Ch. 4 Phase Two

"Son." It was almost a question, but still Mark got no answer from his unconscious son. Steve had been in the hospital since the previous afternoon, and it was now getting towards evening. Mark placed a hand momentarily on his son's forehead, as if checking for a fever. There had never been much affection shown outwardly between the two men. But shown or not, the affection was there, and understood by both of them, and anyone else who cared to notice.
Ever since Steve had announced his intention of becoming a police officer, Mark had worried about his safety. It seemed his worry was warranted, as Steve had been injured many times in the line of duty - the worst when he had been shot three times in Malcolm Trainer's brilliant scheme.
Steve's forehead was neither hot nor cold, but Mark wasn't checking his temperature. He let out a long breath and closed his eyes, his face relaxing from the pinched and grieved look it had held since the previous afternoon when his world had seemed to fall apart. Steve had to wake up. That was all there was to it. Mark couldn't lose him so soon after losing his daughter, Carol only a few months previous. Steve hadn't woken since the surgery, though he wasn't really expected to for a few hours at least. He had slipped into some sort of sleep that was almost, but not quite, a coma. He was stable, but he still wasn't doing well. Mark's heart sank with every hour that passed, currently somewhere in the basement or subbasement.
"I love you."

"All right, Jesse. Coffee." Mark sounded irritated, but Jesse knew it was just stress from his son's poor condition. It was Sunday evening and Mark had not yet left Steve's room. Jesse had tried unsuccessfully to get Mark to go home, or even to catch some sleep on the couch in the doctor's lounge, but had to settle for Mark leaving for five minutes to get coffee. Jesse shook his head slightly as Mark left the room. Every hour Steve stayed unconscious seemed to add a year to Mark's face. Jesse could almost see the time piling up on Mark's shoulders. The usual sparkle was gone from his eyes, and they were constantly dark.
"Come on, Steve," Jesse whispered as he leaned to check his friend's vitals for any sign of change. "Come on."

//Phase Two begins now,// the man thought with a smile. He set down the flowers he'd brought in case anyone had questioned his presence. He looked around and down the corridor Sloan's room was in. It would be easier if he had a lab coat. The man glanced over his shoulder but saw no one. Turning around again, he shrunk back into a doorway as he saw a white-haired doctor come out of Sloan's room and go the other way. Smiling to himself, he followed, grabbing a bedpan from a cart as he went. Sneaking up behind the man just as he neared a supply closet, he brought the bedpan down hard on the back of the man's head.
The man's knees gave and he started to fall without a sound. Catching him under the armpits, the man dragged the doctor into the nearby closet. It was only as he started to take off the man's lab coat that he saw his face and recognized him. Mark Sloan! The cop's father! The man smiled darkly.
//He looks like he's aged years,// the man thought with satisfaction. //Must be grief and worry.// He touched a gray lock of hair, remembering. Then he smiled coldly. //This is too perfect. I could kill him now.// He hefted the bedpan. //No. Wait. How much more perfect would it be if I killed his son now, wearing his coat?// He chuckled quietly and then pulled on the lab coat and left the closet, closing the door behind him. //Let him taste /real/ grief.//
He opened the door to Sloan's room soundlessly and snuck in. A young doctor stood over Sloan, checking the machines attached to him, keeping him alive. The man was slightly annoyed by the doctor's presence, but the young doctor hadn't yet noticed him, and the man still had the bedpan. Walking quietly up behind the doctor, he quickly brought the bedpan down the same way he had on the elder Sloan's head. The doctor crumpled to the floor, nearly hitting his head on the bed frame as he fell. Good. Perfect.
Pausing only to decide which machine gave the most support, the man quickly disconnected the machine aiding Sloan's breathing, and switched off the heart rate monitor. The respirator wheezed to a stop, and Sloan began to wheeze, fighting to keep breathing. Sweat broke out on the detective's brow, and the man smiled.
"Now you will die, and your father will soon follow." The man smirked. It was time to leave. But first he shrugged out of Dr. Sloan's coat and laid it over Lt. Sloan's form like a death shroud. The outline of his face could be seen under the white fabric as the detective struggled for air, fighting for his life. It would be a little more difficult to get out without the coat, but it was worth it. The man smiled again and left.