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Category: Angst/General
Rating: Hm? Oh yeah, that little thing. Well, if you want it, maybe PG13. Some whumping, slight curses, angst... That´s all. Oh, something more - it´s highly recommended to be a fan of at least one of the shows, better if you like both.(ER prevails, Carter´s a favorite:-)
Summary: Hell if I know. Well, it´s about a past - Carter meet Sloan at the camp. I know, they are not the same age... Steve is investigating some incidents in the summer camp, where the 13 year old Carter is spending the summer. Bad thing happen - good things happen and the two of them became quite acquinted.
Spoilers: For Diagnosis Murder - not much, because it´s all playing out in the early 80st. For ER - it´s the same. John´s just a kid, but there could be mentions from some episodes about Carter´s family, so sorry for that.
Author´s notes: I know nothing about medical situations, so this will probably suck. I tried to make it as believable, as I could though.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Crossroads xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Crossover fan fiction of Diagnosis Murder/ER
by Nicol Leoraine
July, 30. 1983 - Los Angeles
Sergeant Steve Sloan grasped the steering wheel of his service car, looking nervously at his new "partner" in work. Kyle Gribbs was in his late 40st, in a rank of lieutenant detective, a man with pepper salt beard and a smirk, that could turn half the women in L.A. to a shaking red Jello. Lieutenant Gribbs was unusually crisp this morning, and Steve was wondering, if he should ask what´s the problem. But working with Gribbs only for two weeks, and being in the lowest rank of a sergeant, he couldn´t muster enough courage.
It wasn´t really normal for a lieutenant to ride the streets with an uniformed cop, but it was still better, than to be jobless. Kyle Gribbs made the mistake of pissing of his almighty chief, whose idea of a punishment was remind his officer, how he can drop to the rank of sergeant. Steve Sloan would´ve been maybe offended, knowing that his job was for the lieutenant meant like a punishment, but Steve didn´t know this little piece of information and Kyle Gribbs wasn´t really wanting to share with him. So Steve was informed that his temporal partner for the next four weeks was inspecting the work of uniformed cops. This of course, didn´t ease his mind and Steve was pretty nervous for the first day. But when Gribbs get a grip at his anger about his predicament, he changed into a cool partner. At least till this morning.
Steve was knocking on the wheel, while the cars before them were waiting for the green light on the semaphor.
"Stop it, man," hissed Gribbs and Steve immediatelly stopped, looking at his partner.
"What´s the problem, Lieutenant?" he stressed the rank, earning a scowl from Briggs.
"I´m having a headache, Sergeant," replied Briggs in a low voice, equally emphasizing Steve´s rank.
"Want some Aspirin? Or rather Tylenol?" asked Steve casually and stepped on the gas, when the orange turned to green.
"What are you? Some kind of apothecary?" grumbled Gribbs and pinched his nose.
"Just trying to help. No reason to get grumpy." Steve was slowly getting irritated and Gribbs sighed.
"Sorry, Sloan. I´m just having the mother of all hangovers. We had an anniversary - twenty years, and well... you know, once you get to a party, it´s hard to stop. We drank till one in the morning, and it wasn´t the easiest thing to get out of the bed."
Steve laughed.
"I can imagine it. Why didn´t you call in sick?"
Gribbs just rolled his eyes.
"I tried. But my chief is pissed off with me. Said, that if I´m not unconscious or in ICU, I can work. Hey, partner... couldn´t you just knock me out? My head is already throbbing."
"Sorry," smirked Steve. "My father´s a doctor at Community General, he would kick my ass if I bring him another patient."
"Welcome to the wonderful job of a street cop. What will we do today, sergeant? Chase a little thief on the corner of Lincoln Boulevard, or rather ride through Hollywood and watch all the movie stars shopping?" asked Briggs in a mocking voice.
As if in respond to his question, the transmitter in the car rasped. Gribbs grabbed it and responded to an unfriendly voice on the other side. After a quick and heated discussion, Gribbs slammed the microphone and muttered something under his nose.
"What?"
"Turn to the right, Sloan. They´re sending us to the Ranch of Jenny Prescott. You know where it is?"
"Yeah, I was there like a kid, from school. They are still open?"
"It seems so."
"Why are we going there?"
"Because of a case."
"Case?" Steve´s face lit up in anticipation of something real. "What is it? Murder?"
"What? No!" responded Gribbs a little more harshly than he should and began massaging his temples.
"But you´re from homicide, no?"
"Yes, but I´m kind of suspended for a while. No, someone reported an incident on the ranch, involving few boys attending to the camping program."
"Was someone injured?"
"Yeah, but nothing serious."
"Accidents happen," reacted Steve confused.
"Well, on this ranch surely. But there was also a report of some written message."
"Why did the captain sent us? It´s not a work for me, and not a work for you."
