A.N. Anybody (especially Patcats!) who wants to know if this is a Death story can e-mail me using the contact link or the e-mail address on the Author's page.
Thanks again to Della for editing at short notice!
Chapter 7
"Dr. Travis...Dr. Travis." A gentle hand shaking his shoulder woke Jesse from the dark abyss of exhausted slumber. For a moment he was back in his sleep-deprived internship days, flailing automatically to abrupt consciousness, but as memory swept back with depressing clarity, he wished he was back in that stressful period.
"What it is?" He stretched out cramped limbs and arched his back to straighten his contorted spine. A quick glance showed him Amanda rubbing her eyes, the despondent slump to her shoulders evidence of her perfect recall of the last day's events.
Stephanie Morris, the nurse, stepped back to give him more space. "I thought you'd like to know that Lieutenant Sloan is waking up."
Her words banished his residual drowsiness as effectively as a dash of icy water to the face and he was on his feet instantly, swaying slightly at the abrupt shift of blood pressure. He cast an instinctive eye on his watch to check how much time had elapsed, mentally computing the progress of the sedative he'd administered.
"I'd hoped he'd be out for longer," he muttered absently. He summoned up a weak smile. "Thanks, Steph. I'll be there in a minute." He slipped on his shoes and looked across to where Amanda was mirroring his actions, her usual immaculate hair mussed and her makeup streaky and faded.
"Why don't you go home? You'll have some time to see the boys before they go off to school," he suggested gently.
She threw her hands up in a despairing gesture. "I'd have to break the news to them too. I can't even hold it together myself; there's no way I can tell them at the moment. Besides, Steve needs both of us." She pulled a comb out of a pocket and started straightening her hair. "There's just a couple of things I need to do. I'll catch up with you in a minute."
Jesse dredged up a smile for her too, although it felt artificial on his face as if any movement would shatter the brittle mask of control he'd constructed. He moved stiffly out of the room, every joint aching as if battered through every cycle in a washing machine then rinsed, spun, and wrung again, yet after the benefit of rest, he also felt a kind of detached calmness that derived from traumatized disbelief, from the unreality that the illumination of daylight provided. It had to be just a nightmare, born in the hellish hours of darkness, because his mind just couldn't encompass the enormity of their loss.
He stopped in front of Steve's room, picking up and perusing his chart, allowing the familiar format to ease his transition back from distraught friend to professional doctor. Nurse Morris approached him again, looking harried. "Dr. Travis, you should also know that he's removed the monitor -- gave me quite a shock when the alarm went off."
Jesse sighed, not surprised by the report. "What about the IV?"
"He hadn't touched that when I last went in." The hesitation in the words seemed to indicate that she wouldn't be the slightest bit astonished if Steve had torn down every shred of medical apparatus in the room.
Jesse thanked her again in dismissal and reached out to open the door, but his hand wavered uncertainly before completing the movement as sudden dread weakened his resolve. Telling Steve about his father the night before had been the hardest thing the young doctor had ever done in his life, but the thought of facing his friend again when Steve wasn't drugged and semi-conscious was even more daunting. Suddenly, Amanda was back beside him, squeezing his shoulder in understanding, and that encouragement enabled him to enter the room.
Steve appeared ashen even against the stark-white hospital sheets, his granite-hewn features pain-etched with deep striations that made him look far older than his years. His face was turned slightly away and although his eyes were open, he didn't turn to acknowledge his visitors.
"Steve?" Jesse's exclamation was an involuntary reaction to the haggard lines and harsh angles and plains, but as his friend lifted his gaze, the young doctor almost wished for a return of the masking shadows to hide the bleak despair embedded in those eyes.
He approached the bed awkwardly, his mouth dry as he suddenly realised he had no idea what to say. Every possible opening sounded irrelevant or too trite for serious consideration. He couldn't tell Steve the one thing he'd want to hear. He was moistening his lips and was searching in the vacuous cavern his mind had become for inspiration when a soft voice issued over his shoulder.
