Stranded
Chapter Ten: Steve Sloan
Steve used to be a policeman. He used to solve murders and put criminals behind bars. He used to have a father, and Amanda, and Jesse and Alex. He used to have the hospital, and the precinct, and BBQ Bob's, and the beach house.
But everything had changed with one event in his life. It had been only two weeks since flight 314 had crashed onto the island, and Steve was finding himself taking on more and more responsibility. The one thing that remained the same from his old life was that his wife was still at his side. But she herself had changed.
With only three weeks having passed since the death of their son, they were both still shaky, but Hope was helping Ellen heal.
Everyone on the island had changed; their old lives were over. They were hanging in suspense, waiting for rescue that they knew was not coming.
With all these changes that had happened so far, Steve could not believe that he was about to institute more. In the last week since Blayr and Will had been brought safely back, they had anonymously decided that moving the campsite would be their best option. Joyce was using the manifest to compile a list of all the people who had survived. She had plenty of help with Ellen and Danietta.
While they worked, Steve kept himself busy by sorting out a bunch of fruit, separating that which was edible with anything that was rotten or poisonous. He labored at a make-shift table, with a tarp strung overhead for shade. Tony was also working at the table, sketching out plans for the new camp. Nearby Hope giggled in a fold-away playpen that had been found in the cargo hold. Steve smiled down at the baby. He wasn't sure exactly why, but he felt a small connection to the infant. The more that Hope was near him, flashing her toothless grin, the more Steve had come to like her. He decided to take a break from his task. Steve lifted the tiny girl into his arms and settled down in the sand.
"So, are you ready for the grand total?" Joyce asked as she and Ellen plunked down into the sand beside Steve. "One hundred and sixteen people got onto the airplane, including crew. Now there are thirty-seven of us left, thirty-eight if you include Blayr's baby," Joyce continued, sifting through the stack of papers in her hands.
"We can break it down farther: eighteen men, twelve women, six children, and Will and Hope," Ellen added.
"Not as many as I thought," Steve said.
"Well, now that that's done … we can- burn the bodies. I don't like the idea, but it has to be done," Joyce said.
"We'll do it tonight," Steve said. "We can read off the names of the dead from the manifest." Joyce stared at him, and Tony set down his pencil as he watched from the table. Ellen glanced away, studying the sand on her toes. Only Hope was heard, cooing as she sucked on her left foot. Steve carefully removed the appendage from her mouth before he looked around at the faces that had become very familiar in the past few days. "This isn't a game. We can't think about the funerals they deserve, with beautiful music and flowers and personal eulogies. We need to survive, and that means getting the new campsite built. We don't know how long we will be here.
"Now, I want anyone who isn't gathering food to start collecting wood and kindling. We'll pile it up by the plane and burn it after the sun goes down."
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Steve sat on the edge of the bed in his old room. The past few days had been emotionally draining, with Eddie Gault threatening the people close to him. He looked up. The closet door was open, and a photo album was on a shelf. It seemed to be calling his name. Steve retrieved the book, then returned to his spot on the bed. As Steve paged through the pictures, he remembered the vacation perfectly. His mother was radiant in every picture that he had of her. Then a shadow fell over the book.
"What's that?" Mark asked.
"Here, take a look," Steve said, flipping back to the first page. Mark put on his glasses and sat down beside his son.
"Oh, our big vacation in Arizona," he said, smiling at the pictures. "You were ten years old."
"Do you remember how mad Mom got when you gave me that dirt bike?" Steve asked, pointing to one of the photos. Mark winched. He did remember Katherine's initial anger, but it had not lasted long.
"And then we couldn't get her off of it," he said.
"How many stitches did she get?"
"About thirty," Mark answered.
"Yeah, Steve said with a chuckle. He looked down at the album and turned a page. His mother smiled up at him, holding a little white dog. "You know, Mom once told me she was the happiest woman she ever knew," he said thoughtfully.
"Really?" Mark asked. His son nodded. "Thanks for telling me that." Steve looked back down at the book. His father stood beside the same car that he owned now. His mother was in the yard, tending her roses. Steve pointed to the picture.
"There are those rosebushes by the back door."
"Yeah," Mark answered with a nod.
"Is that where you want to plant them?" Steve asked.