"Yeah, so? Look, it isn´t murder, but it´s serious enough to engage a detective. The kids here are an elite group from all of the states. They parents are pretty wealthy. If there would be something more serious than a broken arm and a message, it would be a job for the federals. It still can be." Kyle Gribbs massaged his temples, while Steve tried to maneuver out of the traffic. The sun was shining, making today a hot, summer day.
Jenny Prescott was a petit, gray haired woman in high cowboy boots, in snug jeans and a white blouse. Nobody could miss the expressive waistband with a buckle in a form of a horse. Jenny Prescott looked like a true cowboy, her age not posing as a barrier. Steve could just imagine, how a teenaged boys can react to this "granny" on high heels.
"So, Mrs. Prescott..."
"It´s Ms. I never married. Didn´t need a man to guide these boys."
Steve raised his eyebrows, but didn´t otherwise comment. How could an elderly woman handle a bunch of teenagers? It was beyond his comprehension.
"Sorry, Ms. Prescott," apologized Gribbs and pulled out his notepad along with a pen. "So, can you please tell us, what incidents happened?"
Jenny Prescott nodded and looked around herself. They was on the yard and once in a while, the boys ran through the area, curiously watching the trio, especially Steve´s uniform.
"It would be better to talk somewhere elsewhere. What about the gardens? The boys are mainly in the stable, taking care of the horses."
She guided them behind a long, two storeyed house with a plenty of rooms. They saw the stable, horses and the kids, who were cleaning and caring for the animals with an ease and practice of a professionals. Steve saw one of the boys, a skinny brown haired one, caressing a head of a white horse, with a sorrow expressed in every move. He wanted to ask, who te boy was, or talk with him, but Gribbs began the questioning and Steve had to focus on the answers. They were soon seated in the garden, under a big sunshade, drinking a cold soda. It was more and more like a picnic, not investigation and Steve wondered, if it´s always this peaceful. But when the questions and answers began to hurry out, he found that no matter of a soda, he wasn´t relaxed anymore.
"... the first incident happened ten days ago, at thursday. Right after breakfast, Robert Brown fell down the stairs and broke his arm."
"You think someone pushed him?"
"No, Robert said he was alone. It´s pretty normal... right after the breakfast, the boys are going riding."
"Why was Robert in the house, then?"
"Because he is really forgetful. The boy is always something forgetting - this time, it was his boots."
"What... he was barefoot?"
"No, of course not. But I don´t let a boy in tennis shoes ride a horse!" Jenny Prescott was very clear about that and Steve began to feel sorry for anyone who´ll cross her way. She surely could be scary.
"So, Robert get to change and on the way back, he rolled down the stairs. Is that all?" Gribbs was trying to cut it short.
"No! Young man, why don´t you hear me out first, then ask questions," admonished him the older lady and Steve couldn´t hide the smirk. "Robert went to his room and changed. When he was coming out, though, he tripped over something. When he cried out in pain, I rushed into the house and called an ambulance. While he was tended by paramedics, I looked at the stairs, thinking that perhaps one of the boys left something on the top. They´re often trying some pranks. When I got up, I too stumbled, but I caught my ballance. I looked under my feet, but didn´t saw a thing. When I closely inspected the staircase however, I found a long, stranded nylon wire attached to both rails maybe ten inches above the ground."
"Do you have the wire?"
"Yes, along with a note I found under the carpet right above the stairs."
"Can we see it?"
The woman handed them a small crumpled note. It read:
xxx
Is it funny? Your ranch will end, you old bitch.
xxx
Steve read it with a scowl. How dare someone call Ms. Prescott a bitch?
"Well, if you hadn´t touched it, we could´ve possibly take a fingerprints, but now," Gribbs was eyeing the paper with frustration.
"I thought it´s one of the boys."
"Is there one who could do it?"
"All of them, if you are meaning the wire. It could´ve been just a prank."
"This note seems serious enough."
"Young man, if you´ve worked with teenagers so long as I, you wouldn´t think so. This boys have more pocket money for a day, than you spend for a month. And it´s normal. They´re used to servants. They aren´t raised by parents, but by maids and private teachers. Most of them have their own horses, and at fifteen, they get a sport car. I don´t say they´re bad, but sure as hell they aren´t normal. They have issues, mostly with their parents."
"You´re saying, that they could do any prank only because their attorney will save their asses?" asked harshly Gribbs.
"Exactly. But I don´t think it was one of the boys, not after the second incident."
"Which was?"
"Someone set a fire in the dayroom while we were grilling outside. Didn´t make much damage, but scared the hell out of me. Luckily, Sam returned to the house , heading for the kitchen, when he spotted the smoke. We have fire estinguishers throughout the whole house. Sam grabbed one and doused the fire."
"You didn´t call a fire department?"
"No, it was unnecessary. But we did call police, because of this." Ms. Prescott handed them another piece of paper, a little burned at the corners, otherwise intact.
xxx
Burn in hell! The fun is just beginning. High elite boys? We should see, how high they can get. Beware the witch!!!
xxx "This is sick," muttered Steve and Gribbs nodded.
