Steve didn't move. He wondered for a moment if he was perhaps hallucinating, unable to believe what his eyes were clearly showing him.
Steve opened his mouth to call to his father, but found no sound came out. He mouthed silently, watching as the ambulance drew nearer, the sound of his engine muffled by the increasingly howling wind.
The glare from ever more dazzling headlights finally convincing him that the ambulance was not a figment of his wishful imagination, Steve made as if to turn to inform Mark and Amanda of the arrival of help, but found it unnecessary as Amanda dashed past him without a backwards glance.
Watching for a moment as Amanda waved frantically, and quite unnecessarily, at the ambulance, Steve saw the large white vehicle slow to a stop. It had approached them from behind, from the opposite direction in which they had been travelling, and Steve's foggy mind wondered briefly at the fact. Unable however to work through the thought any further Steve turned and walked slowly away form the ambulance and towards his father who was still kneeling besides Jesse's seemingly motionless form. A strange sense of unreality seemed to permeate the entire atmosphere around him; after so many hours of desperately needing help it came across as almost crass that an ambulance should arrive so nonchalantly.
Steve stopped besides Mark, who turned a beaming face up towards him, relief evident in his broad smile. Steve returned it half-heartedly, an unpleasant grip of uncertainty tingling down his spine.
He didn't know why, but he found he couldn't share his father's obvious delight, a pessimistic sense of dread settling over him instead.
Allowing his gaze to settle on Jesse's pallid face he felt a renewed sense of guilt wash over him.
Whilst he was loathe to admit they were right, anyone who knew Steve for any length of time would be aware that he was possessed of a hero-complex that led to quite overstated feelings of guilt, usually quite incongruous to his actual level of responsibility.
Pulling his gaze away Steve felt the familiar nagging discomfort that remorse always afforded him beginning to gnaw in his mind, recriminations whirling through his thoughts.
Screwing up his eyes Steve rubbed gruffly at his face, weariness and pain fusing in an unpleasant union of discomfort.
"Steve?" Mark peered up at his son, screwing his eyes up against the continuing downpour.
Steve opened his eyes reluctantly and momentarily met his father's gaze,
"I'm…" but what he was going to reply was left unsaid.
A tall stocky man bustled to his side, a large bag clutched in one hand as he dropped effortlessly down to Jesse and began to examine him, offering Steve a fleeting consolatory smile as he did so.
Steve moved back as Amanda came rushing forwards, a second paramedic at her heels. She spoke quickly, a stream of words emanating from her drawn lips as she motioned towards Jesse. A torrent of medical jargon interspersed with a caustic diatribe against the monster who had brought about the entire hellish evening.
Steve took a further step back, distancing himself from the crowd of people.
A peculiar deafness seemed to plug Steve's ears, muffling his hearing with a dull droning pitch that wooshed through his head.
Steve felt sick, tired and miserable. His clothes hung wetly on his muscular frame, clinging uncomfortably to his skin, soaking him through yet again, for the umpteenth time that evening.
A cold shiver tingled down his spine, and despite the endlessly open surroundings an immense sense of claustrophobia crashed in around him.
His heart beating wildly against his ribs Steve strode past the huddle of bodies breathing heavily as he went, determinedly drawing himself away from the hub of activity that surrounded the increasingly diminutive appearance of Jesse's bloodied body. He could offer nothing by way of help after all.
I'd just be in the way.
His mind racing again with thoughts of self-recrimination Steve found a particularly morose tirade against himself cut off by the sight which suddenly caught his attention.
He hadn't seen it before; the angular position of the jeep obscuring the line of sight on which he now gazed.
Absorbed in the spectacle which lay some distance from the haphazardly parked jeep Steve felt a deflated sense of revulsion swell in his chest. He knew at once what it was.
With a fleeting look back at the paramedics, Steve saw that a transparent oxygen mask had been placed above Jesse's mouth, the stocky paramedic holding a small flashlight above his face.
Drawing his head back to road ahead Steve slowly moved further away from the others he walked carefully toward the shape which lay lifeless, skewed across the highway.
Taking no heed of the rain which was now pounding quite ferociously onto his face, Steve focused his attention entirely on the pool of red that surrounded the man's head. It increased in circumference even as he watched it; fat droplets of rain splashing crimson beads back up into the air, the clear water mingling to create a growing slick of diluted blood.
Stepping warily so as to avoid contact with the puddle of the man's blood, Steve came to a stop directly above him. He allowed his gaze to travel to the man's face.
His eyes were open; unblinking, fixed.
There was no life behind them.
He's dead, Steve thought, unadulterated pleasure sparking at the concept. He's finally dead.
Steve knew he should not feel satisfaction at death, but nonetheless felt no guilt for it.
He deserved it, he thought vindictively.
His eyes trained on the man's expressionless, bloodied face, Steve thought for a brief moment of the numerous horror films he had seen in his life.
This is usually where the psychopath springs back to life, Steve involuntarily shuddered. He had never liked those films.