"Yeah," Mark said once again.
"I'll help you," Steve said, handing his father the photo album as he stood up.
"Well, do you want to do it in the morning?" Mark queried. After the long week, he was beat.
"No, I've got to be at Gault's arraignment in the morning," Steve said, striding out to get a shovel.
"Some body never changed, anyway," Mark said, smiling as he let his fingers wander gently across Katherine's face before gently closing the album and setting it on Steve's bed so that he could follow his son downstairs.
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"I modeled each housing unit after the huts in Gilligan's Island. Joyce helped me break family units apart, and we came up with an arrangement for bunking that should work. We assigned two people to each hut, excluding a few that have family here," Tony explained as people gathered around the glance at his sketches. The huts would be small, ten-foot squares, each with a curtain running across the middle for privacy. Hammocks were drawn into the back corners, underneath windows that allowed fresh air inside. In addition, each had two hooks for hanging jackets and things, and a shelf for personal belongings.
"We're not looking for luxury, just safety and shelter," Steve said. He went on to continue his plan for the evening and those for the rest of the week. He had carefully scheduled each day so that they would get the maximum amount of work done on the new campsite.
When the crowd dispersed to begin collecting brush and dry leaves, there was a sadness that seemed to emanate from person to person. Everyone was quiet as they went about their tasks.
Even the children, set under Katrina White's watchful eye, seemed to be working on a project with renewed fervor. Joyce looked over at the small group. She worried about their survival in an environment that was so harsh.
Joyce wandered over to them. She was about to say something to them, when she glanced at their project. Piles of wildflowers were arranged in the middle of their circle. Katrina bunched thin vines together, and then pulled them into a circle to make a wreath. The children were now adding the flowers.
"It's for the funeral," Katrina said, moving a large red flower to the other side of the display. "Do you like it?"
"I think it's a beautiful idea," Joyce smiled, but then she hurried away to help someone who had called for her.
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Amanda, Steve, sat in the living room of the beach house. Mark was pacing back and forth by the window.
"I don't know what you want me to do, Dad," Steve said.
"I want you to find a way to arrest Kate Delieb for murder," Mark answered pointedly.
"Mark, you know I had to rule that as a suicide," Amanda said from her spot on the brown leather couch.
"She supplied Frank Dugen with materials and the means to kill himself. Now that's got to be murder on some level."
"Not on a legal one," Steve retorted from his armchair.
"Shoot me," Mark sighed, turning back towards the windows.
"Look, the D.A. is keeping an eye on her. I will too. It's a start." Steve offered.
"You know, maybe we can help," Mark said, looking to Amanda.
"How?" Amanda asked.
"By keeping a close watch at that hospital. If she inquires about or approaches any seriously ill patient, we call Steve."
"Alright, I'll discuss it with Jesse and the rest of the staff," Amanda agreed.
"Good. We have to stop her before she kills somebody else," Mark said. He turned and exited the room, going out to the deck. Steve watched his father go. Puzzled, he shared a look with Amanda. Sensing that father and son should have a few minutes alone, she stood.
"I'll be in touch." Steve followed his father outside. Mark was leaning up against the deck's rail, staring out at the ocean, obviously deep in thought.
"Amanda's headed back to the hospital. She'll call if anything comes up," Steve said.
"Good," Mark said. "It won't take long. Kate Delieb's on a crusade. We'll get her." Steve sighed and looked down at the rail.
"I'm a little confused here," he said.
"About going after a killer?" Mark asked, surprised.
"No about you," Steve said, turning around to sit on the railing. "We've dealt with a lot of killers over the years, but I don't ever remember you being this angry about one." Mark looked back out at the surf and sighed.
"You know, she asked me the other day if I had ever let a patient die," he said.
"And what did you answer?"
"I didn't. But the truth is I have. All doctors have. Those decisions come with the job. But there was this one case, over forty years ago. I was just out of residency. Eighty-three year old woman, in extreme dementia, they didn't call it Alzheimer's in those days, and in terrible pain, undiagnosed, tumor, probably. Occasionally, she had lucid moments, and in one of them, she said to me: 'Let me go. It's time.' It was your great-grandmother." Until that last sentence, Mark had kept his eyes on the ocean. But as he made his revelation, he looked over towards his son.