"We should send it to the lab."
"It´s a waste of time," quipped Ms. Prescott. Gribbs anyway put the note to a bag, zipped it and put to his pocket.
"Who is Sam?"
"Samuel is my younger brother. He is making breakfast and dinner for the boys, helps me cleaning up the house and other stuff."
"He found the note?"
"No... it was John Carter," answered Ms. Prescott with a frown of her own.
"And he´s...?"
"13 year old, from Chicago."
"Pretty far away..."
"Well, yeah. But most of the boys are from the north... New York, Washington and other business centers."
"How did he find it?"
"Why don´t you ask him?" Ms. Prescott looked at her watch and sighed. "It´s time for a lunch."
"A little soon, no?" It was only 11:30.
"A little," admitted Ms. Prescott, "but we´re going to the city for an excursion, and I rather feed them here, than watch them buy the junk food."
"Sergeant... why don´t you talk with that Carter, while I´ll discuss with Ms. Prescott the matter of suspects? It will save our and their time alike."
"Okay, where can I find him?"
"Just ask at the stable. He´s probably still with Gabriel. It´s the only white horse there."
Steve remembered the boy caring for the white horse and thought that maybe it was Carter. Looking around, he saw that the stable was empty - well, as empty as a stable could be, when it was full of horses and other animals. On the way there, Steve caught one of the boys, who was running to the house.
"Hey, are you Carter?"
"Wha-? No. You wanting that nut? He´s inside," and the red haired boy motioned to the stable.
"Nut? What do you mean?"
But the boy was gone. And true to his words, Carter was there, sitting on the stock of straw, watching intently the ground, his eyes clouded over with sorrow and loneliness.
"Uhm," Steve coughed, not really wanting to intrude, but doing it anyway. The boy´s head shot up and brown eyes locked with blue. Steve smiled a little, while Carter looked away, stood up and started to clean himself off the straw.
"You´re John Carter?"
"Yeah. You here to arrest me?" asked John in a mocking voice full of sarcasm. Even Steve could see, that he was depressed about something.
"No, if you don´t give me a reason..."
John chuckled.
"It´s not enough of who I am?"
Steve was confused.
"Never mind," answered John for himself. "You want to talk about that fire?"
"Yes."
"And the note, I assume." The boy smirked and began to walk out of the stable. "Well, I heard Mr. Prescott´s cry for help, so I ran to the house. I helped him to stiffle the fire. The last thing I doused was this paper - lying on the table from glass. I grabbed it and read the note. Pretty dumb, huh." Steve didn´t know if the boy meant that the note was dumb, or that he read it.
"What do you think it could mean?"
Carter shrugged and stopped halfway to the house, not really wanting to go in with a cop in tail.
"Burn in hell? I think it´s pretty self- explanatory, no? He set a fire, so burn. Rich boys? Well, our parents are probably holding up the economic of this state. I don´t know what he thinks about that high thing. My guess would be, set a bomb and watch how high we fly, but that´s just a theory."
"You´re not afraid?"
Another shrug.
"Why should I be..." he looked at his nametag, "Sergeant Sloan?"
Steve was silent and Carter a while later continued.
"What can I lose? My life?" he snorted. "My parents can´t care less." Steve frowned at the boy, worried by his attitude.
"Don´t talk like this. You know, how many kids would do anything, just to be healthy?"
"Yes, I know that," muttered John with a sullen look. "But money isn´t all, sergeant. You can´t buy your life. It just isn´t possible," with that, John ran away, leaving Steve on the courtyard, shocked. Apparently, it wasn´t the best thing to say, realized Steve a second later.
"Hey, what did you told him?" asked Kyle Gribbs, watching the incident from a distance.
"Hell if I know," answered Steve. Gribbs laughed.
"Teenagers. They´re all nuts."
"The kid has an issue."
"You think he did it?"
"What? No. He has other problems, why bother with this? So, what did you find out from Ms. Prescott?"
"There is only six workers. Ms. Prescott, her brother Sam, then a man who is taking care about the animals, the gardener, a girl who is helping in the kitchen and another young girl, which is training the horse riding. Of course, there is also a driver of the minibus, who is coming in when they have some excursion."
"No one else is working here? How about the parents or relatives? Visits are permitted?"
"Yeah, once in a week, in Sunday. But Ms. Prescott told me that they´re uncommon. As for the security - the area is relatively secure. You saw the gate and the fencing. There´re also dogs - though I don´t know where."
"So it seems, that the suspect is somewhere there. Maybe one of the staff, or a kid."
"Yeah, pretty much of a suspect," snorted Gribbs. "You know, Sloan, just for the information, here is twenty-five boys, sons and the future inheritors of some big bussiness."
"What will we do about it?"
That was a question.
"They´re going out in probably twenty minutes. Ms. Prescott gave us a strict order not to question the boys about the incidents..."
"What about Carter? He knows about the note..."
"He wouldn´t tell anyone, Ms. Prescott made sure of that. Anyway, he didn´t seem like the most talkative person here."