The thought lingering however brought a slight uneasiness to his mind.
Extending a foot Steve carefully prodded the man, the slight movement causing his head to roll slightly.
His face remained still, a slight trickle of blood running from a partially-clotted gash in his forehead.
Steve continued to survey the man, satisfied that he was indeed dead, and taking in his deathly pallor and sunken eyes.
And then they blinked.
"God damn it!"
Steve could not help but shout out in shock. He leapt backwards, a tight band of muscles contracting around his head.
Slipping slightly in the bloody water Steve strove to remain upright. He flailed his arms and braced himself for the pain he knew would shoot through him when he hit the hard tarmac, but finally, mercifully, managed to regain his balance.
A soft moaning noise carried up on the storm wind from the man's bloody mouth, his mask-like face still and waxy, it was only his eyes that alluded to any trace of life.
His eyes rolled slightly and came to rest on Steve's face, locking him with an intense gaze. The man's eyes were startlingly empty, a void of watery insipidness.
Steve stared into them, horrified that the man was still alive.
"Steve?" The call from behind Steve washed over him as if he hadn't heard it.
Mark looked up from Jesse, a newly erected intravenous drip clutched in Amanda's hands as she gazed down at the paramedics as they worked. A vibrant red blanket had been wrapped around Jesse's body, and although he was the nucleus of activity he remained dead to the world.
Mark had heard what he thought was a yell, although the sheer volume of the wind that whipped past his ears planted a seed of uncertainty in his mind.
Seeing Steve standing some distance away, his back to them, Mark frowned. His concern torn between his son and the critically injured Jesse. Mark knew that whilst Jesse wounds were obvious and noticeable, Steve too, well apart from his concussion and broken wrist, had deeper troubles brewing beneath the surface.
Mark was yearning to do more to help Jesse – his professional impulses instinctively coming to the fore – but he knew there was little he could do at present; the paramedics were quite capable of providing the immediate care that Jesse needed and he knew his continued interference would probably prove to be only disruptive.
Mark looked back down at Jesse, extremely hesitant about leaving his side. He knew how close Jesse had come to dying, and that the battle to keep him alive had not yet ended. But the concern for his son was great.
"Amanda?" Mark found he had to raise his voice in order to be heard over the wind. Amanda looked up; her head moving in a juddering fashion as she pulled her gaze away from Jesse. She seemed to have regained her equanimity and was now channelling her entire attention onto Jesse.
"I'd better check on, you know…" Mark motioned towards Steve. The slight guilt he felt at leaving Jesse for even a moment evident in his tone; he couldn't help the apologetic note from seeping into his voice.
With a last look at the insentient Jesse Mark turned his attention to his son.
Tipping his head down against the rain, Mark found he had to push himself against the force of the wind that resolutely strove to compel him backwards. The storm had worsened in the past few minutes, and the concern that their journey to the hospital might yet be further impeded by the horrendous weather niggled in the back of his mind.
Inclining his head up as far as he dared Mark snatched a glance at Steve. The renewed torrent of rain obscured his vision almost entirely, pearls of water pelting his skin with such ferocity that it felt as if a thousand beestings were biting into his face.
The brief glance however was enough to show him what it was that apparently had Steve so absorbed. He was standing only a few feet from the crumpled form of a figure lying in the road. Mark had not noticed it before – his attention wholly consumed by his efforts to sustain Jesse's life and care for his son. An unpleasant combination of shock and relief fought for dominance in a mind so overwhelmed that there was little room left or any compassion or pity.
Deep lines creased Mark's face as a tumultuous sense of turmoil swamped his mind. The man's absence had barely registered to Mark – his alarm at Jesse's dire state such that all else had been driven from his mind.
Including Steve, Mark thought guiltily.
Seeing the man lying in the road though, Mark could not deny that it came as a blessed relief. Whilst he was adamant that the man should receive punishment, his apparent death in the road meant an end to the prospect of a protracted case against the man who had inflicted such anguish and harm on them all.
Mark screwed his eyes up against the downpour and pressed forwards; the short distance Steve had walked taking far longer than should have been necessary.
"Steve?" Mark literally had to shout, his words despite their volume muffled to even his own ears. But again Steve failed to respond in any way.
Reaching out a hand to his son's shoulder Mark touched him lightly.
The reaction was immediate and intense.
Steve whirled around, one arm pitched violently upwards as if striking out against an attacker.
Mark reeled backwards. He had not received the full force of the blow, but had been thrown off kilter by the unexpected show of aggression. A dull throbbing pain diffused through his hip, aching deeply into the muscle where he had twisted so suddenly.
Steve staggered slightly, his balance barely having recovered from the shock of seeing the man's eyes boring into his own.
He had not expected to be touched; had not been aware of his father's approach.
"Dad?!" Steve gasped his father's name in surprise, a sickening jolt of shock resounding in his stomach.