"You never told me she was your patient," Steve said.
"She wasn't. She thought she was, of course. The whole family thought she was. I guess I thought so too."
"What did you do?" Steve asked, horrified.
"I prescribed morphine for her pain. A lot of it. She lasted one more day."
"No one asked you anything?"
"Naw. Why should they, eighty-three year old woman?"
"I don't believe this," Steve said, walking a few steps away from his father.
"You know, I think your mother guessed. Never said a word. I thought I was being a good doctor; doing what was right for a suffering patient. But the next morning when I woke up, I knew. I'm just her killer. Kate Delieb's a killer, Steve. I've got to stop her. Do you understand?" Steve didn't say anything, just stood, back to his father. Then he waked away.
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The blaze from the fire was so bright that it stung Steve's eyes to look at it. He had an arm around his wife, holding her close for support. He hadn't liked the chore of starting the fire.
Danietta read the names of the deceased from the manifest. Each one she said slowly, and with dignity. The children's wreath was propped beside her.
When Danietta finished, Katrina White stepped forward. Tears rolled down the young girl's cheeks. Her watery eyes glistened with the flickering light of the fire. Silence came over the group of people, with only the low rumbling of the fire penetrating their minds. Then one voice, pure and sweet, carried out above the noise, singing a tune that was well known to one and all.
"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me," Katrina began. She kept her eyes on the fire, transfixed by the light. Joyce came to her side, and put her arms around her shoulders, joining the song.
"I once was lost, but now am found.
Was blind, but now I see." Voices across the crowd joined in, starting in low, but then growing to a loud voice. All were singing as one.
"Through many dangers, toils and snares,
Ihave already come.
'Twas grace that brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home."
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"Admit it, Dad. Bruce's computer didn't kill those people. Bruce did," Steve said. He sat with his father in the study of his new house, opening containers of Chinese take-out. Boxes served as tables and chairs.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Mark said. "Well, did your system cook all this Chinese food?"
"Actually it was the Chinese restaurant around the corner, which seems to have forgotten the Moo Shoo pork. I'll go back," Steve offered.
"Oh, no, this is plenty of food," Mark protested. "Mmm, good too. You know, take-out is very important for a man who lives alone."
"Dad," Steve said, pulling on his jacket.
"Men don't cook for themselves. I rarely do it," Mark continued.
"Dad, it's not like I eat dinner at home that often anyway," Steve argued.
"Why do you think I know every take-out place in Malibu?" Mark replied. As Steve chuckled, his cell phone trilled.
"Hello… Jess, I can't hear you. I've been on the phone all day. My battery's dying."
"Here use mine," Mark offered, checking his pockets. "Oh, I left it in the car."
"Jesse let me call you back from a payphone," Steve said, turning off the cell phone.
"I'll go get it," Mark said, starting to get up. But his son stopped him.
"No, no, no. Don't let your soup get cold. There's a payphone at the Chinese restaurant; I'll just call him from there". Steve said, standing up.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. You know, a true test of Chinese takeout is Moo Shoo Pork."
"Right," Mark agreed.
"This will only take a minute," Steve confirmed.
"Alright," Mark said, as Steve walked out.
Steve drove around the corner to the restaurant. He went straight to the payphone, and called Jesse.
"Steve?" the young doctor asked. "Stay out of the house." Jesse went on to explain that Bruce was out to get Mark, and that he killed the children of his victims using the computer system in their houses. Steve felt his face go pale.
"Jesse, Dad is there," he said.
"I'm on my way," Jesse said.
Steve drove back to the house. By the time Jesse arrived, a team was trying to open the door. Cheryl and Steve were standing helplessly on the sidewalk, waiting. Cheryl left him to check on the progress.
"Your dad still inside?" Jesse asked, coming over.
"Yeah, the computer seems to have triggered the security system in the study. I've called for a battering ram and a blowtorch."
"This may take a while," Cheryl announced as she returned.
"We may not have a while," Steve argued.
"What do you mean?" Jesse asked.
"The computer is designed to pump fresh air into the room. If the computer's been programmed to shut off the air intake, we might not have much time at all," Steve said, turning away. He talked with the guys who were trying to pry open the door for a moment, then turned back to Jesse.