"If we don´t question them, how-"
"We will talk with them Sloan. Personally you will talk with them," replied Gribbs smirking.
"You just said..."
"Think, sergeant Sloan! You want to be a detective?"
"Yeah," answered Steve blearily. "I´d like to."
"Fine. The program for tomorrow has changed. You will make it an entertaining police show for the kids. If they start to know you, they could talk."
"These chuligans?" Steve was really shocked. "I can´t entertain them - how should I do it, anyway?"
"Just talk about your police work, about good guys, bad guys..."
"But-"
"No buts. Tomorrow you talk with the kids, and I will talk to the staff."
"Why can´t you do the show for them?"
"Because I´m a lieutenant detective, and you´re only a sergeant. Well, isn´t it a good reason to work hard and get a higher rank, Sloan?"
Yeah, so I could kick your ass, lieutenant detective, thought with bitterness Steve and shook his head. Today wasn´t his lucky day, and tomorrow also wouldn´t be a candidate for one. The car was waiting, just like the heated streets of L.A.
"Twenty-five boys!" exclaimed Steve standing at the porch of his father´s house at the Malibu beach, sipping the cold beer and watching the red sunset.
"Can you imagine, how to handle twenty-five spoiled brats?" Mark Sloan smiled at his son, relishing in his problems. It seemed not so long ago, when Steve´s first partner was shot and retired because of some medical problems. Steve was pretty depressed then, but now he´s complaining about some peaceful work. Steve spotted his father´s smirk, and scowled at him in frustration.
"I should´ve know that you will not be interested in my problems."
"What problem, Steve? I just didn´t see one, that´s all."
"Ha, ha, pretty funny, dad," but the scowl changed into a smile and a sigh. "I like the dawn here. And the sea..."
"Your mother loved the sunrise, just like a dawn."
"Yeah... you know dad, there was that boy. He seemed like something was really bothering him. He... was so distant, when I talked with him and..." Steve didn´t know how to express his apprehension. "I don´t know, dad. He wasn´t afraid of that incident, he even told me, that his parents can´t care less if he´s alive or dead. It was so..."
"Is he suicidal?" asked Mark with concern. Steve just shrugged.
"Maybe. But it seems to me, as if he just resigned. Then I told him something about how many kids would be grateful just to be healthy, and he freaked out."
Mark was thoughtful, watching his sons face.
"He reminds you of someone?"
Steve abruptly looked at his father, then with a slight grin shook his head.
"I think I was pretty much like him the days after mom died. Only I knew, that you and Carol are here, so it was easier to handle."
"Maybe he just needs someone who would care, if his parents were so uncaring to send him to the camp in this state of mind."
"Maybe," admitted Steve, remembering how hard it was to return to the normal life after his mother´s death.
"You can talk with him tomorrow. Uh... I think the pizza is ready," said Mark and returned to the kitchen. Steve followed him with a feeling, that tomorrow will be surely an extra day - in negative or positive sense, he didn´t know.
It wasn´t so hard after all. Yeah, the first hour it was pure hell, when the boys began making fun from the work of a policeman, and shouting out insults which they parents used for such a work, but then they calmed down and began to really listen. Steve was telling them the stories from the streets, which was a common knowledge among the cops and he had all the attention of the world. Sure, Ms. Prescott wasn´t very enthusiastic about that, but Kyle Gribbs quickly devoted all her attention while questioning the staff of the ranch. In the next hours Steve began to respect all teachers who could handle these kids and not go berserk after a whole day with them.
Most of the boys quickly relaxed and answered if he questioned them, of course, he never mentioned exactly what he wanted to know, only started to giving examples and asked for them to answer. They did, and he discovered some interesting facts. The only person, not at all interested in his game, was John Carter. He first eyed him accusivately, then looked disgusted by the reaction of the other boys and on the end, he was paying minimum attention to Steve, often looking at his watch and feigning a yawn. It seemed like he´s trying to annoy Steve as much as he can. In fact, it was working, even if not the way John wanted. Steve was watching him intently and after Ms. Prescott interrupted the heated conversation he had with Peter Brunwick, a twelve year old son of a politic, and the boys were headed to the dining room, Steve followed John, wanting to catch up with him, but John meddled in the group and Steve was stopped by Kyle Gribbs.
"Hey, Sloan... I hear you´re quite popular here," smirked the older man and pulled Steve out from the hearing range.
"So, what did you find out?" asked him the cop in a quieter tone.
"It´s really hard to get here without at least one of the boys spotting the person. They told me about everyone who was on the ranch in the day of the fire."
"Who?"
"Ms. Prescott, of course, her brother, the girl training the horse riding - her name´s Patricia Jenkins, then there was the gardener Ramon Guiterez, and the driver Billy Krowak."
"Wait... what´s the name of that driver?" asked Gribbs, frowning at the notes in his hands and trying to read his own handwriting.
"Billy Krowak...?"
