MURDER BY PROXY part 2
"My god, Mark, I just heard. What happened? How is he?"
Mark barely glanced up at Amanda as she entered the doctor's lounge like
a whirlwind an hour and a half later. He looked awful, she noted as she
took a seat opposite him at the table. Fatigue lined his face and he looked
grey and drawn.
"He was going to jump, Amanda," he said, in a strained voice.
"When I got to the roof he was convinced he could fly. I had to talk
him down. It was awful. He's been sedated and hydrated and we've given him
charcoal to minimise the circulation. It was Phencyclidine."
"PCP?" she exclaimed, stunned. "Jesse took PCP?"
"No!" The reply was harsh and he managed a wan smile of apology.
"No, he didn't 'take' it … at least not on purpose. This is Jesse
we're talking about. I had someone go to his locker. The aspirin he had
in there wasn't aspirin. We're just lucky he only took a couple. Any more
and he could have been in serious trouble."
"More serious than trying to jump off a building?" she demanded.
"Mark, why? Who would do such a thing - and to Jesse of all people?"
He shook his head. "I don't know." He sounded exhausted and she
reached out a hand to cover his. He smiled at her gratefully. "All
I know is that we nearly lost him this afternoon. God, Amanda, it was …
it was … I never want to go through that again," he said, his
voice practically inaudible as he struggled to convey how scared he had
felt when he had arrived at the rooftop to find his young friend preparing
to leap off. He could never admit how his heart had almost stopped at the
sight nor how he had practically stopped breathing when the young man had
teetered on the parapet and almost fallen. He wasn't sure where the inspiration
had come from to convince Jesse that he needed a taller building for his
purpose - he guessed now that it must have been instinct. He had recognised
the signs of PCP, although he hadn't seen its effects for many years, and
had recalled all the text, which instructed that those affected should be
calmed and gentled, because any behaviour they perceived as threatening
may precipitate the very action those with them were trying to prevent.
Once he had escorted Jesse off the roof, he had guided him toward one of
the rooms in the security wing. The area was quiet. Only one other room
was occupied at present and it was at the end of the corridor. Jesse had
obediently accompanied the older man, obviously unaware of where they were
or the course they were taking. He had been under the misguided impression
that Mark was taking him to the high building he had spoken of and, trusting
the other doctor implicitly, despite his drugged state, had not even questioned
the path they were taking. Once in the room, however, he had turned a quizzical
gaze upon Mark and his mentor had smiled apologetically before administering
the sedative which he had earlier quietly instructed one of the nurses to
procure. Jesse had stood there for a moment longer then his legs buckled
beneath him and Mark caught him and manoeuvered him toward the bed, where
he had then set up an IV hydration and also administered the charcoal. It
had taken a while but fortunately, Jesse had remained unconscious throughout.
Mark had then instructed the nurse to monitor the young man whilst he returned
to the ER in order to deal with the continuing influx of sick and wounded,
only to discover that other ER colleagues had taken up the slack in his
absence and had managed to deal with everyone. The lull in proceedings had
enabled him to ascertain the cause of Jesse's sudden psychosis and he had
been both relieved and appalled to discover that his spot diagnosis on the
roof had been correct. The pills they had found in Jesse's locker, contained
within a blister pack which resembled that of a well-known painkiller, had
been analysed and found to be Phenycyclidine, otherwise known as PCP.
Now he had the task of facing the hospital Board in the morning and explaining
how his best doctor and close friend had been drugged. He only hoped they
believed him. Most of them were reasonable people but there were a couple
who could always be counted on to over-react. Not that this was an event
which could just be brushed under the carpet by any means. It wasn't every
day that a respected young doctor stood on the roof and tried to jump. At
best he expected them to recommend psychiatric evaluation for Jesse. At
worst they might suspend him, pending a full investigation. Mark wasn't
going to tolerate the latter and he was prepared to argue vehemently against
the former. Jesse had obviously taken what he had presumed to be the headache
tablets he kept in his locker. He had had no way of knowing that they had
been replaced by something so potentially lethal. His emotional and psychiatric
state was not in question. What was becoming very evident, however, was
that his life was.
"It's over now, Mark." Amanda's gentle voice penetrated his deliberations
and he glanced up to lock gazes with her. She was trying to help, he knew,
but it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
"We should suspend Dr Travis and hold a full investigation into
his behaviour."