"Is there any way you could hack into the system, take control of this thing?" he asked, almost pleading.
"That's way beyond my ability. You need somebody who knows how to back door-" Jesse trailed off.
"Purdy," the two men said together, naming a man who designed a different brand of the computer systems.
"He's been released on bail," Cheryl piped in.
"I'll find him," Steve said, hurrying to his car.
Steve saw the man he was looking for from down the street. He stepped out of his SUV, and then started for the building, tossing his keys up and catching them with his left hand. Out of nowhere, a black and white patrol car pulled up in front of Purdy. He turned and ran, right up to Steve's car. He turned once more and ran away. Steve jumped out of the car, and followed. Purdy was surrounded. He stopped, stiff. Suddenly, he ran towards Steve.
The cop was ready for it. He ducked, and sent Purdy hurling to the ground.
"You've got nothing on me," the man protested, as Steve hauled him to his feet.
"I know. Why are you running?"
"Why you here?" Purdy retorted.
"Because I need you," Steve said.
"What was that? Did I just hear you say 'let's make a deal'?" Steve nodded. On the way to the house, he explained what was happening. In the rearview mirror, Steve saw Purdy pull out a laptop and begin type, as they pulled up.
"Any luck?" Steve asked Cheryl. She shook her head slowly.
"What do we need to do to hook you up?" Jesse asked Purdy as he exited the car, glasses on his face.
"Just stand back and let me work." He kept tying and clicking the keyboard. "There's the system, now if I can just find the override," he said finally.
"What's the status inside," Steve asked, turning back towards the house. He hated being powerless while the life of someone that he cared about was on the line. Especially when it was his father.
"We've made no contact yet," Cheryl said, watching Purdy work. He hit a button on the keyboard.
"Ha. I'm in."
"Okay, get some oxygen in there," Steve said, turning back towards the door. Jesse's eyes were glued to the computer screen.
"Oxygen level is nearly normal," he said.
"Let's go," Steve said, running towards the door, Cheryl and Jesse on his heels.
Steve heard the air-proof door slide up, and the instant it would budge, he banged the regular door open. His dad was lying on the floor, head against some boxes. Steve dropped down at his side.
"Dad?" Mark stuttered that he was alright. "Don't try to talk," Steve ordered gently.
"You'll be just fine," Jesse said, as the paramedics slipped an oxygen mask over Mark's nose and mouth. As his father gasped for air, Steve and one of the paramedics helped him to his feet. He moved out of the way so that the other medic could take Mark's arm. Steve watched anxiously as they led him from the room.
"Let them work Steve," Cheryl said.
Steve sighed, then looked around, at the air filters. As he tilted his head back down, Steve noticed some writing on one of the boxes. He tore the cardboard flap off to read the message.
"To my son, Steve," It read. Then the pen trailed off. Steve's heart leaped, and he glanced over at his father, who was being wheeled out to a waiting ambulance.
They took Mark to Community General. Jesse and Amanda visited for awhile, but both eventually had to leave. Steve stood beside the bed, and discreetly pulled something from his inside jacket pocket.
"Jesse said you're going to be fine," he said, to strike up conversation.
"Yeah. It takes more than a computer to kill me," Mark said. Steve chuckled.
"I found that," he said, showing Mark the cardboard flap that was in his hand.
"Oh, yeah. It was- I- a- uh- just-"
"I figured you were just reminding me to get an extra fortune cookie," Steve interrupted, trying to alleviate the swirl of emotions that was taking over the room.
"Oh, you figured that out, huh?" Mark said with a smile.
"I am a detective," Steve replied.
"How's the house?" Mark asked, changing the subject.
"Well, a few thousand dollars worth of repairs and it should be good as new." Both men nodded ruefully. Steve's tone changed. "I'm going to rent it out. It would make a good investment."
"You don't want to live there?" Mark asked, surprised.
"It's kind of lost its charm," Steve said, folding his hands behind his back. The piece of cardboard was still in them. He had a feeling that the flap was something that he would keep tucked away in a drawer for a very long time. "Of course, I was hoping my former landlord would let me move back in."
"Well, your former landlord might have raised the rent, too," Mark said.
"Oh, how much?"
"Two dinners a week?" Mark offered.
