Jesse stared down at his stomach, blood flowing freely from the open wound. His breath caught in his throat, and panic swept over him in a tidal wave. Panting raggedly Jesse fought hard to control the fear which threatened to consume him. His mind swirled in a tumultuous mess of panic-inspired half-thoughts.

Stop he thought to himself, I have to stop this. Trying desperately to control the overwhelming fear he struggled to calm himself, regulating his erratic breathing to hold back the black cloud which hyperventilation held before him.

The phone! Stretching his arm back Jesse found he could reach the phone easily. Clasping it in his cold hands he held it like a rare treasure. Flicking it on, Jesse made as to dial, but found the phone slipped clumsily form his wet grasp into his bloody lap. Flexing his insensate fingers to try and renew their sensation he picked his phone up again, and began to carefully dial. Holding the phone to his ear Jesse listened expectantly, but to his utter dismay found that no ringing could be heard. There was no dial tone. His phone was dead.

The realisation hit him cruelly, his only thread of hope being pulled from his reach.

Dropping the phone to one side Jesse leant his head back onto the car. The rain continued to beat down relentlessly onto his drenched body, his clothes clinging to his skin. Numbness crept through him, an iciness which began to deaden his senses and ease the substantial pain. Even shock didn't shield the implications of this from Jesse.

I'm going to die out here he thought. I'm going to bleed to death if the cold doesn't get me first.

A cloud of despair descended over him, and Jesse found himself succumbing to the coldness which bit into his body. The exhaustion he felt was overwhelming and the temptation to give in to it almost irresistible. Eyelids drooping, Jesse found his thoughts turning first to his friends who would be waiting for him, who would probably be worried when he didn't arrive. And then he thought of the man. The tall, thin man who had done this to him. His face contorted in rage. His fists, the blow that had knocked him to the wet grass, the knife…

A new emotion crept into Jesse's consciousness, a feeling of anger stronger than any he had ever experienced before. Fuelled by the intense rage Jesse pulled his head up. With a grunt of conviction he twisted his body around until he was resting on his knees, one hand clasping his injured stomach, the other supporting his body weight above the ground. Breathing heavily Jesse hauled his body up, his legs shaking beneath him, and staggered forwards before half sprawling onto the driver's seat of his car. Hands trembling he struggled to fit the key into the ignition before turning it. The sound of the engine shuddering to life was like music to Jesse's ears. A wide grin of pure relief spread across his face, and he lifted his legs gingerly round to reach the foot pedals. Leaning back against the soft, dry interior of the car Jesse was able to rest for a moment in relative comfort. His whole body ached and his gut burned with pain, heat radiating out from the point of the injury. The temptation to close his eyes was enormous but Jesse fought it, knowing all to well that a moment's lapse in his fight against unconsciousness could be disastrous. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear the fogginess from his mind Jesse forced his attention back to the car. Pushing his foot gently down onto the accelerator the car slowly began to move forwards, sliding ever so slightly on the cloying mud. Despite the urge to floor the accelerator to hasten his journey Jesse advanced carefully, very aware that one wrong move could bog the tyres down into the mud preventing his only means of escape. Attempting to direct the car back onto the slick road, Jesse found his blood stained hands slipped repeatedly on the steering wheel. He tightened his grip and continued to edge forwards, silently willing the car onwards; praying that nothing would go wrong. And slowly, very slowly, he managed to manoeuvre the car back on to the road, his heart pounding as he realised that help was only minutes away.

************************

Mark chortled cheerfully at the reminisces of his friends. The food was good, the company was better, and Mark's mind was clear of worries as he joined in the playful jesting. Conversation soon turned to Steve's latest case – a disgruntled waiter who had responded to being fired by poisoning the buffet bar in the restaurant of his former employment. Two people had died and at least a dozen had fallen ill. Mark, as usual had been key to solving the case, although in his modesty he would never admit it.

"If he hadn't crushed up the pellets in that old pestle and mortar we might never have been able to tie him to it." Mark said knowingly.

"What I don't get," intoned Steve sounding mildly mystified, "is how on earth you could make the link between a ceramic dish thing and the poisoning?…"

"It was the paint chips. That particular shade of blue was only manufactured for a short period of time in the late eighties. Devlin was the obvious suspect, finding the chipped bowl provided the link we needed."

Steve and Amanda stared at Mark, both marvelling at the bizarre, albeit remarkable, abilities of his reasoning. He looked back at them innocently,

"What?"

Amanda laughed and Steve soon joined in. The laughter being infectious it was not long before Mark too was guffawing loudly despite having no idea what on earth he was laughing at.

************************

Jesse cautiously steered the car around the bend in the road, his head throbbing and his vision blurring ominously. Every breath sent pain radiating through his chest and he seemed barely able to manage more than a shallow rasp. The numbness which had been clawing at his skin seemed to have now burrowed deep into his body, a cold steely ache which began to deaden his senses. Jesse's head dropped slightly, the action causing him to jerk back to some level of awareness. He squinted out into the darkness struggling to keep his attention on the wet road. The continuing torrents of rain distorted his already blurred vision, but finally he was able to make out the sign which marked the entrance to the Sloan's drive.

The adrenaline which was fuelling Jesse's continued ability to function began to wane and unconsciousness swept down on him like a blanket of cloud. His head fell to his chest, and the car, now left without a driver, veered unchecked along the driveway before colliding with a large shrub.

Rain beat down with such force that it sprung back up off the smooth metal bodywork of the car. Jesse slumped over the steering wheel, horn blaring into the night, unaware that his friends were only yards away, oblivious to his desperate plight.