"You´re sure that he was there in Monday?"
"Yeah, I talked about the memory thing, how it´s important for a cop to remember and be observant, then I asked them for an example - to tell me, who was at the ranch in Monday. They settled at those names."
"So, they all saw him?"
"No... I don´t think so. Wait, hm... it was Gary, the redhaired, then Peter Brunwick and... John Carter." Speaking of the boy, Steve realized, that it was the only time John spoke to him.
"When did they saw him?"
"Uh... I didn´t really ask, but Carter mentioned, that it was not so long before their barbecue."
"Talk to him, Sloan. We need exact time and certainty that he was there."
"Right, I wanted to talk with him anyway. I suppose, that you too found something out?"
"Yep, with this information, it´s becaming clearer every minute. All the people you mentioned, confessed that they were there, everyone besides Billy Krowak. He claimed to have a day off at home and Ms. Prescott confirmed, that she didn´t saw him that day. So if those kids of yours aren´t lying, he´s the prime suspect."
"What do we know about him?"
"He´s twenty-eight, from San Francisco. He came to L.A. in 1974 and for the last two years worked here as a driver. That´s all, but I will run a background check on him, then if the kid is right, we will take him in for an interrogation."
Just then some boys emerged from the house surrounding Steve and lieutenant Gribbs, asking more questions.
"He´s higher rank, and would gladly answer all your questions," told them Steve and grinned at the horrified detective. Payback time he mouthed and walked away, leaving Gribbs in the clutches of the teenagers. First he looked through the house, but the kitchen and the dinner room were empty. He met an older man who introduced himself as Sam Prescott, the cook. He was tall and dark haired with a beard, wearing white apron and cleaning the dishes with smooth moves in the rythm of The Beatles.
When Steve asked him, where he could find Carter, he shrugged and replied that he can try the lake. Steve´s eyebrow furrowed, he didn´t know that the ranch had a lake.
"It was build five years ago. One of our sponsors wanted his kids to learn fishing and swimming. It´s not too big, but it´ll do."
"Why do you think he´s there?" asked Steve curious.
"He always goes there for the free hour."
"Free hour?"
"Yeah, after lunch, they are free for a hour. Could do what they want. Mostly just hanging around the house, chasing and playing games, but Carter is a looner. He likes the lake and the silence. The kids don´t like him much, not this year, anyway."
"He´s coming here every year?"
"Nah, but he was here the last two times. Much more sociable before," commented Sam and turned back to his dishes, clearly not wanting to discuss it anymore.
Steve found the lake about five minutes later, and another five minutes took him to locate the boy. John Carter was walking by the waterside, looking smugly at the water, kicking at every stone and reminding Steve of someone who just lost a fight. John reached the molo on the shore and stepped at it, the wooden boards squeaked and a chill ran through Steve´s spine. Increasing his pace, he watched, as the boy walked on the wood, heading for the water. Maybe he wanted to sit down and cool his legs, maybe he wanted to swimm. He was in the middle of the molo, when something caught his attention and Carter looked down at his legs, abruptly stopping. Steve could only cry out a warning, when something big and heavy was thrown from the nearby tree, hitting the boy square in the head and shoulders. If he was heavier, he would probably just crumple under the blow, but John was thrown forward, down from the molo, right into the muddy water.
Steve was shocked frozen in place, watching the crimped surface, waiting for the head to emerge. He waited for two long seconds, when his instincts kicked in and he started running.
Steve was at the pier in seconds, bluntly noticing the stranded wire, avoiding the swinging log attached to the branch above him. Looking for a signs of a body, Steve saw few bubbles on the surface and a darker place in the water. Pulling down his shoes and the top of his uniform, Steve took a deep breath and dived into the muddy water, under the duckweed. Half minute, then another 30 seconds, till two heads emerged from the water. Only one of them was breathing, as Steve quickly checked for pulse, glad when he found a weak trace under his fingers. Pulling them both out of the water, he put the boy down and knelt next to him. Rembering some of his first aid training, he lay his head on Carter´s chest and listened. Not a breath. Slightly bending the boys head, he first checked the airways, cleaned them then began the rescue breathing. When Steve prepared for another breath, a faint rasping sound emerged from Carter´s mouth, followed by another. Steve sighed out in momentarily relief then quickly turned the boy to his right side, because of the gagging sounds. Carter lost the contest of his stomach as well as some of the water he swallowed. Once done, he started to cough and Steve gently massaged his back to help him ease up, all the while watching the boy´s face for a sign of awareness.
The feeling of choking together with a splitting headache were competing for his attention. The most annoying and tempting thing however was a voice calling his name. John carefully opened his eyes, and shut them, when he felt the irritating water. Someone was bending above him, letting the drops of water fall to his face. He coughed, then gasped for a breath. He felt an unnerving tightness in his chest, along with a nausea.