"I can afford that," Steve agreed. Mark nodded. Then he thought of something.
"You know that puce sofa?"
"Yeah?" Steve said, raising his eyebrows as he listened for his dad's next words.
"Don't bring it," Mark said simply. Steve's face fell, but he nodded.
"Oh."
Awhile later, Steve went home to the beach house. He couldn't sleep, so he set up the old movie projector, and watched silent films of his father, opening Christmas presents, and holding his baby son.
His thoughts turned to how close he had come to losing his father. Now he knew how Mark must have felt every time he was dragged to the hospital because of some on-the-job wound. Steve smiled at his father in the movie.
"Good night, Dad," he said, turning out the lamp.
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Morning seemed earlier, and the sun brighter, the next day, as everyone began to wake up and prepare for the move. Several trips would have to be made between the old and new camps. Tarps and large pieces of wreckage served as sleds, which could be packed with the things they were taking, then pulled through the sand. That would get them halfway to the new site, and from there they'd have to carry them.
Steve helped load up one of these with luggage. Within three hours of dawn, they were ready for the first wave to head out. Steve smiled down at Ellen as they started off down the beach. She had strapped Hope to her back, using a bag to make a sort of papoose. The baby giggled from her perch. She liked being able to see everyone and everything.
Ellen helped Steve and a couple other people pull one of the sleds.
"You're awfully quiet today," Ellen said, adjusting the strap from Hope's carrier that cut into her shoulder.
"I'm just tired," Steve muttered, tugging on the sled to move it into a position from which they could carry it.
"Are you sure?" Ellen asked.
"I'm fine," he said.
"Okay," Ellen said uncertainly. "But if you need to talk, I'm always here."
"I know," Steve said. "I love you." Ellen smiled and shifted her grip on the sled. An hour and a half later, Steve slowed. The hill they approached was familiar. Just over it, was the waterfall, and several caves.
The sleeping quarters were to be arranged on the mostly flat terrain on the other side of the lagoon. Stairs would later be built to make the hike easier, but for now, they climbed on foot.
Tony's group, unhindered by the large sleds, had arrived nearly forty-five minutes before the others, and they devised a pulley to help lift their cargo up the cliff beside the waterfall. They had also started cutting down bamboo trunks and measuring them off to match in height.
"Everything is under control, Steve," Tony said. "Why don't you rest a few minutes? You look tired?"
Steve smiled at his young helper, as Ellen came to his side with a bottle of fresh water. He moved to the shade of a palm tree, and sat down, with Hope in his lap and his wife nearby.
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Steve shifted nervously from foot to foot as he told his father what he had done while he was away in Costa Rica. They were outside at the beach house, looking out towards the ocean from the rocky embankment.
"You asked her to marry you?" Mark repeated, his jaw dropping.
"I didn't know what else to do. I had already bought the ring."
"I am never leaving town again," Mark said.
"Do you think I did the right thing?"
"I don't see as you had any other choice,"
"'Cause, I'd already bought the ring,"
"Exactly," Mark said supportively.
"Of course, he could have taken the ring back," Ellen interjected, joining them.
"No way," Steve said, pulling her towards him.
"Afraid not," Mark said, watching the kiss with a dopey smile on his face. He wasn't sure what would happen with Walter Burkett, but he was certain that his son would be happy now.
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The building went relatively quickly. On the first full day, their efforts only produced one hut, but it was enough to put a roof over the heads of Blayr and her baby.
Soon an assembly line was set up. Several people measured and cut the bamboo, while others wove it together into the pieces for the walls. These were then set up, one, two, three, four, until the hut was formed. They braced it with more long sticks, then set to tying it until it was sturdy. The roof was easy, as they just fastened massive palms to the top of the frame.
To test it, Steve dumped a pail of water down the roof. The little room stayed dry.
Within a week, the huts were all complete. Hammocks were set up in each, as were shelves, set into notches in the wall. Bamboo cribs were made for Hope and Will.
A big pavilion was put together as a sort of 'cafeteria,' where they could eat and cook. Joyce's infirmary was set up in a cave, with storage in an adjourning room.
The signal fire was set up on the highest ground in the camp. It blazed night and day, with watches set up to keep it fueled.