Mark groaned inwardly. He had expected this. The Board Meeting had already
been scheduled for today - before Jesse's attempted 'suicide leap' as some
of the members had termed it. It was unfortunate, because had a few more
days been allowed to elapse, he would have had more time to gather evidence
of Jesse's sanity and innocence and also, Jesse himself would have been
on hand to testify. A few days inbetween the incident and the meeting would
also have allowed things to cool off and wiser heads would have prevailed
from the start. As it was, Mark knew he faced an uphill battle to convince
the Board that Jesse was not a danger either to himself or his patients.
"With all due respect to our esteemed colleague," he said, tightly,
as several others concurred with the man's judgement, "Dr Travis had
no idea that he was taking PCP. He went to his locker to get an aspirin."
"We only have Dr Travis's word for that," pointed out one of the
other members, huffily. "He may have been using this drug for days,
weeks, even months."
Mark smiled nastily. "I think we would have noticed before now had
that been the case. PCP makes people do strange things, act completely out
of character and in many cases, turn psychotic. Have any of you noticed
Dr Travis behaving that way at any time? Have any of the staff - who work
very closely with him, I might add? Well?"
"You're right, Dr Sloan." Another colleague, who was a sensible
and reasonable man and had allied himself with Mark and Norman when the
hospital had been up for takeover some months previously spoke up. "I
am around Community General quite a lot and whenever I have observed Dr
Travis he has always seemed sane and normal - if a little hyper at times!"
Mark quirked his lips in a grateful smile but realised that one ally was
not sufficient. He needed to convince everyone on the Board that this was
part of a deliberate scheme to target his young friend. "Dr Travis's
apartment was broken into and vandalised not days ago," he said, gravely.
"Now a person or persons unknown replaces the aspirin he keeps in his
locker with PCP - and somehow convinces him he could fly. That is a deliberate
attempt to kill him."
"I think you've been getting yourself involved in one too many of your
son's investigations, Dr Sloan," offered another man, in a snide voice.
"You're seeing conspiracies where there are none."
"Am I?" demanded Mark, coldly. "Well, tell me, why is it
that Jesse's … Dr Travis's apartment was targeted in such a way? Other
apartments in that area have also been broken into but they all had the
same MO. This one was different - this one, with precious but not valuable
items stolen or smashed and paint daubed over the walls was personal. And
why would Dr Travis, a respected young physician here in this hospital,
who has never been seen to take drugs, has never shown any overt signs of
drugtaking - and as a doctor myself I know the signs of someone on mood
enhancers - go off in the middle of a shift to take PCP? He has an exemplary
record here at Community General. He is an astonishing young surgeon and
I would trust my life to him. I have already trusted my son's." Mark
glanced around the faces of his fellow Board members. He was seeing doubt
in their expressions. It was time to play his trump card. "Simon,"
he went on, addressing one of the more prominent members. "Your daughter
came in suffering from a drug overdose last year. Dr Travis treated her.
He saved her life. And then he guided her to a drug rehabilitation program
which successfully treated her addiction. Is that not the case?" At
the man's reluctant nod, he went on, "Charles, your wife came in 18
months ago as the victim of a hit and run driver. Dr Travis was the surgeon
who operated on her under my guidance. He saved her life. I'm not sure even
I could have done that. He is exceptional and worthy of our confidence.
He does not deserve to be doubted in such a way. He would not, I repeat
not simply take off mid shift to pop a pill, unless he believed that
pill to be aspirin for the headache he was suffering at the time. It is
both unprofessional and irresponsible and Jesse Travis is neither of these
things."
He had won. He could see it. Norman gave him a smile and a well concealed
'thumbs up' signal from the other side of the table - bless the man, he
had never believed Jesse guilty of what some of the others had been accusing
him of. Other senior members were conferring quietly and he could see their
heads nodding in agreement with his words. Eventually, one of them spoke
up.
"Dr Sloan, you're right. Dr Travis is an extraordinary young man -
it is something we have long recognised and the reason we were going to
award him tenure here after his residency is at an end - something we still
intend to do," he added hurriedly as Mark heard the words 'we were'
and immediately assumed that Jesse's future had been placed in jeopardy.
"This incident, even were it a one off, would be worrying, but put
together with the seemingly personal attack on his apartment - well, I must
admit, I personally am more than a little concerned for his welfare. If,
as seems the case, he is being targeted, then someone must find out who
is doing it and quickly. We don't want to lose our finest young surgeon
before he even has the opportunity to hear his good news."
Mark exhaled heavily and closed his eyes for a moment. He had won! It was
a hollow victory, right now, however. Jesse was still sedated and would
face the after effects of his unexpected 'trip' once he awoke and now they
knew there was a threat against his life. How he would take that news and
what they could do to prevent something even worse befalling him was all
that occupied the older doctor's thoughts right now, even as the agenda
moved on and they started to discuss other matters.
