Chapter Three End of the Road

"So, what happened in this area?" Mark's voice was almost showing his frustration, as he asked his question for the third time.

"The cabs were hijacked. Mark, we said that, what are you seeing that we aren't?" Amanda had her hand resting lightly on her friend's arm, hoping that he would see that they really were trying to help.

"I know that, Honey, but this guy, this Fare Man, whoever he is, must have a reason for killing these men. If he has a reason for the killings then he has a reason for choosing this area of town for his kidnappings."

Realization spread across the faces of his companions and, with a sense of renewed hope, they began to study the map a little more closely, each one of them desperate to see what it was that the killer was trying to tell them.

ooo

The night was black now, the Christmas tree light still beat in time with the throbbing agony of his injuries, and Steve was willing himself not to concentrate on the pain but on the good times he had spent during his life. The time he'd had with his mom, her smiling face, her voice, the softness of her hand in his, the memories had faded some, but were still there. He thought of his sister, the unfairness of her death had been eating away at him ever since he had stood with his father and watched her ashes as they were dispersed by the wind. He knew that his death was going to be no less unfair and he prayed that the strength both he and Carol possessed would be passed on to his father. He had smiled when he thought of his sister as stubborn and strong, they were so alike that he knew she would have described him that way too.

Steve didn't want to think about his dad, but knew that he would need his last moments on this earth to be full of his love and kindness. If he was stubborn and strong, honourable or principled it was because of his upbringing, because of the way his dad and his mom had guided him, the way his dad still did. A tear escaped and, because he was alone, Steve let it fall, he knew that life sometimes wasn't fair, that he had no more right to die in his own bed than anyone else, but right now he was scared, he was frightened, and he wanted his dad more than anything else in the world.

As he caught a sob in his throat the door to the room began to open and Steve, suddenly full of a need to do something, however foolhardy it may be, lunged round with his bound feet, catching at the ankles of his captor and causing him to fall beside him.

ooo

As he paced up and down waiting for Cheryl to answer her phone Mark realised that it had gotten dark without him even noticing. The lights were on in the main living areas of the beach house and he knew that Jesse and Amanda must have turned them on, if it had been left up to him they would have been working in the dark.

"Detective Banks." The tired voice of his son's partner broke into his thoughts and pulled him back to reality.

"Cheryl, Mark Sloan, I need you to run a check on something for me … there is a connection … between the locations where the drivers were taken … because he left a clue, every time he left a clue … yes I know it's after ten, but Steve doesn't have the time for me to hang around until morning … do you have a pencil?"

Jesse looked across at Amanda and then took her hand into his own and squeezed it gently. There was nothing that they could do now but wait, wait and pray. If Mark was wrong then they had nothing, if he was right then maybe, just maybe, they had the start of something, the problem was none of them knew how long Steve had left, nor did they know whether the information that Mark wanted would lead them to him or not.

"Cheryl, we'll come in, you get the details together and we'll see you in … in as long as it takes Jesse to drive there." He put the phone down, moving towards the front door as he did so, and Jesse and Amanda, sharing the urgency, were right behind him.

ooo

Steve had known that he shouldn't antagonise his keeper, but he hadn't been able to help himself. The exertion of tripping the man up had left him breathless and unable to counter the attack that was launched at him because of it.

Steve had always considered himself to be a fit man and he recognized power when he saw it. This man was powerful; he had swung round with the bat covering the distance between his own position on the floor and Steve's in the blink of an eye. The bat had made a sickening contact with his foot, the noise and the pain telling him of more broken bones. Unable to move away from the concerted onslaught Steve had been powerless to defend himself from the blows which rained down on him, and finally, despite the fight which was still in him, he had slipped away from the pain and down into unconsciousness to be left alone, but unaware, in a pool of his own blood.

ooo

There was a noise, he could hear a noise, and he knew that however faint and distant it seemed it was vital that he move towards it. The light shining in around the edge of the door was like a golden halo and, for a moment, Steve wondered whether he was already dead, but then the noise came again, banging, loud banging and then voices, raised, urgent and familiar.