Steve surveyed watched every step, correcting mistakes, and helping where needed. Ellen watched from the sidelines, worried that he would burn himself out. She could tell that he missed Mark. They had always worked as a team, and now, for the first time ever, Steve had to learn to function without being able to go to his father for advice or help.
Ellen missed the older doctor as well. He was easy to talk to, about anything. After she married Steve, Ellen found herself telling Mark stuff that she hadn't even told her own parents. But Ellen that if she was homesick for his soothing voice, as well as Jesse's humor and Amanda's trustworthiness, and Alex' sensibility, Steve missed them even more.
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"Ow," Steve complained. Jesse was stitching up a would on his right shoulder, where an assailant's bullet had grazed the cop. It was pretty deep for a graze, but it wasn't serious. "Amanda's right, your technique does stink."
"You're just a big baby," Jesse said, coming back for another stitch. Steve opened his mouth to say something else, but the door to the trauma room opened, and Mark came in, Ellen on his heels.
"Are you alright?" Ellen asked, sitting down beside him.
"I'm fine. Look, it's just a grazing," Steve said, nodding towards his shoulder.
"I was just worried. They told me on the phone that you had been shot," she said, leaning her head on his left shoulder. Her relief was more exhausting than the anxiety had been. Steve rubbed her arm with his left hand, holding her close.
"I'm okay, Dad," he offered, looking up at Mark.
"You should have called," Mark noted. "We were worried."
"I was going to call as soon as Dr. Jekyll here was done mutilating me," Steve said. "Will you just sew it up? I don't care if there's a scar."
"What's one more?" Jesse retorted. "I shou-"
"Steve," Ellen said, interrupting Jesse at his comeback. She looked at her husband and smiled, looking very quickly down towards her own belly. He knew what she was trying to tell him with her eyes. Ellen had revealed her pregnancy to him three days before, and since then, she had made it clear that he should tell his father before he guessed for himself.
"I guess that now is as good a time as any," Steve said, grasping Ellen's hand. "Dad, we're having a baby." For the first time since Steve had known him, Jesse was speechless. Mark's eyes watered at the edges.
"Congratulations, Son," he said. Jesse had finally finished, and he moved out of the way. He left the little family alone after offering his own best wishes.
Mark hugged both Ellen and Steve, and tears of joy stung all of their eyes, although Steve tried to hide it. His dad smiled at him. Steve knew that he could never top his own father, but he wanted to be a good dad.
"I'm going to need fathering lessons," he said out loud. Mark grinned.
"It's not much than dealing with Jesse," he said.
"Oh boy, are we in for a long eighteen years," Steve commented.
"I'm game if you are," Ellen said.
"I'll help too," Mark said.
"Thanks Dad."
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Steve used to be a policeman. He used to solve murders and put criminals behind bars. He used to have a father, and Amanda, and Jesse and Alex. He used to have the hospital, and the precinct, and the beach house.
Everyone on the island had changed; their old lives were over. They were hanging in suspense, waiting for rescue that they knew was not coming.
Steve loved his old life, but he knew that things would never be the same. As he closed the flap of fabric that served as a door to his hut, he smiled at his wife's sleeping form. Steve bent over Hope's crib, and kissed her forehead. Then he climbed into the hammock beside Ellen.
"I love you," he whispered.
He looked back out the hole that was the window. Stars twinkled in the dark blue of the sky. Constellations that were apparent at the beach house were not in their normal spots, but Steve could still pick them out.
Steve would never give up hope that they might one day be rescued, but he wasn't going to dwell on it either. He knew that whatever happened, he would always have the memory of his father, and the support of his wife.
Good bye, Dad, Steve thought. I'll miss you.
A/N: This chapter marks a turning point in the story. The survivors had been huddled on the beach, waiting for rescue, but now they have to face the fact that they might not be rescued soon.
Some of the flashbacks in this chapter were from episodes of DM: A Blast from the Past, Today is the Last Day of the Rest of My Life, Murder By Remote, and Without Warning.
I tried to pick ones that showed how close Steve and his father were, and how much their relationship had been through. I actually replayed each episode so that I would be sure to get the dialogue correct. And I had to look up how to spell Kate 'Delieb' from the cast credits on TV Tome.
I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, please read and review.