Chapter 3 From This Day Forward

Three hours later, Steve sat in the doctors' lounge at Community General Hospital, rubbing his forehead, trying to rid himself of the aching in it that had started shortly after his meeting with Chief Masters.

"Son, you said you hadn't eaten any lunch, are you sure you don't want to go to the cafeteria and get something?"

"No, Dad, I'm not hungry," Steve told his father.

Jesse, who had only been in the room for a few minutes, couldn't believe what he was hearing and also couldn't help the words from coming out, "It must really be bad if you don't want to eat the cafeteria food."

His comment was returned with a sharp stare from Steve, and Mark was about to come to his son's defense when a loud ringing came from the front pocket of his white lab coat. The older doctor gave Jesse a look that told him the discussion wasn't over with, while he reached into the pocket and opened up his phone. "Mark Sloan," he pleasantly said into the receiver.

As Mark turned away from them to hold his conversation, Jesse sat quietly looking at Steve. From the moment he had entered the doctors' lounge, he knew there was a problem, and he had listened intently as Steve explained the events that had transpired at the precinct.

Steve took the report and looked at it, both shocked and rendered speechless by what was on it. Captain Woodruff explained the situation to Chief Masters. "They've taken Mrs. Sloan into protective custody."

Steve quickly turned and headed out of the office in search of Ellen. As if Captain Woodruff could read his mind, he called after him, "Don't bother, Lieutenant. She's already gone."

Not wanting to believe his captain, Steve practically ran to the interrogation room where he had left his wife just a short while ago. Not only was she gone, but another detective was already occupying it, conducting an interview of his own.

Brett Collins was nowhere to be seen, and, for a minute or two, Steve wandered aimlessly around the squad room trying to figure out what kind of trouble Ellen had gotten herself into this time.

"Lieutenant Sloan," Chief Masters called to him.

Steve snapped out his reverie and looked at his superior but didn't say a word. The tall man had evidently been on the phone and was putting it away.

"Let's talk in Captain Woodruff's office."

Steve was so dumbfounded over his wife being taken into protective custody that he wasn't sure what to do. The fleeting thoughts of running out to the parking lot in hopes of catching them or making a call to colleagues at the FBI passed through his mind, but he followed the chief's order and accompanied the man into the office, where Captain Woodruff was already seated behind his desk.

Chief Masters closed the door and began to speak, "I really don't know what this is all about, Lieutenant, but I do know that when someone is taken into protective custody, their spouse should go with them or, at the very least, be informed. And neither of those things happened. The only exception would be if they need protection from their spouse, and I don't believe that is the case either."

Steve shook his head and realized that he had been pondering the same things.

"I've put a call in to a friend of mine at the FBI," the Chief of Police continued, "and I should hear back any time now, but I suspect that this is not a normal case. While we're waiting, tell me what you know about it so far."

Since Mark was still on the phone, Jesse kept his voice low. "Did Chief Masters ever hear back from his friend?"

Steve released a deep breath. "Oh, yeah."

Most of the details were still a confused jumble to Steve, so Brett Collins was located and summoned to Captain Woodruff's office also. Brett was in the middle of his explanation when Chief Masters' phone rang, and he held out his hand indicating for the detective to stop his story momentarily so that he could take the call.

"Hello."

The room fell silent as all watched the appearance of the usually expressionless face of the Chief of Police change to deep concern, almost worry.

"Are you sure about that?"

The room stayed quiet, but Steve's heart began to race.

"Thank you for the information." The chief paused. "No, we'll handle it from here. Good bye."

As Masters closed his phone, he kept the somber look on his face. "That was my friend in the FBI that I mentioned earlier. I'm afraid that he can't help us. Everything to do with Samuel Hackett is classified information."

Steve's heart sank. This was not the news that he had hoped to hear.

Jesse desperately wanted to cheer up his friend, but wasn't sure what to say, so he offered, "Well, at least you don't have to worry about arguing about what color you want to paint the living room tonight."

Steve didn't see the comment for what it was, an attempt at lightening the mood, and instead he snapped, "Jesse, we don't argue every night!"

Unprepared for his friend's reaction, Jesse's eyes grew big and his mouth fell open a little, but before he could say anything, Steve continued. "I know that you don't really like Ellen, Jess, but I do, and we don't argue all the time."

"Steve, it isn't that I don't like Ellen. I like Ellen just fine."

"You don't act like it."