"Steve, I thought you'd like to know that Cheryl came through surgery well and had a good night. It'll be a while before she's fit enough to go back to work, but the prognosis is good."
Clearly, Amanda's brief absence had been utilized for more than availing herself of the facilities and Jesse blessed her natural common sense. At first he thought Steve was oblivious to her words, but after a moment, the detective nodded briefly in acknowledgement. The familiar medical terminology had broken through Jesse's momentary paralysis and he started his examination, explaining the extent of Steve's injuries as he proceeded.
"The airbag protected you from the worst of the impact, but as the car rolled, you were thrown about violently and you've collected some nasty contusions on your side and your head here."
Steve obediently breathed deeply on command and tracked fingers moving across his vision, but he made no other response even when Jesse probed the stitched wound over his left temple and the doctor found this quiet compliance more worrying than outright recalcitrance. Concealing his growing concern, he removed the dressing from Steve's shoulder.
"Our main concern was this bullet wound. You'd lost a lot of blood by the time medical help arrived, but in every other way you were lucky." He felt Steve flinch, his first overt reaction, and for a moment thought it was his own clumsiness in replacing the bandage. It took him a moment to realise that it was his choice of words that had been insensitive, not his hands. Steve must feel the complete antithesis of lucky right now. Stricken, he glanced up at Amanda for help, but she merely nodded encouragingly, so he cleared his throat before soldiering gamely on.
"The bullet entered just under the clavicle, missed the lung and ended up against your shoulder blade. With greater force it would have shattered the bone, but it appears to have lost most of its velocity by that point and the the scapula was left intact. There was no bullet fragmentation, so the tissue damage is relatively minimal. However, there is of course, severe bruising, but the tissue will recover. After some physical therapy, you'll be..." This time Jesse caught himself before committing another faux pas, "...your shoulder will be as good as new."
He was replacing the dressing when Steve grabbed his hand and startled, Jesse looked down into a face pale and bleached of all emotion except the pain of loss which was etched around his eyes and mouth.
"Jesse... how?"
The young doctor couldn't pretend to misunderstand the question despite the hoarseness in the voice that asked it, and he cast another silent plea for advice in Amanda's direction. This time she accepted the baton, sitting down on the bed, and although her expression was remarkably composed, her fingers were absently bunching the blankets into pleated knots. "We don't have all the details yet. The only thing we really know is that there was some kind of accident. Mark's car..." She swallowed, unable to look away from the dread and haunting anguish in the eyes that were fixed on her with burning intensity. "...It went off the Hilton Heights Bridge into the river."
Although braced for the worst, the words still hit Steve like a physical blow and his eyes widened in shock. "How? Why? Was his car shot at as well?"
Jesse decided to rejoin the conversation as Amanda hesitated. "There's no information on that so far. I'm sure we'll hear something today."
"But what happened to Dad? Did he drown or...?" Steve's voice cracked and he had to clench his jaw for control, a faint sheen of sweat filming on his skin.
Amanda knew that this was going to be the hardest part. "Steve, they didn't find the body."
"What?" Steve pushed himself upright, despite the hands that tried to restrain him, a tiny thread of hope trying to wrap around his heart. "Then you don't know for sure he's dead, he could have survived..."
"Steve, please don't!" A tear slid forlornly down Amanda's cheek. "He didn't have a chance. After the car went over, it quickly sank and was carried downstream by the force of the water. People were watching from the bridge by that point, but no one emerged even for a second. He's gone."
The spiteful little ray of hope shattered into tiny, jagged shards, the edges slicing painfully deep, yet something inside Steve refused to give up. "We need to check the area, perhaps he's just hurt." He swung his legs round to the side of the bed opposite Amanda, sending Jesse scuttling round the bed to prevent the disaster he deduced would follow. Steve's feet touched the ground, but that didn't halt his downward momentum as his knees buckled under the sudden weight. Jesse caught him before he could hit the floor, slipping an arm around his waist to steady him.
