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"Mark? I need to see you for a moment." The voice on
the phone was tense and insistent.
Mark removed his glasses and ran a hand over his face. He sighed
heavily. "What is it, Amanda? This isn't a good time."
He wasn't actually busy with anything, but it was still the
truth. It wasn't a good time. People kept telling him he should
go home, but he couldn't face the beach house. That would mean he
had to go downstairs, to see Steve's clothes, his books lying on
the table, the videos he had forgotten to return to the store.
For the last three nights, he had slept in the doctor's lounge.
Home simply wasn't home anymore. And the funeral was only two
days away….
"This is important. You really need to come down here."
To the morgue. He couldn't. He couldn't go to where his son's
body lay.
"Not now, Amanda."
"Mark, please? It's about Steve. I'll explain when you get
here." With that, she hung up, giving him no more chance to
argue.
He sighed again as the placed the receiver back into the cradle.
It's about Steve. He stood slowly, his mind moving faster than it
had in days. What new information could she have? Could she have
found some clue as to the identity of his killer?A spark of
interest flared. It was time to stop hiding. The person who
murdered his son was still out there. He would find him.
His face grim, he headed for the basement.
***
"Dad?"
Mark smiled gently at his son. "You're going to be alright,
Steve. Just relax."
Steve shook his head slightly. His father was there, but he was
having difficulty seeing him. Everything was so fuzzy. "Dad,
what's going on?"
"You're safe now, Steve. Everything is going to be fine.
I'll take care of you, now." He moved closer to him.
Steve tried to reach out his hand, but he couldn't move it. He
looked down. His wrist was still bound to the chair; the rope
holding it soaked in blood. An IV needle was embedded in the back
of his hand. He looked back up at Mark, a pleading look on his
face. He spoke again, his voice hoarse and raw. "Dad, untie
me…"
He knelt beside him, and looked him in the eye. "Steve, we
need to know where Sharon Dane is. She's been alone, and we need
to find her."
"She's-" He stopped and stared at his father. He
wouldn't be asking questions like this. He'd be checking the IV,
trying to help him. It was a trick. He shook his head again and
closed his eyes. When he opened them, another man was kneeling
there, grinning at him.
The man looked over his shoulder. "The drugs aren't working.
Call Rick. He'll get it out of him."
A voice came out of the darkness. "Yeah, if he survives the
questions." Harsh laughter followed.
Steve closed his eyes. His father was never there. He was alone.
***
Mark Sloan opened the door to the pathology lab. The sight before
him nearly made him turn around and walk back out. He probably
would have, had he been able to move. Instead, he stood frozen,
staring at the body he had seen in his nightmares for the last
three nights, when he had been able to sleep at all. Amanda
Bentley stood at the other side of the table.
"Mark, come take a look at this," she said with
excitement she usually had when she found the clue that would
crack a case they were working on. Only this time it wasn't a
case, it was his son. He looked at her with a mixture of anger
and shock. Wordlessly, he turned to leave.
"It's not him, Mark."
He turned back, his eyes wide. "What?"
"It's not Steve's body."
He shook his head. "But the fingerprints-"
"I know, and I can't explain that. But I'm telling you, this
isn't Steve." She motioned to the left hand. "Take a
look."
Slowly, he moved over to the table and closed his eyes briefly
before looking. He stared for a moment. "What am I looking
at?"
"Do you remember Eddie Gault?"
How could he forget the psychopath who had been stalking his son?
He just nodded.
"Well, when Steve found me in that alley where Gault had
taken me, Gault attacked him. With a knife."
"And cut Steve on the back of the left hand," Mark
breathed. He leaned over to get a closer look at the body on the
table.
"It left quite a scar, too." Amanda looked down.
"I know, because to me, it was very prominent. I always felt
guilty when I saw it, knowing it was there because he was trying
to save me."
He looked back up at her. "There's no scar." He moved
the sheet back from where it was covering the man's upper leg.
"Steve was shot in the leg in Vietnam. There should be a
scar here, too." For the first time in three days, he began
to smile. "There isn't one."
"I know. Whoever this is, he's not Steve Sloan."
***
The sharp ring of the telephone woke Mark from a fitful sleep. He
had returned home in the hope that Steve might come back or try
to reach him there, but sleep was no easier even now that he knew
his son was alive. Now his nightmares tortured him with images of
what could be happening to Steve while he lay safe in his bed.
The irrational guilt and feeling of helplessness was nearly
overwhelming. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly midnight. He
grabbed for the phone, unable to stop the surge of hope he felt
in his chest.