Jesse wasn't sure what provoked his friend's words, and he wasn't sure if it was the right time to pursue the issue, but he couldn't help himself. "Why would you say that? I like Ellen, it's just that" He stopped talking, realizing too late that he would have to explain himself and he wasn't sure that he really wanted to. He hadn't been lying when he said that he liked Ellen, but, as of yet, he hadn't been able to get to know her very well, and sometimes he wondered if he ever would. In his opinion, she seemed too impetuous for his best friend, and more than once when they couldn't agree on things, he had wondered if the marriage would last.

"Just that what?" Steve demanded.

"Look, Steve, calm down. I know that you're upset with Ellen's disappearance, and you should be, but you're overreacting here. I do like your wife, I like her a lot." Suddenly, realizing that his words might be misconstrued, he clarified himself. "Well, I don't like her a lot, I like her ayou know, I just like her."

Before the discussion could erupt into a bigger argument, Mark had finished his phone conversation and interrupted them. "We've got a problem."

Both Steve and Jesse immediately turned and looked at him.

Mark ignored their stares of perplexity and continued talking. "When you told me what had happened, I made a call to my friend, Special Agent Dunleavy."

Steve clearly remembered the last encounter he'd had with the FBI agent. When he had lost his temper, Dunleavy had kicked him out of an interview with the one man that Steve thought could help find the cure for a biologically altered smallpox that his dad and Jesse had contracted. Steve hadn't left the best impression, and he had to wonder if Dunleavy would even want to help now.

"Agent Dunleavy did some investigating and, Steve, I hate to tell you this, but Ellen wasn't taken by the FBI."

"What?"

"There was no order to take her into custody, no agents were assigned to pick her up, and she isn't being held at any of their safe house locations."

Still in shock, Steve asked, "Are you sure?"

Mark patted him on the shoulder, "Yes, I'm quite sure. I had Special Agent Dunleavy double check his sources, and according to him, the FBI wasn't even investigating Samuel Hackett."

Steve stood and started to walk out of the lounge, but after exchanging quick glances with each other, both Mark and Jesse moved to stop him. "Son, where are you going?"

The look that was in Steve's face was a mixture of complete confusion and desperation. He hesitated for a minute, just staring into his father's eyes, hoping to find reassurance. "Back to the station. I need to file a missing person's report."

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It was several hours and many heated words later, that Steve found himself driving home. Officially, a person wasn't missing for 48 hours, and he knew that, but even Captain Woodruff agreed that Ellen's disappearance was not a normal circumstance. The captain had apologized at least a dozen times and had himself been doing all he could to identify the fake FBI agents, but he had to admit to his detective, that even though they had an artist sketch of the two men, it wasn't extremely helpful. Not at all satisfied with the captain's attempts, Steve's temper went out of control, and if his dad hadn't been there to calm him down, he might not currently still be on the payroll of the Los Angeles Police Department.

A little hesitantly, Brett Collins suggested that Steve return home in case whoever took Ellen might attempt to contact him there. Extremely angry with himself for not thinking of that sooner, Steve stormed hurriedly out of the station, followed by his father who mumbled something about picking up some dinner and meeting him there.

Mark phoned an order into Barbecue Bob's, which was ready when he arrived, and then headed to his son's house. He figured that he was about ten minutes behind Steve and hoped that those ten minutes wouldn't be enough time for him to receive bad news by himself. Mark hadn't spent as much time with his son since the marriage, but the relationship they shared was still as strong as it had ever been. He knew that Ellen could be impetuous and sometimes even down right annoying, but he still loved her and thought she was an excellent match for Steve. The two of them were always happy in each other's company. Mark chuckled to himself when he realized what had just passed through his mind. Their relationship had started rather shakily with them bickering and arguing most of the time, but now they rarely fought, and when they did, it seemed to be a friendly banter.

Mark pulled his car into the driveway, turned it off, picked up the carryout bags, and started toward the house. He saw that the front door was slightly ajar and wasn't sure if he should be worried or not.

"Steve," the father called out as he pushed the door open. The sight that greeted him was not at all what he expected. He stood in shock.

The living room had been ransacked. Most of the furniture was turned over and cushions were slashed, their stuffing strewn across the carpet in clumps. An antique lamp lay on the floor, in a thousand pieces, after apparently having been tossed from its usual place in the far corner. Books and knick-knacks were laying haphazardly all around the room. Pictures were either hanging crooked on their hooks or resting broken among the rest of the mess.

Steve was silently crouched on the living room floor, amidst the total chaos. He was holding a picture of Ellen and him taken on their wedding day. The glass covering the picture was cracked in several places. He didn't look up at his father, but instead seemed to be lost in a world of his own. He was running his finger along the image of Ellen's face. Mark had to fight back the anger and tears that were welling up in his eyes, and wondered why Steve could still be so calm.