"Were you listening to me?" he scolded. "You're in no condition to go anywhere. There's a Search and Rescue team there who'll do what's necessary."
"Yes, I heard you." Steve wearily pushed away from the bed and Jesse, his balance more steady. "You said the bullet hadn't hit anything vital and I'll be fine."
"'Will be fine' being the operative phrase, as in will be if you don't do anything stupid like try and leave the hospital." An exasperation born of worry and grief was clear in the doctor's tone.
"Just get me my clothes, Jesse." The bleak monotone of this command irritated Jesse further.
"Let me see if I can make this clearer for you. Shoulder wounds are never simple; the proximity of vascular, neural, osseous, and muscular structures make gunshots to this area particularly challenging. And you know as well as anyone that any gunshot injury is prone to infection from the foreign material forced into the wound."
Steve ignored this spate of medical wisdom, looking around for clothes with grim determination but not even seeming capable of summoning up any anger to match Jesse's frustration. "I'm going. I'll sign myself out AMA if you want so you'll not be responsible."
"Do you think that's what I'm worried about?" There was hurt as well as irritation in the young doctor's open face and Amanda hastily stepped between them, literally and figuratively.
"Steve, please sit back down on the bed. We'll help you get to the river, but if you want to be of any use at all when you get there, we need to strap your your shoulder up better and get you a walking stick of some kind." She could feel the imminent protest welling forth from Jesse and quelled him with a glare. Steve was regarding her doubtfully but eventually eased himself down with some reluctance.
Amanda rewarded him with a small smile of reassurance. "Your clothes were damaged in the accident, but we'll go and rustle up some more for you. Please try and relax while we're gone. Save your energy."
She bustled out of the room, Jesse dragged helplessly in her confident wake although the scowl on his face hadn't dimmed. He managed to contain the explosion until they were out of earshot, but that suppression only made the inevitable outburst more vociferous. "What do you think you're doing?" Suddenly aware of curious stares from the nursing staff, he turned and marched back to the lounge which had provided them with sanctuary the night before. This time Amanda trailed behind, the facade of quiet confidence she'd conveyed in Steve's room dissolving to reveal her true weariness.
As the door closed behind her, she held up a hand to forestall the next harangue. "I know this goes against the grain, but we have to help him. You know what Steve's like -- his first response to any crisis is action. Unless you plan to keep him drugged or have him committed he will go."
"He's going to kill himself," Jesse argued bitterly.
Amanda didn't deny the possibility. "That's why we need to go with him. Face it, he's going to go whether we go or not, but if we're there we can at least try to ensure that he doesn't overdo it or at least patch him up when he does."
"We shouldn't be collaborating in this lunacy," Jesse insisted stubbornly.
"Jesse, at this point, it's about more than his physical health; I'm more worried about his emotional well-being. For him to pull through this, it's important that he feels he did everything he could and participating in the search might, at least in part, satisfy that need."
Jesse was starting to look reluctantly convinced so she pressed her advantage. "Jesse, I know you're worried about him and just want to help, but I truly think he needs you as a friend right now. He needs to feel he can rely on us for support or he really will shut us out."
Although Jesse's medical instincts still objected, he couldn't argue with her common sense, and he capitulated unwillingly.
"I want to run another blood test and then I'll start the paperwork."
"I know Mark keeps..." she paused uncertainly for a moment, but made a conscious decision not to change the tense, "... some spare clothes for Steve in his office."
She didn't look happy at the prospect of venturing into a domain that would conjure up so many mental images of her friend, and Jesse felt obliged to offer to accompany her. She refused with a wry smile. "I think we need to accomplish as much as we can as fast as we can or we'll return to an empty room."
"You think he'll leave without his clothes?" Jesse asked incredulously.