"Hello?"
A pause. He held his breath. "Steve? Is that you?" A
woman's voice asked hesitantly.
His shoulders sagged. "No, this is Steve's dad. He's not
here."
"I need to talk to Steve… where is he?" She
sounded on the verge of tears.
"I wish I knew."
Her voice broke. "Oh, god… I need to talk to him!"
She was nearly panicked. "Please…"
"What's the matter? Who is this?" He asked, his voice
filled with concern.
"I'm not supposed to be calling anyone… but I didn't
know what else to do! Steve hasn't been back in days-"
Mark took a deep breath. "You're the witness he's been
protecting."
The line was silent for so long, he feared she had hung up on
him. "Hello?"
"I'm here." Her voice was very quiet and small. "I
don't know what to do…"
"Where are you? I'll come get you."
No! They might be listening to your phone calls! I'm calling from
a cell phone, so they won't be able to trace it to me."
"They who?"
"The men who probably took Steve. They're looking for
me."
He gripped the phone tighter. "Do you know where they might
have taken him?"
"I-I don't know…"
"Listen to me. I'm going to give you my cell phone number. I
want you to think of every place that they might have taken him,
and then call me. Will you do that?"
She hesitated. "Yes… yes, I will."
"Good. It's 555-7078"
"Okay." She hung up abruptly.
Mark hung up the phone and sighed. It was the first real clue
he'd had in finding his son, and there was nothing he could do
but wait.
***
"I've been going through the papers I took from Russell's
office. Steve brought me copies when we came here."
Mark sat up straighter and grabbed a pen and notepad, trying to
balance his cell phone between his shoulder and ear. "What
did you find?"
"He was renting out a house to some people whose names I
don't recognize. We had several rental properties together, but
he never told me about this one."
He nodded. "What's the address?"
"846 Saranac Street." She hesitated. "It's
probably nothing, but it's the only thing I've found so far that
would be a possibility."
"Thank you." A sudden thought occurred to him.
"Are you all right there by yourself?"
"I think so." She sighed shakily. "I've been
jumping at every shadow and I feel like I haven't slept in
days." She paused. "I'd better go. I'll call back if I
find anything else." The line went dead.
***
The house was dark. Mark crept up upon it, looking over his
shoulder repeatedly. He began questioning his decision to come
here alone. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.
Jesse had been in the middle of an emergency surgery, and Amanda
had gone out to dinner with Ron and C.J. He had been afraid that
if he'd called the police, he'd still be waiting while they got
warrants, even if they wouldn't have questioned him for hours
about his source. He just wasn't sure Steve had that kind of
time.
He peered in the side window. Inside, the living room was
completely devoid of people or furniture. If it was being rented,
it certainly was a strange way to live. The front door was
locked, so he worked his way around the back, checking windows as
he went. Steve would have yelled at him for his reckless
behavior, but he didn't think about that now.
The back door was unlocked. He opened it slowly, listening for
any sounds. Nothing. Carefully, he stole inside, wishing now he
had called the police. The stillness of the place was
disquieting. He came upon a small kitchen, and found there an
assortment of fast food wrappers and soda cans. He was more
certain than ever that this was the place. But where was
everyone? Had they moved Steve elsewhere? He continued his
search, down the hallway, to the bedrooms. The doors were open to
two of them, only one was closed. After quick glances inside a
bedroom and a bath, he approached the closed door.
Holding his breath, he reached for the knob. Slowly, he opened
the door a crack, peeking inside.
It was empty but for two sleeping bags spread on the floor. He
let the breath out in frustration. He was so certain…
The garage. It was the one place he hadn't yet looked. He hurried
back to the kitchen, spurred on by a sense of urgency he couldn't
explain. He opened the door just a little at first, then wider
when he could see only darkness.
Formless shadows were all he could make out. He reached inside
for a light switch, and blinked at the sudden brightness as his
eyes adjusted.
The sight before him nearly made his heart stop. A metal chair
stood in the middle of the garage, its surface dark with dried
blood. He moved closer, and saw bloody ropes hanging from the
arms of the chair. He leaned down and picked up a blue cloth from
the floor. Tears sprang to his eyes. It was Steve's shirt; torn
and bloody, but still recognizable as one he had bought him for
Christmas.
A small table stood nearby, several types of scalpels and
syringes lying on it. Two small medicine bottles caught his eye
and he reached for them. He had just picked them up when he heard
a small sound. He jumped and turned around, his eyes scanning the
room. He gasped. Steve was there on the cement floor, lying on
his side; legs pulled nearly to his chest. There was a smear of
blood on the wall above him, as if he had been thrown against it.