"Oh god, Mark, I am so, so sorry."
It was the fifth apology in as many minutes. Jesse had awoken the morning
after his misadventure to a feeling of nausea, unrelenting dizziness and
the headache from hell. If he thought it had been painful before, that was
nothing compared to how it felt upon regaining his senses. It hurt to move,
it hurt to even breathe. Every sound was magnified tenfold and Mark's soft,
'How are you feeling?' had brought forth only a muted groan - which then
resounded endlessly in Jesse's throbbing skull. It was worse than concussion.
It was worse than anything he had ever felt before. He had wanted to ask
for something to take the pain away but couldn't force the words past his
mouth. Even his hair hurt.
Fortunately, Mark had seen his growing distress and had ordered a painkiller.
It had no sooner been administered than Jesse had felt himself floating
away, beyond the agony which pulsated through his cranium with every beat
of his heart, beyond the noises which only served to aggravate the pain
and into a blissful nowhere.
The next time he had awoken, it was early evening. Dusk coloured the sky
a deep orange and bright stars had already begun appearing in the encroaching
darkness. He had blinked warily, recalling the headache which had greeted
him last time but, thankfully it had receded. This time he only felt mildly
off-colour. In fact, it had felt very much like a hangover. But he didn't
recall drinking. The last thing he remembered with any clarity was entering
the locker room to get some headache tablets. Confusing images had scurried
through his mind but they were too indistinct and too fleeting to recognise.
A rooftop. A hand reaching out to him. People huddled together staring upwards.
The distorted image of a room. None of them made any sense and he was beginning
to attribute it to nightmares when Mark had entered and gravely related
the events of the previous day.
Jesse had been shocked. And contrite. And scared to death. He didn't recall
any of it - at least not consciously, although those vague after-images
continued to hover in his mind and he didn't care to explore them any further.
He had been discharged that night and Mark had driven him back to the beach
house. It was there that his mentor informed him of his conversation with
the Board that morning. He didn't recount all the details of the meeting
- it wasn't necessary for Jesse to know that his career had been in danger
- just the bare essentials. That he had informed them of the inherent danger
to Jesse and they had expressed their concern for his welfare. Jesse was
far from stupid, however. His quick, agile mind, might be slightly fuzzy
from the after-effects of the PCP, but his reasoning processes were not
that impaired. He could well imagine the conversation in the Boardroom and
Mark's undoubtedly well-prepared , logical arguments. He knew that he owed
his continuing career at Community General to the older doctor and he was
not slow to express his gratitude. Several times. So often, in fact that
Mark, in desperation, stuck a breadstick into his mouth to stop him.
But he couldn't stop apologising. He could only imagine the scene up on
the rooftop and he shuddered when he thought of the consequences had Mark
not been there. He certainly wouldn't be sitting here in the beach house
now, enjoying a fine meal with good friends. Had it not been for his friend,
he would now be a very bloody, shattered corpse, lying in Amanda's pathology
lab. "I can't believe …." He murmured, shaking his head in
mute horror at the thought. "I don't understand … Mark, I am so
sorry."
Mark shook his head in exasperation. He didn't know how he was going to
get through to Jesse that none of this was his fault. It wasn't as if he
had deliberately taken PCP just so that Mark could save first him then his
career. He had been a victim, and much as that thought haunted the older
doctor at present he was more focused on how to stop Jesse from needlessly
saying 'I'm sorry' every two minutes.
"Jess, it's not your fault," said Steve firmly, from his chair
on the opposite side of the table at which they now sat preparing to eat
a sumptious dinner. "And if you don't stop apologising I swear, I am
gonna take out my gun and shoot you!"
Jesse's stunned expression at this unexpected pronouncement was so priceless
that the other three at the table collapsed into fits of laughter. "Well,"
he huffed, "if you're gonna be like that about it … can someone
pass the pasta sauce?"
Mark smiled gratefully at his son as Jesse busied himself emptying out the
bowl of sauce the older doctor had made.
"Jesse, are you going to leave some of that for the rest of us?"
demanded Amanda. "Mark made enough for four you know. That isn't just
for you!"
A puppy-dog expression was turned upon the beautiful pathologist and she
sighed heavily. "Aw, Amanda, I haven't eaten anything for nearly two
days," he whined. "You wouldn't want to see me go hungry, wouldya?"
"I don't think that's possible," she teased him. Then she uttered
another heavy sigh. "You know, if I ate half as much as you consume
during the day, I'd be the size of a house. It just isn't fair."
"Ah well, Amanda, Jesse burns off all those calories running around
ER," Mark stated. Then he shrugged. "Well, that and he has hollow
legs."