"I think he's quite capable of jury-rigging something out of sheets," Amanda replied. "Once he's decided to go, nothing's going to stop him."
Thinking back on other examples of his friend's stubbornness, Jesse couldn't disagree. "OK, I'll meet you back at his room asap."
Jesse collared a lab technician and sent him to draw blood as a temporary delaying tactic, which proved to be a good idea as he was diverted by a crisis in the emergency room. When he finally re-entered Steve's room, there was no sign of Amanda but his patient was fully dressed, a pristine sling restraining his right arm and his left hand braced against the window where he stood, gazing out blindly at the nearby rooftops.
Jesse took in Steve's motionless profile, like some life-like statue carved from marble, the profound pain in his expression the only sign of animation. Not wanting to contemplate the reasons behind that despair, Jesse hurried forward, waving the papers. "If you come and sit down and sign all these, we can get out of here. Where's Amanda?"
"Wheelchair." Steve's monosyllabic response was sufficient to impart understanding. With an unsteady hand, he scrawled his name carelessly wherever Jesse pointed, without bothering to read any of the documents. By the time they'd finished, Amanda had returned and Steve sat in the wheelchair without a murmur of protest.
The journey through the halls was an ordeal for all of them, but especially for Steve. The sympathetic gazes from the personnel in the corridors seared him to the bone even when he tried to avoid them by keeping his eyes lowered. He couldn't help but remember a previous time when they had faked Mark's death to protect him from an assassin. He had felt horribly awkward receiving the messages of condolence from so many members of the staff, uncomfortable with the deception and in feigning grief in the face of such obvious sincerity.
Now, he simply refused to acknowledge the stares, shutting his eyes and rubbing his temple as pain pulsed dully just underneath his skull. He pulled the blanket Amanda had placed on his knees more firmly around him even though it was an exercise in futility. He couldn't seem to get warm no matter what he did, which wasn't surprising since the cold didn't stem from an external source, it was welling up from inside the hole in his soul.
Once in Amanda's car, he stared out of the window, noticing only that everything was touched with a dull hue. He felt empty, drained physically and emotionally. His drugged sleep had not been restful, disturbed as it was, not by specific images, but just by a sense of darkness, a vortex of swirling gloom, black and gray with streaks of blood red, then he'd awakened to an overwhelming ache that left him gasping for breath. The vacant chair next to his bed seemed to mock him. His father's absence was a physical rent in his life, an emptiness that was tangible and a silence that was deafening.
He shifted slightly in the car seat, but it was impossible to find a comfortable position. His throat was tight, and every part of his body ached unrelentingly. Occasionally, nausea would spike, but he forced the bile back down. He just wanted everything to stop; to stop feeling, to stop thinking, but his mind was locked in an endless whirl of memories that ripped at his heart and tore at his soul.
Although the mixture of pain, grief and fatigue had drained him of energy, he longed to arrive at their destination, wanting exertion to drive the frustration of inactivity from his muscles. He needed to see where the accident had happened, to understand what had befallen his father and he refused to completely extinguish the tenuous glimmer of hope that he still held buried deep in his heart. It was impossible to believe that Mark's unique vitality had been permanently quenched without being confronted by indisputable proof, but that verification was also what he hoped he wouldn't find.
"Steve, we're nearly there. What do you want me to do?" Amanda's tentative voice forced Steve to the awareness that he'd been staring unseeingly out of the window as the miles passed. It took him a minute to reorient himself to his surroundings, the familiar territory seeming oddly alien.
"Just drive over the bridge, turn right and park in the siding beside the river," he instructed, even his own voice seemed to echo strangely in his ears.
These directions took longer to follow than anticipated since the flow of traffic slowed down as it approached the bridge. As they crawled closer, it was evident that one side of the overpass had been closed and the reason for that became apparent as they crossed. An agonising chill seared through Steve's veins at the sight of the gaping hole in the protective barrier on the opposite side of the bridge, a vulnerable gap protected only by a row of forlorn orange cones and police tape flapping dully in the breeze. The sight brought a piercing reality to what hitherto had been a vague mental image.
