Come on buddy, help will be here soon."
Steve was finding it increasingly difficult to string thoughts together, the pain from his shoulder like a huge chasm, sucking his awareness into it, wrapping each thought with it's tendrils and dragging it away, even as he tried to fight it. Jesse was only a vague blur, his soothing words barely making sense as Steve's system weakened further. Current and past images merged as memories of the recent knife attack returned, the sensations so similar that sensory memory prevailed. He felt the cold of the concrete, the emptiness of being left alone to die, the all encompassing pain, and he struggled to move, he did not want to die here, did not want to die alone.
There was soft pressure on his shoulder, someone gripping his left hand, relief washed over him, not alone then. He forced tired eyes to open, briefly gaining focus on the tear stained face above him. "Dad," he whispered softly.
Mark could not help himself, he smiled through the tears. The belief that Steve was already dead, that he would never see his son again had been so real, the sense of foreboding so powerful, that despite his deep concern at his Steve's condition, he couldn't help but feel some relief. "It's OK son." The reply was barely whispered
Steve struggled to draw in enough breath to speak again. "Dad, , , need you. . . Don't. . . .leave".
Speech failed Mark for a moment as painful memories resurfaced, he tightened his grip on Steve's hand, and briefly glanced across at Chloe's prone form, he could feel no grief at her loss, not after what she had put them all through. "Don't worry I'm not going anywhere." He stated in a voice that trembled as he fought for emotional control.
Jesse watched the exchange quietly, shifting position as the EMT's arrived, allowing them in to work.
One of them went to Mark's side. "Excuse me sir but I need you to move," he said, but there was no response.
Jesse grabbed the young man's arm, the paramedic looked up, slightly startled by the action, and met Jesse's gaze.
"Work round him," Jesse said firmly. "They need each other at the moment."
The paramedic looked back at the old doctor and down to the patient, there was something indefinable in the contact, the air heavy with emotion, and he knew that it would be pointless, would only waste time, if he tried to get the older man to move. He turned back to Jesse and nodded, shifting to a different position, he began working on Steve.
Jesse stood and backed away, knowing that in his current state he was likely to be more of a hindrance than a help as they fought to stabilise his friend. He leant heavily against the wall, finally allowing his own injuries and exhaustion through, and watched as the last gasps of the drama played out in front of him.
For a surreal moment, he felt as though he had melted into the fabric of the wall, becoming a silent observer..
A few feet in front of him the paramedics worked on Steve, as Mark kneeling by his side gripped his hand, watching every rise and fall of his son's chest in silent vigil, grateful for the contact
Over on the opposite side of the room, the armed SWAT unit had forced Bilson to kneel, his hands interlaced on the back of his head. He was still staring down at the corpse of the woman he loved, the woman he had loved enough to kill for, still rocking gently backwards and forwards. Several rifles pointed at his head in a redundant show of force..
Chloe's body lay stretched out in front of him, her eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling, and Jesse had to swallow down a burst of nausea at the thought that he had killed her.
Ignored, as if he did not exist in the bustle of the room, Jesse felt more and more like a spectator, not a part of what had happened at all. He was watching the final chapter of the drama play out in the same way that the images formed in his head when he tried to write. He knew that he was witnessing the ending, with Chloe dead the story would be over. The thought triggered a collapse of his own system, weakened by injury and exhaustion he sank to the floor.
--
Jesse sat staring at the computer screen, his finger hovering over the button that would transmit his words to the internet and access to anyone who wanted to read it. Part of him had wanted to erase the whole thing, expunge it from his memory, but he knew that it would take more than the touch of a few computer keys to achieve that. A stronger part of him had wanted to finish it, the story had gone so far that it needed an ending. He needed an ending.
He had started writing as soon as he had known that Steve was out of danger, fighting with pain and exhaustion he had carried on typing as though possessed, not pausing until he had finished.
He clicked the mouse button, and dropped back onto his pillows in relief, now it was over.
--
FIN
Author's note: I'd just like to thank everyone who has written a review or sent me any encouragement whilst writing this. It has made a huge difference in what has been, at times, a very difficult year. I want you to know that every single review is read and appreciated in the spirit in which it has been sent. I'd love to know what you thought of the ending and the story as a whole and thank you again for taking the time. Judith.