The door opened, the light flooding in from the brilliantly illuminated and decorated room beyond. Steve saw the shadow of his tormentor as he came towards him and then felt the agony of his injuries as he was hauled unceremoniously to his feet by a hand pulling on his hair.

"Stay where you are or I'll kill him, right here in front of you." The command was barked out and Mark and Jesse, who had rushed into the open doorway, froze, their delight at seeing Steve still alive tempered by the condition and danger they found him in.

"Dad." The one word was weak, almost too weak to hear but it carried across the room, the love it contained helping it on its journey and Mark, unable to ignore the pain that was there too, took a step forward.

"I said don't move!" The gun swung towards his dad and with one final surge of adrenaline Steve called out again as he saw a flash and heard a deafening roar before his body jerked and was send flying forwards into oblivion.

ooo

The flashing had stopped, there was no Christmas tree decoration to focus on, no light coming under or around the door, and his fear rose in his throat. Steve tried to swallow, but found that he couldn't, and this, more than anything else, told him that he was still alive, that a ventilator tube proved he hadn't become victim number six, at least not yet, and slowly, cautiously, he began to open his eyes.

"Steve? That's it, Son, come on, just for a second, look at me, please, Son, look at me." The emotion made Mark's voice waiver, but the message must have gotten across, because slowly the fluttering eyelids raised and he found himself looking into a pair of eyes as blue and alive as his own.

ooo

"It needs to go higher up, we never have it that low down." The walking stick that waved perilously close to Mark's head, was pointing to a happy, rotund Father Christmas who was perched on the third branch up from the bottom of a very sparse and sad looking tree.

"Do you know how hard it is to get a Christmas tree in January? Just stop moaning and pass me another ornament." Mark turned round and held out his hand, watching with concern at the grimace of pain the simple movements were still causing his son.

"Hey, who's for egg nog?" A bright smiling face and a large bowl of a bright yellow liquid followed the cheerful voice, which floated in from the front door.

"Well, I would, if I didn't know it has a very short shelf life. I don't think my ribs can cope with food poisoning."

"I'll have you know I made this myself, and the chocolate cream pie in the refrigerator and the …"

"Stop, stop, already." Steve raised his right hand, a smile creasing his face as he did so.

"Apple pie." Jesse was determined to finish his sentence, but then he put the bowl down on the table and headed off happily to get some glasses, and open the front door for Amanda who he could see coming up the path.

ooo

"Dad, Jesse, that was great, thank you." Steve eased himself back in the chair and then let out a relaxed breath. He had only been home since the previous evening, and now, looking at his father and friends who had saved him, he felt his emotions well up and he had to rub away a tear that he refused to let fall.

"Steve, would you like to go lie down for a while?" Mark was at once concerned, hovering by his son's side in an instant.

"No, no, Dad, I'm fine, maybe later. What I'd really like is for you to tell me how you found me." Steve had asked his father, Jesse, Amanda, even Cheryl and the Captain but there had always been other things happening, tests to run, dressings to change, or statements to give and somehow he still had no idea why he wasn't six feet under right now.

"It was your dad who worked it out." Jesse squirmed in his seat, as pleased and proud at Mark's success as he would be his own.

"Each time he took a cabbie he left a gum wrapper, neatly folded." Mark began the tale a sparkle in his eyes.

"I remember that, a square, he folded it into a square." Steve thought for a moment. "Nope, I have no idea how you could have found me from that."

"Patience, Son, patience, all will be revealed." Mark smiled, able to relax and tell his tale now it was clear it had a happy ending.

"Cheryl said that you were working on a link because the cabs had been found within three to four miles from where they were taken but I couldn't see that working, it was too vague, and when we studied the map there was no pattern, no pattern at all."

Steve had spoken with Cheryl and she had just said that his dad had come at the case from a different angle. He hadn't been surprised, but a nurse had come to force yet another vial of blood from him at that moment and she had left without saying anything more.

"But the kidnap points, they did have a pattern, and then when the gum wrappers were put with it."

"How can a gum wrapper be a clue? They had no prints, and they weren't even the same brand every time. I checked that when I read everything through before I started the assignment."