The boy opened his eyes and quickly shut them, but Steve was glad anyway. Hearing the groan, his brow furrowed and for the first time Steve remembered the blow which sent him to the water. He cursed, thinking about possibble spinal injury, which he could´ve more aggravate. But Carter was moving - one of his hand was rubbing his eyes. Steve grabbed the hand and softly pulled it away, talking in a hushed voice.
"Don´t move, Carter. It can worsen your injuries."
John blinked and moaned, trying to grab his head, but Steve was firmly holding him down.
"My head," the croak was barely audible.
"I know, try to be still, okay?"
John grunted but stopped, coughing up another water.
"Hurts."
"Yeah, I can imagine it will. Carter... is anything else hurting you? Your back, arms, legs or something?"
It was hard to concentrate, even the scroop of the leaves in the wind was like a roaring storm in his head. But the burning pain was easy to locate.
"R-right... shoulder. Chest. Head... hurts."
"Okay. Don´t move, everything will be allright. Help is on the way." Only if it was true. Steve looked around, realizing the emptiness of the place. It took him five minutes to get to the lake, it was few hundred yards from the house and stable. Nobody would hear him, even if he shouted. He don´t wanted to leave the boy alone in case he would lose consciousness or stop breathing. But waiting here will not help him either. Then he spotted the revolver. Before Steve jumped to the water, he took down his belt with the revolver and the badge.
"Carter, I will fire out, to call some help. It will be noisy... you with me kid?"
Carter just grinned. Steve took his gun and walked away from the boy. Aiming at the quiet surface he fired out three times, just to be sure, then returned to Carter.
"Damn!" cursed Steve, noticing that the boy was once again unconscious.
Kyle Gribbs heard the shots and jumped from the comfortable armchair, spilling the black coffee at the table. Ms. Prescott, who was sitting next to him, winced and looked around confused, trying to locate the sound.
"Where was that?"
"I think it´s coming from the lake. But..."
"Sloan. He´s in trouble. Call the ambulance... someone can be in a need of help." He didn´t add the little thought, that if Sergeant Sloan was shooting for nothing, he will be the one in need of assistance.
The sun was setting down, when Carter came back to the world of living. He was in a bed with starchy sheets, with something beeping in an unnerving tone. He wanted to get back to sleep, but the noise was unmercifully pulling him out from the shadow world without pain. Sure, it wasn´t so bad like before...
Moment - what was before? Carter blinked and tried to recall, what brought him to the place he so hated. But the only thing he remembered was a walk to the lake... then that cop telling him to stay still and a terrible noise which resulted in his brain exploding inside his skull. What happened? Did the cop shoot him?
The nurse with brown, short hair came to the room and Carter feigned sleep, but the beeping increased. He felt a touch on his face and for a moment he thought, maybe it was his mother. But even before he looked up, he knew it´s not her. No, after Bobby died, she wouldn´t step into the hospital. When his sister Barbara had to go to a surgery because of her appendix, she didn´t come after her. So why should she come after him? After all, he wasn´t dying like Bobby - at least, he hoped. The voice from the door interrupted his musing.
"Good to see you awake, young man," John looked up, straight into the face of an older man in his fifties, with light hair and a generous smile on his face. Of course, it was also a doctor, so John frowning, looked around himself.
"Why ... am I... here?" He was surprised by the hoarse voice coming from him, but much more by the pain in his neck it brought along. The doctor took a cup and helped him swallow some ice chips. It was little better after that.
"I´m Dr. Mark Sloan. My son... Steve, helped you out of the water and called ambulance. Do you remember, what happened?"
"Not really. Just the... walk by... the water. Then... the pain." John coughed and stopped talking.
"It´s allright. Something hit you and you was thrown to the water. Lucky that Steve wanted to talk with you, otherwise..." It stayed untold, but John nevertheless trembled. For a second, he felt fear gripping at his heart, the next he felt guilt for being alive when Bobby wasn´t. The fact that no one from his family was here (and John knew, that if they wanted, one of their airplane could´ve brought them, nevermind the distance), was enough to send him spiralling back to his depression.
Mark Sloan watched as the face of the boy changed and realized, that Steve was right. The boy was clearly depressed about something - probably about the absence of his parents.
"I´m sure your parents will come, John. We are trying to inform them..."
"Am I dying?" asked the boy in mocking voice so uncharacteristic for someone his age.
"No, of course not. You´ll be allright in few days."
"They wouldn´t come then." It was futile to try change his mind and Mark knew it. Not tampering with the boy he rather started a battery of tests, starting with a neurological check, looking at his pupils, trying out reflexes and coordination as well as memory. John wasn´t very enthusiastic to hear about his right shoulder, which was bandaged and pretty sore.
"You´ve sustained a tiny hairline fracture on your shoulder-blade. We didn´t immobilize your arm so you could better breath, though you´ll wear a sling for some time."
"Great," mumbled John. "What´s with... my throat?"
"We had to sunction out the water from your lungs, as well as your stomach. It´s a little uncomfortable, I know. Be glad you was unconscious at the time."