After standing perfectly still, surveying the room, and clutching the carryout bags, Mark finally found his senses and started to walk toward the back of the house where the two bedrooms were.

"Don't bother, Dad." The words were spoken softly. "They were very thorough."

"Have you called it in?"

Still keeping his eyes on the photo, Steve shook his head. "No."

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The carryout had grown cold hours ago. The police had arrived, and Captain Woodruff himself showed up, along with three CSU teams. Although he could become a little testy, Steve had always found his superior to be objective, but the barked orders that came out of the mouth of the red-faced man showed his clear concern.

It had taken several hours, but the entire house had been gone through, hundreds of bags of evidence collected. Officers also searched the yard and interviewed neighbors, but no one had seen or heard anything. The work was completed, and having nothing else to do, Captain Woodruff approached Steve and his father. "There was no sign of forced entry."

"Well, they could have used Ellen's key," Mark volunteered.

Steve sat uncharacteristically silent in a chair, still holding his wedding picture.

"They were obviously searching for something. Any idea what it might have been, Steve?"

He looked up at his captain for a few seconds, and then shook his head in reply. He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

"If your wife had something, where would she hide it? There could be a chance that they didn't find it."

Steve slowly surveyed the room, now completely disarrayed, and it occurred to him that the intruders must have looked in every conceivable place. "I have no idea, Sir. It looks to me like they did a pretty thorough search."

Captain Woodruff had to agree. "We also need to consider the possibility that this has nothing to do with your wife's disappearance. They didn't leave any ransom note or threat. It could be someone who has a grudge against you, and we all know that someone like that wouldn't have any problem breaking into a house."

Steve didn't react the way the captain would have expected. Actually, he didn't react at all. Realizing that his detective was too emotionally and physically distraught to be of much help, Captain Woodruff replied, "Well, if you think of anything else"

Steve nodded his understanding and agreement to contact him if anything new came to mind.

"I'll be going now. Get some rest, Steve. And don't worry about the dumpster killings; I'll give the files to Brett."

The case that had been so pressing earlier hadn't even crossed Steve's mind since Ellen had been taken. His police instincts rose up, "Captain, I can handle it."

Very firmly, the captain replied, "No, Lieutenant, you can't. And it's not because I've lost my confidence in you." He softened his voice and explained further. "Steve, with the pressure that the chief is putting on me, I need someone who can give that case their total attention, and right now, you need to be focusing your attention on this case."

Steve kept his gaze on Captain Woodruff as he continued to speak. "Officially, you can't be assigned to it. But unofficially, I'm sure that Sergeant Banks will be more than happy for your assistance. I don't take too kindly to someone attacking my officers like this, and I want my best detectives on it." Captain Woodruff left no room for further argument and exited the house.

Mark wasn't sure what to say to his distraught son as they sat alone in the disheveled mess that was once the living room, so he didn't say anything. The silence was awkward for him, and he was worried about Steve's uncharacteristic calmness. His son kept staring at the cracked photograph and showed no emotion whatsoever.

After a few minutes of silence, when Mark had decided to try to talk Steve into coming to the beach house for the night, his cell phone rang. "Mark Sloan," he answered, and Steve looked at him with mild interest.

"Isn't there someone else that could handle it?"

Steve could tell from his father's words that it was the hospital, and his dad was needed for an emergency.

"Are you sure? I have a personal matter that needs my attention."

"Dad," his son interrupted. "Go. They need you more than I do."

Mark looked into his son's eyes, and even though there was pain in them, he could also see the sincerity. So reluctantly, he said, "Ok, I'll be there as soon as I can. Have you notified Dr. Travis?"

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Sometime later, Steve stirred in the living room chair waking himself up, and he wondered how long he had been asleep. The wedding photo was lying flat on his chest, and he set it up to look at it again. Ellen had been so beautiful that day. He blinked back tears as he silently prayed that whoever had her wasn't hurting her.

He shook his head and decided that even though it would be a lonely place tonight, he would sleep better in bed, so locking the front door and turning off the lights as he went, he headed down the hallway to the master bedroom. The hard thump to the back of his left shoulder caught him by surprise and thrust him down to the floor. He reached out with his hands to instinctively break his fall, but was knocked flat on his stomach by a hard kick that sent his arms flailing out in front of him. The sharp boot stomped on him again, this time crushing his left hand under its weight. He not only felt, but also heard, bones breaking, and one last kick to the side of his face sent his mind into total darkness.