He couldn't tear his eyes away from the proof of the accident, and it was clear that the other drivers felt the same fascination. The traffic had slowed as they indulged their curiosity and Steve hated that detached interest in what meant the devastation of his life.
It wasn't until the curve of the bridge blocked the shattered barrier from view that he became aware of Amanda patting his knee in a futile attempt at comfort. Every muscle in his body was corded with tension, setting up a chain reaction of involuntary tremors and harsh breathing that was probably anything but reassuring to the doctors in the vehicle.
"I'm fine," he asserted automatically and completely untruthfully. However, the fact that he was even capable of making the effort seemed to appease Amanda and she replaced her hand on the steering wheel. The track that paralleled the river was unpaved, and the recent rain had washed out sizable potholes so despite Amanda's best efforts at avoidance, their progress caused Steve to flinch at every jolt. However, as she brought the vehicle to a stop, he climbed out as if the hospital bed was but a distant memory, and after exchanging a resigned look, the two doctors followed.
Steve strode up the sloping back of a large rock, the top of which afforded him an excellent view of the ominous gap in the bridge and the churning water below, swollen from recent rain, and he measured the distance between the two with an optimistic eye. It wasn't that far a fall and, especially with the assistance of a seat belt and an airbag, it shouldn't have been fatal. His gaze was drawn inexorably back to the swollen river, murky with the sediment it had swept along in its headlong rush down the mountains.
In his mind's eye, he could suddenly see his father's car crashing through the barrier and Mark, dazed and injured, struggling valiantly but hopelessly against the turgid current. He swayed, an incoherent sound of protest escaping his lips.
"I should have been here." He didn't even realise he'd spoken that anguished thought aloud until he felt Jesse's hand on his arm. He shook it off almost roughly, unable to face sympathy and shutting down his imagination with brutal force.
"You said that Search and Rescue was here." The words came out harsher than he'd intended.
The multitude of tire tracks in the mud argued for their earlier presence in this area, and Jesse felt that their absence now was a sinister intimation of the failure of their search. He contemplated pointing out what seemed obvious, but pain was radiating off his friend in tangible waves, battering Jesse with a force that shook him and he couldn't bring himself to shatter that last hope so he merely suggested a less drastic alternative.
"Maybe they've moved further down the river."
Steve merely grunted in response, and fear remained stamped on his rigid features. "I'll check this side of the river, you two work down the other side."
Without waiting for a response, he moved off, silhouetted for a moment against the sky, then disappearing behind a lonely tree, stunted and bowed by the harsh weather, leaving Jesse and Amanda to trade glances of dismay and frustration.
"You go with him. He'll probably need you," Amanda directed.
"What I am supposed to do, wait until he collapses then carry him back? I wouldn't get him five feet."
"Then I suggest you don't let it get that far," Amanda snapped back, her temper flaring in response to Jesse's sarcasm. The younger doctor hunched his shoulders but made no reply and Amanda relented. She sucked in a deep breath, tasting the faint tang of salt and seaweed on the breeze that wafted up from the direction of the ocean.
"Jesse," she began, her tone totally at odds with her previous manner. "Could he be right? Is there any chance that Mark...?"
"None." The word was gently spoken but brutal nonetheless and seeing Amanda's visible deflation, Jesse explained sadly. "I wish I could say there was, but even if there was the remotest possibility that Mark had escaped drowning, the Search and Rescue team have already explored the whole area with dogs. If there was anything to be found, they would already have done so." He looked after the figure of Steve rapidly receding into the distance. Even as he watched, Steve's right foot caught on an exposed root and he stumbled, only just catching himself before hitting the ground. Jesse started to run, throwing back over his shoulder, "Now we just have to persuade him of that before he kills himself."