John was really glad as well as really confused and frustrated, but he didn´t want to give too much questions, because he didn´t felt very prepared for the answers or simply he was tired and lonely.
"How long ... I had to... stay?"
"At least three days, maybe a week. We need to make sure there´s no infection. You should try to sleep - the nurses will wake you few times to check. And tomorrow you´ll be moved to the pediatric ward."
John wasn´t looking very interested in it.
"I don´t want to... be stuck in the room with .... another five or more kids."
"You´ll not be on the ward, if you don´t want to, John. There use to be fun, though."
"Yeah, sure," snorted John remembering how his parents had a fight with Bobby´s doctor, when he moved him there. Most of the kids was younger, some of them were crying or shouting and Bobby seemed almost lost. Brought up in the Carter´s family, he couldn´t pretty well communicate with them. Sure, it was before they discovered his illness. After Bobby settled in the quiet private room, he was almost longing for the distraction the ward posed. But not one member of the Carter´s family will be treated like regular patient. John don´t wanted a scene like was the one not so long ago.
"Did you... call Gamma?" he asked suddenly, thinking about the only person which could possibly care about him after Bobby. Mark was a little confused first, then smiled a little at the "nickname".
"Your Grandmother?"
"Uhm,"
"No... we didn´t. Where is she?"
John grimaced, trying to remember his grandparents itinerary for the week.
"Uh... I think... she´s somewhere in... Canada. No-" he stopped and blinked. His head hurt and he started to hope for sleep. "That was two weeks ago. Australia - she and grandfather are in Sydney, then... they planned a weekend at New Zealand."
"All right, I´ll try to put through a call. Don´t be afraid, everything will be allright. Goodnight," said Mark and walked out of the room, heading for the nurse station to give some instructions concerning his patient. Turning to his office, he spotted Steve talking with an elderly woman looking like cut out from a western movie. Steve was out of his uniform, which was pretty wet at the time Steve get out of the ambulance (he insisted to drive in with them), but Mark had some spare clothes, so now Steve was wearing a little shorter jeans and a long sleeved shirt.
"... walk at the pier?" Mark caught only the end of the question.
"They can do whatever they want in their free time, sergeant. Not many of them are so reclused, but it´s no wonder after what happened."
"And what happened?" asked Steve and Mark discerned in his voice a trace of curiosity and maybe worry. He too found himself eavesdropping, then recovered and coughed, calling the attention to himself. Steve seemed displeased about the interruption, but quickly straightened, waiting for the news.
"Steve," he acknowledged his son then turned to the woman. "Madam?"
"Oh, dad, this is Ms. Prescott. She´s the head of the ranch."
"No, just the neck," meddled in Ms. Prescott with a slight but worried smile. She surely cared for her "clients".
"My father, Dr. Mark Sloan."
"Pleased to meet you,"
"How´s Carter doing, Dad?"
"Sleeping at the moment. He was unconscious almost five hours and it troubled me, but he should be okay. We will repeat the MRI tomorrow morning. I´m more concerned about the possibility of pneumonia, but we´re using preventively the antibiotics. What were you saying about John?"
Ms. Prescott looked around herself as if it was some big secret and in a softer voice told them about Bobby Carter.
"How long it is?" asked Mark with a clinical detachment that Steve wasn´t able to achieve in the moment.
"Three months."
"Three months?!" replied Steve angrilly and Mark scowled at him. "And they sent him away two thousand miles? They sure don´t have a degree in psychology," he snorted and shook his head, remembering what it was for him after three months. No way could he be away for several weeks from his family. They was the only real thing for him at the time.
"You didn´t register any signs of depression on him?" asked Mark Sloan and Ms. Prescott looked away.
"What can I do what his own family can´t? Anyway - I hope the boy will be all right and the police will catch that criminal before he hurt someone else. I´ll return tomorrow... morning?"
"Rather later," said Mark and Ms. Prescott left. Steve was fuming, muttering something under his nose and looking as if he wanted to beat someone up. Mark grabbed his arm and guided him to his office.
"Steve, calm down. The boy will be allright. You saved him, son. I´m proud of you." Not letting him protest, Mark hugged his son and after a second, Steve sighed.
"You´re right dad, I should calm down. It´s just so frustrating, knowing how his parents don´t care enough. The things he told me the other day... someone should help him."
"Someone, it doesn´t have to be you, son," replied Mark with a concern. "It isn´t an easy subject for neither one of you, don´t forget it."
"No, but... you was always there for me and Carol. I can´t just let him be. Someone said, that if you save a life, you´re responsible for it the whole life."
Mark watched his son with a proud glint in his eyes, then nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile.
"You can talk with him tomorrow morning. If he will feel up to it."
"Thanks, dad," Steve´s face lit up like a christmas tree.
"Now, what do you say to a pretty dinner at the grill bar on the corner?"
"You pay?"