"It was the square, the way it was folded, when we looked at the map the kidnappings were, once yours was added, making a square. Maybe he didn't even see the link between the paper and the cabs himself, but the square of land was deliberate."

Mark paused to take a drink of his wine and Jesse, his energy still causing him to bounce, leapt in to continue the account.

"Mark called Cheryl, got her to start looking things up on the computer, and then I drove down there, I made it in record time, didn't I?" He beamed before continuing. "There was a hive of activity when we got there, and I knew that Mark had done it again, the information was laying out on your desk, I think someone had bombed the surface so they could use it!"

"Oh, ha ha, are you gonna continue, or is it Amanda's turn now?"

His friend shook her head, extra presents for her children had appeared under the tree, and the two boys were playing happily on the kitchen floor with two remote controlled mini cars. She was enjoying their pleasure while revelling in the fact that her family was still complete and felt no necessity to join in the tale.

"The area wasn't that large, three, four blocks, and Mark had asked Cheryl to run some simple information through the system as well."

"Eighteen months ago a cab ran a red light on Riverside Drive, it ploughed into the side of a delivery truck, the driver survived, but his passenger was killed. She was a young woman called Angela Simmons, seventeen years of age, on her way to an interview for her first job. The Fare Man was her brother." Mark's face and tone were grave now and he paused again, letting the information sink in to Steve's mind.

"He said, that first day, he said we'd killed his sister. I tried to tell him about Carol, about how you don't gain anything by letting your grief take you over, but he wouldn't listen … Five households missed out on Christmas, are gonna miss out on all the things a family should do, because of him. And the driver of the cab, the cab that Angela was in, what happened to him?"

"He resigned after the accident, couldn't cope with the responsibility, Cheryl thinks she's traced him to San Diego, but why increase his guilt? It's not gonna do anyone any good."

"I guess not." Steve tried to stifle a yawn, but knew that his eagle-eyed father had spotted it.

"Bed, young man, you've only been home twenty-four hours, you need to go nap for a while."

"One more question," Steve looked into his father's eyes, "just one, I promise."

"Ok, one more."

"The killer, Simmons …"

"He'll stand trial for the five murders, you succeeded."

"Good." Another yawn took him over and he smiled a sheepish smile.

"And now, as I said, bed."

Steve knew he couldn't argue, he wasn't awake enough to do so, and carefully, easing his battered body into a standing position, he began to make his way slowly towards the guest bedroom. With his left arm and foot both encased in plaster and the wound from the gunshot to the shoulder still pulling, the journey took a while but finally he was able to sink down onto the comfortable bed and let out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, Dad, for everything, for today, the tree, the presents, I'm sorry that we hadn't gotten it all ready for the proper Christmas, but it didn't seem right, without Carol, y'know, in the background." He paused, and saw that his father did know, did understand, and so he continued.

"I loved her, still love her, and I miss her, but that doesn't mean that I stop doing all those things that she liked, that I like, Simmons taught me that. Grief will turn to hatred, and she is worth far more than that." For a moment he couldn't say anything, and so he lay back onto the bed and let his dad cover him up as he had done since childhood.

"I knew you'd find me, I just didn't think it would be in time. I love you, Dad." His eyes were getting heavy now, and he let out a contented yawn, but opened his eyes wide when he heard his dad raise his voice slightly.

"I love you too, Son, but your mom and me, we raised you better than to tell lies."

A blush rushed up his face as he realised that he still hadn't mentioned his dishonesty to his father. "I'm sorry, Dad, I just didn't want to worry you. I guess I failed at that, huh?"

"I know, and yes, miserably. I'm grateful that you thought of me, but don't ever, ever not worry me again, d'you hear me?"

"I hear you, Merry Christmas, Dad."

"Merry Christmas, Son."

The End.

A/N I hope that you enjoyed this little tale, it was fun to write, and I proved to myself that I can write a short story. If we are lucky Christmas is a time for family, I shall be with mine and I hope that if you too are lucky you will be spending the festive season with those that you love.

Tracy