"Dad, I…" Steve let his voice trail off, a flood of guilt washing through his veins. The look of bewilderment on his father's face was absolute, as was the tidal wave of shame that was yet again revived in Steve's mind.
Seeing the look of horrified remorse on Steve's face Mark forced the grimace on his own face into as much of a smile as he could manage, a pulsating pain boring through his leg.
"Steve… are you ok?" Mark's voice was carried into the wind, dissipated into the atmosphere and away from the ears of its intended recipient.
Steve could feel his heart beating rapidly against his chest, so hard that it reverberated through his ribs and down into his stomach. The acrid taste of bile burnt at the back of his throat, bitter and caustic.
Steve stared at his father, a feeling of enormous pressure mounting in his head, reaching such a crescendo that it felt as if it could explode at any moment. Steve raised one hand to his temple and pressed into it, trying to push away the pain.
"Steve?" Mark took a step closer, wincing as a bolt of pain shot through his hip.
Steve turned back to the man, looking down into his pouchy, pasty face. He felt sick and disorientated, confusion snaking through his mind.
"He's alive." Steve mumbled the words but Mark could see his lips moving as he spoke, and whilst he far from considered himself as a skilled lip-reader, he thought he had caught what Steve had said.
Moving to stand besides Steve Mark looked down into the face of the man. His mouth lolled open, gaping stupidly as droplet after droplet of rain water pooled in his mouth, a sickening gagging sound choking from the back of his throat.
With a jerk of comprehension Mark realised that the broken heap of a man that lay in the middle of the waterlogged highway was undeniably still alive. Still alive and choking.
After a moment of indecision Mark bent to the man, a spasm of pain griping in his hip. Mark stifled a moan and carefully began to appraise the man's condition.
He was injured; badly injured. Mark could identify multiple fractures throughout the man's body by eye alone, not least the compound fracture to his leg – white bone protruding jaggedly through a ragged laceration in his mid-shin.
Placing his hands to either side of the man's neck Mark began to palpate the area, feeling for any signs of neck injury. Gently exploring the bony ridges of his neck Mark probed as delicately as he could, knowing that any adverse moves could potentially prove fatal, yet knowing that to leave him unmoved would undoubtedly be leaving him to drown.
A brusque hand on his shoulder jarred Mark's movements and he flinched backward.
"Steve! What are you doing?" Mark twisted his head around to look at his son, and found himself face to face with the indignant countenance of his son.
"What am I doing? What the hell are you doing?!" Steve shouted the words down to his father, a combination of anger and infuriation mingling to increase the volume of his voice more than was necessary.
Mark looked into Steve's face, slightly taken aback by the sudden change in his behaviour.
"I'm just checking his neck" Mark called back, trying to be heard over the howling of the wind, annoyance sparking at the interruption.
Steve continued to glare at him.
"Why can't you just leave him?!" Steve's face contorted into a hostile expression, a far cry from his usually handsome features, his voice a strangled mix of tortured exasperation and plain old maddened anger.
Mark understood in an instant. The earlier dispute over whether to leave the man's bloodied, bullet-riddled body back at the beach house had resurfaced, as had Steve's obvious desire to see the man left for dead.
Mark turned his face away from Steve's. He had decided earlier that he would do all he could to ensure the man faced the punishment he deserved. If had been dead and there was nothing that could have been done…
Then he would have got what he deserved, a nasty, but truthful, voice whispered in the back of his mind.
Setting his face in determination Mark turned back to face his son.
"He has to pay…" Mark allowed his voice to trail off, to be snatched away from him into the stormy gale.
He turned his attention back to the man, doggedly ignoring the yells of dissent that Steve issued from behind him.
With due care Mark manoeuvred the man into the recovery position, a gush of water and blood dribbling from his mouth as he was rolled onto his side.
Mark stood from man's side, acutely aware of the muscle that encircled his hip as it twanged another reminder of the strain it had received.
Steve stood stony faced, glaring at his father.
"Happy now?" He literally spat the words, angry at his dad and himself.
"No." Mark responded in a tempered voice. He had taken no pleasure in touching the man, let alone having the objectionable honour of, at least for the meanwhile, saving his life.
Deciding that he had given enough of his time to the man Mark strode away and back toward Jesse; a feeling of impurity contaminating his hands as he tried to wipe the blood from his palms.
For a moment Steve did not move. The immense anger he had felt seconds earlier had left him, a feeling of hollow emptiness settling inside him instead.
Steve looked down at the man, his saturated clothing clinging to his gaunt frame. He looked small and pathetic, his eyes now closed almost as if he were sleeping. It was hard to image how someone who appeared so haggard could possibly have catalysed such a nightmarish series of events.
Lifting his gaze away from the man Steve glanced up in the direction his father had gone. Countless halos of light flared out from the ambulance's headlights, blazing into the murky, rain-swept twilight.
With a heavy sense of dread and regret Steve made his way towards his friends, leaving the man lying in the road, alone.