Mark rolled his eyes and theatrically let out a deep sigh, while patting his son on the back. It was good to have someone to lean on, when you needed it. Steve was determined to provide the hope and friendship to a person, which needed it most.
After the night, John understood his older brothers aversion for the hospitals. How could Bobby recover when there was always someone poking, looking and generally annoying the hell out of him, because he was mostly trying to sleep, John didn´t know. But he sure as hell wasn´t in his best mood when the morning nurse came in at six a.m and asked him about his favourite movie, just to check his level of awareness. John´s head was thumping, he had a creeping feeling in the pit of his stomach and suspiciously watched the emesis bowl put by the side of his bed in case of need.
So when the nurse started their conversation, John simply pretended sleep. The woman tried to wake him up, and he muttered something and continued in pretending, hoping, that she would take the hint and let him be. Finally, the nurse took his vitals, wrote something in his chart and left. John let out a sigh and tried to focus on something - anything - that wasn´t spinning or moving. It was a waste of time. Closing his eyes, John thought about Barbara. What was she doing in England? It wasn´t like she wanted to go to that camp, but in the end, she was glad to be away from their parents. After the week, John get a letter from her - she was considering to stay there, study, then go on with her life, as far away from their family, as she can. It saddened John seeing that his sister rather get away from Chicago, then try to stay. John felt that he´s being abandoned, by his sister, as well as his parents.
"Ah," yelped John as someone touched his face. He was deep in thoughts and didn´t hear him entering.
"Well, I see you´re awake," stated Dr. Mark Sloan with a grim face which seemed a little blurred for John. He rubbed at his eyes with his good hand and yawned. He was again feeling sick to his stomach and instead of a reply, grabbed the bowl and heaved, but nothing came up, just the pain in his ribs and shoulder intensified and he felt as miserable as ever. When his stomach settled, Dr. Sloan handed him a wet cloth and put the bowl on the sidetable. John turned to his left side, careful of the shoulder and his right arm clutched his stomach trying to ease the cramps.
"How many times were you sick?"
"Don´t know," muttered John through clenched teeth."Three... maybe more. Damn," he moaned and wanted nothing more than crawl into the black hole and sleep. He didn´t saw the nurse standing next to his bed.
"Four times, every two hour. But his stomach is empty," answered the nurse and John blinked, the cramps subsiding so he could stretch his legs into a more comfortable position.
"Okay, John... I need you to lay on your back for a moment. Sandy, I need his temperature, he seems a little flushed. Also blood and urine samples for the lab." Mark helped John turn to his back careful about the IV line.
"Does your stomach hurt?"
"Yeah," answered John in hushed voice. Suddenly he felt ashamed of all the attention he wasn´t accustomed to, not after Bobby get sick. Is it what can people make to care for you? Scarcely, he answered to himself, otherwise his parents would be there with him, not some strangers. John answered the questions, let Mark do the probing and poking he became accustomed to and was glad, when the doctor let him turn to his side and rest.
"We´ll give you some Compazine, John, it will help with the nausea. You´ll be taken for an MRI in a hour."
"Why is my stomach hurting?"
"Probably from the water you digested. We will know from the lab results, but the medicine should take care of that."
"I want to go home," It wasn´t a plea, just a statement. John knew doctors, and if they say three days, it can be pretty well five. Bobby sure was in the hospital more than he needed or wanted. The nurse injected the Compazine to his IV port and left with the samples for the lab.
"Hey," someone hissed from the doors, but John hadn´t enough energy to turn and look. Dr. Sloan looked up, right at the face of his son.
"Steve. What are you doing here? Isn´t it a little early?"
"Not really. I was on my way to the station and thought I´ll come and see how is the kid doing."
John listened to the conversation a little confused as to who this Steve is, his mind was little fuzzy. Then the man mentioned the station and John remembered the cop from the lake. Why is he here? wondered John, not sure if he was in some kind of trouble. It was the last thing he needed though.
"Could be better, but his lungs sounds clear. He´s awake."
John stiffened. Should he pretend sleep?
"John, you´re up for a little talk?" asked Mark and was glad to hear a resigned "uhm".
"Don´t talk too long Steve. The Compazine can make him sleepy."
"Hey, well... good to see you awake," said Steve and seated himself in one of the chairs facing Carter, so they could talk face to face.
"Yeah... I´d rather sleep. But the staff here wouldn´t let me," complained John. Steve chuckled.
"I could imagine. Concussion is a bi-" Steve abruptly stopped, "well, it isn´t pleasant. I had few myself."
"What... happened at th-" John stopped, his face considerably paler, and gasped for breath.
"Carter?" Steve abruptly stood. John´s face was contorted in agony, and the boy was clutching his chest with both hands.
"Dad! Nurse! Hey, I need help!" shouted Steve, running to the hallway. His father was talking with an older man at the nurse pult, but hearing Steve, he headed for the room. Seeing the situation he barked at the nurse coming in and pushed Steve out.
Reviews, please. Uh, I know that I know nothing about medical situations, so sorry. Go to the second part.