Without another thought, he was kneeling at his side, his fingers
automatically feeling for a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief
and a prayer of thanks when he found one, however faint. His eyes
scanned him, cataloging his injuries as he pulled his cell phone
from his pocket and called 911.
After giving the address and instructions to send police and
paramedics, Mark ignored the operator's instructions to stay on
the line. He hung up the phone and reached out again to his son.
There was blood everywhere on his face and bare chest, and deep
cuts on both wrists. Steve's eyes fluttered open at the touch.
"Dad?" Mark had never heard his son's voice so weak
He blinked back tears. "I'm here, son. You're going to be
fine. Just hang in there, okay?"
Steve nodded and his eyes closed. Mark's chest tightened in near
panic. "Steve? Steve, can you hear me? You need to stay
awake, son." He touched his throat again, feeling for a
pulse. He found none.
Fighting his emotions down, and attempting to let his training
take over, he rolled Steve onto his back. "Please God, don't
take my son…" he prayed as he began CPR.
***
"Ugh. How can you eat that stuff?"
"I love the Jell-O they make here. Now if they'd just let me
have some of the meatloaf…"
"Uh-uh. You need to stick with soft foods and that IV for
another day or so. Then, it's on to BBQ Bob's!"
Steve grinned. "I tell you Jess, I'm feeling a lot better.
You could at least let me go home and sleep in my own bed."
Jesse shook his head. "No way. You're staying here where we
can keep an eye on you. We've come too close to loosing you even
since your dad brought you in. I'm not putting him through that
again." The pained look in his eyes said he wasn't willing
to go through that again either.
Steve nodded seriously, the grin fading. "I know,
Jess."
"They finally got the thing with your fingerprints
straightened out. Seems they switched yours with some homeless
guy they killed. They must have picked him out for his physical
resemblance to you."
"Yeah, Dad told me. But we still don't know who in the
department was helping them." His eyes turned cold.
"Whoever it was, I *am* going to find out. One way or the
other."
They sat in silence for a few moments, each thinking their own
thoughts. It was a frightening situation, knowing there was
someone in the LAPD who had assisted in the attempted murder of a
fellow officer. Suddenly, Jesse brightened. "Hey, but you do
have a visitor!"
Before he could ask whom, his friend was already out the door. He
sighed and set down his nearly empty bowl. Just the few minutes
of sitting up and eating a bowl of Jell-O had exhausted him. It
had been over a week since he'd been admitted to the ER, and the
recovery was slow.
He didn't even realize he had closed his eyes when he heard a
voice whisper, "Is he sleeping?"
He opened his eyes. Sharon grinned down at him. She was dressed
in a beautiful yellow print sundress that brightened the whole
room.
"Sharon!" He smiled warmly at her.
She reached out and took his hand. "Steve, I'm so glad
you're going to be all right. I've been so worried about you, but
they wouldn't let me come here."
"I know. The trial's over?"
"Yes. A guilty verdict, and a thirty year sentence."
She squeezed his hand. "Thanks to you."
He shook his head. "You were the one who provided the
testimony."
"Which I never would have been able to, had you not
protected me." Her eyes filled with tears. "I feel
terrible about what they did to you…"
"Sharon, don't."
"No, Steve. You nearly died because you were keeping me
safe. I understand why you did it, but I'll never feel right
about it." She looked away. "I came to thank you…
and to say goodbye."
He swallowed hard. He had known this moment would come, but it
didn't make it any easier. He had grown to like this woman a
great deal in their time together, and somewhere in the back of
his mind, he had wished things could be different.
"I'll never forget you."
He looked back up at her. She was crying now, from guilt or
sorrow, he couldn't tell. He gripped her hand in both of his own.
"Sharon… I'll miss you," he said simply.
She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. He returned
the kiss, long and sweet. Finally, she broke away. She touched
the side of his face, and smiled softly.
Without another word, she turned and walked out of the room. He
watched her go, unable to speak. He sighed. Alone again, he
stared out the window, watching the rain pour from dark skies.
Author's notes: This is my first Diagnosis Murder fanfiction.
Feedback and/or constructive critisism is loved, appreciated,
responded to promtly, and practically begged for! Flames will be
used to toast marshmallows. ;-) In other words, please, please
tell me what you thought of it! You can reach me at sngngwolf@aol.com.
© 2000 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of CBS and Viacom. The characters who have appeared in the Diagnosis Murder series, together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of CBS and Viacom. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.