Ch. 7 Mocked By Sunlight

The man watched from the hallway, peering through the still-open door, as the elder Sloan and his friends tried to bring his son back. He tried to ignore the sweat forming on his brow and palms; tried to tell himself that it would be fine, Sloan would die.
//It must happen,// he thought. //It will happen.// Even as he was thinking this, the young doctor he had knocked out, now awake, pulled Mark Sloan away from his son's body. The shrill tone of the heart rate monitor was the only sound. The man smiled. Glancing both ways down the hall, and finding it empty, he turned back to the scene.
"I took your son from you, Dr. Sloan," he whispered almost soundlessly. "I took him from you as you took my son from me." He saw the expression of the older man crumble as he realized fully what had just happened. "Do not worry, Dr. Sloan. Soon you will forget the grief. Soon - tonight - it will be your turn to die as your son has died." His hands were shaking, as was his whispered voice. Not good. A sign of weakness. He knew what he must do. He must kill Mark Sloan, and then he must follow his own son. Smiling grimly, the man left the hospital.

Physically shaking, Mark made his way down the hospital corridor. Jesse and Amanda had finally convinced him to go home and "get some rest." Seeing that there was really no reason to stay any longer, Mark had agreed. He didn't think he'd be getting any rest, though. As he passed a nurses' station he tossed his rumpled lab coat into the trashcan. After a moment's thought he shoved his nametag and ID into his shirt pocket.
Mark stepped outside the hospital's main doors and blinked, staring up at the sky. The sun. It was late morning, and an absolutely beautiful day. For a few minutes Mark could only stand there, staring up at the sky, his thoughts ground to a halt, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. How? How could the day be so beautiful and warm, when all he could feel was cold grief? The sunlight shone down gently, offering a warmth he could not feel, seeming in his mind to mock him. After another long minute, Mark dropped his head and went out to his car, forcing the tears back, at least until he could get home.

Jesse paced the length of the doctor's lounge, eyes on the floor, his intense gaze and clenched jaw and fists betraying his fury. Part of it was aimless anger that this had happened. Part was at Steve for leaving them: for doing this to him, to Amanda, and especially to Mark! And another part was at himself for not being able to stop whoever had killed his friend. He had been unconscious, sure, but he should have been more alert and heard the guy come in. Should have, should have, should have. It was making Jesse sick to his stomach.
Amanda sat quietly on the couch, her dark eyes watching Jesse's progress back and forth across the room covertly. From the set of his jaw and the way his hands were clenched into fists she could see he was angry. And she had an idea she knew why. After a moment's debate, she decided to call him on it.
"Jesse?" The young doctor paused in mid-step, and then turned to face her, eyes dark with the agony of grief. Looking into those eyes, Amanda was suddenly unable to go on. She stared back helplessly for a moment. Jesse heaved a sigh and flung himself down onto one of the chairs.
"I-I can't do this." Jesse's voice was rough, and surprised Amanda. "Why didn't I hear him?" Jesse vented. "I should have heard him come in, should have - should have stopped him. Should have." Jesse cut off and dropped his head, running his hands through his hair with a strained sound. Amanda stood and went over t him, kneeling beside his chair and placing a hand on his shoulder as if comforting CJ or Dion. He looked up at her silently, and she reached out and pulled his head down to her shoulder, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He sighed deeply, returning the hug. "Amanda?" he whispered.
"Yes?" she answered, just as softly.
"What are we going to do?" She sighed as deeply as she had, wanting to comfort him as she could with her sons, but unable to find the comfort in herself. She shook her head slowly, and then thought of Mark. If they felt as aimless as they did, how must Mark feel?
"Jesse, are you up to doing something?" He pulled out of the hug and looked at her, face blank. "I can if you aren't," she added hurriedly.
"No, I will. What do you need, Amanda?" She shifted her weight, and then moved to the chair beside his as her legs complained loudly to their cramped position.
"Not me. Mark. Could you...well, follow him home? Make sure he gets there all right?" Jesse nodded immediately, and got up, glad for any excuse to do something, to keep from thinking about the guilt and the grief.
"No problem. He was going to go to his office before heading out so I'll probably catch up easily." He reached into his pocket for his car keys.
"Jesse," Amanda caught his hand, stopping his progress towards the door. "Don't let him see you. Just...make sure he gets there all right?" Jesse nodded his assent and hurried out.

Outside, Jesse saw Mark just climbing into his car, and hurried to his own. Quickly turning over the engine, Jesse pulled out behind Mark. As soon as was possible, he put a few cars between his car and Mark's, though he doubted the older man would notice him. Mark had been distant, closed off in his grief, and would probably not have seen Jesse if he drove alongside him.
The trip passed without incident, and Jesse stopped on the opposite side of the street until Mark had gone in. He was just about to pull away from the curb, when movement caught his eye. Someone was emerging from the bushes by Mark's window. Jesse quickly killed the engine. The figure glanced around once, and then peered in the window. After staring inside for a good while he tested the window, which opened smoothly. Odd, that.
Jesse opened his car door as quietly as possible, and slipped out. The young doctor ran across the street, keeping low, as the figure pulled himself up on the sill. From his hidden position in the shrubs, Jesse could see it was a man. He had a medium build, with dark brown hair and a shock of gray near the base of his neck on the right. After a moment's thought, Jesse realized it was from emotional stress. It was a medical fact that someone who has undergone immense emotional stress can lose pigmentation in their hair. It was a nice little phenomenon Jesse had picked up in some movie or other.
By this time the man had slipped inside. Hurrying up the front steps, Jesse took the spare key from its hiding place and unlocked the door. Going in as soundlessly as possible, he closed the door, wincing as the snick of the latch catching seemed impossibly loud. Glancing around, he headed for the living room where he suspected the man was most likely to go.