"I do not have hollow legs," protested Jesse, through a mouthful
of pasta. "I just enjoy my food, that's all."
"Yeah, yours and everyone else's," put in Steve mournfully. "Is
there any more sauce left, dad?" he asked as he picked up the much
depleted bowl.
"I made a large batch," his father assured him with a smile. "There's
some more simmering on the stove. And no, you can not have any more,"
he scolded the young doctor, although his gentle smile belied his words.
"You have to leave room for dessert."
Jesse's smile was like sunshine. It was a relief to see after the trauma
of the past day or so and as the bantering continued, Mark finally began
to relax.
A couple of hours later the older doctor was standing on the patio with
his son. Amanda had gone home and Jesse, plainly flagging, had been practically
ordered to bed. His protests had been automatic but not heartfelt and he
had eventually taken his friends' advice and was now deeply asleep in the
guest bedroom which was fast becoming a home away from home.
"So how difficult was the Board meeting really, dad?" Steve asked
his father as they leaned against the railing and stared out over the vast
expanse of the Pacific ocean just beyond the beach.
Mark grimaced. "It wasn't pleasant," he admitted, finally, after
considering his answer for a few moments. This was the first opportunity
the two of them had had to discuss the events of that morning. Mark had
been preoccupied with ensuring that Jesse was all right and then imparting
to him the news that the Board was not going to take any action. "I
had quite a fight on my hands - until I reminded some of them of their obligations
toward a certain young resident."
"I wish I'd been there to see that," Steve said, with a smile.
He could just picture the scene and felt a frisson of pride run through
him at the way his father had handled the situation. Not that he would have
expected anything less of the older man. His dad may look charming and benevolent
but threaten someone he cared about and he became a lion, protecting his
young. Steve sometimes wondered if the word 'devious' had been invented
solely to describe Mark Sloan. "Those guys didn't stand a chance."
Mark had to smile at that. "I don't know," he mused, thoughtfully,
"I wasn't at all sure I was going to win this particular battle."
"Hey, you're Mark Sloan," declared Steve, nudging the other man
with his shoulder. "You can't be beaten!"
"Really?" A quizzical eyebrow was raised. "You have that
on good authority, do you?"
"What, you'd argue with a member of LA's finest?" Steve placed
a hand over his heart and feigned shock.
Mark chuckled and patted his son's broad shoulder. "I suppose not,"
he conceded.
A few moments of contemplative silence followed, then, "I'd like to
get my hands on whoever replaced those pills," Steve said, grimly,
all the humour gone now. "They could have killed him, dad."
Mark nodded. "I know, Steve. I know."
"If you hadn't got there when you did …" The detective shuddered
violently at the prospect. "God, dad, who would do such a thing to
Jesse?"
"I don't know." Mark sounded tired and Steve belatedly recalled
that the older man hadn't had much sleep since the previous day. "I
do know that going up to that roof wasn't Jesse's idea."
"Someone planted it in his mind?"
"When someone is under the influence of a drug such as PCP, it's very
easy to suggest something to them - especially if that person knows exactly
what they are doing and knows their subject well enough. Whoever it was
played on Jesse's insecurities and made it seem as though it was his idea.
I don't have any proof, of course and all of this is just conjecture but
the person who planted the PCP wanted Jesse dead, I'm sure of it. And to
facilitate that he or she had to convince him it was a good idea to fly
off the roof of a building."
Merely envisioning his best friend teetering on the roof of Community General
caused a shiver to run up Steve's spine. It must have been much worse for
his father, he reflected. He had actually witnessed the whole thing first
hand. "We'll find the scum who did it, dad," he vowed. "I
promise."
Danny Jerrold was furious. His plan had not only not worked, it had failed
spectacularly. He had worked on this particular strategy for some considerable
time, obtaining the drug that he needed, carefully prising open Travis's
locker, replacing the aspirin therein with the PCP and then sitting back
to wait. When he had seen the young doctor enter the locker room, with the
intent of getting some medication, he had practically rubbed his hands with
glee. Waiting had been a painful experience. He just wanted to get it over
with. But to execute the plan correctly he knew he had to have patience.
Sure enough, when he had entered the locker room himself not more than 35
minutes after his colleague, he had found Jesse in the initial throes of
PCP intoxication. It had been simple enough to whisper the idea of flying
to the drugged young medic, and he had then watched with satisfaction as
his prey headed up the stairs.
Then Mark Sloan had become involved. This had been part of his plan all
along. He had followed some of the other observers up the stairs to witness
the older doctor's disastrous attempt to talk Jesse down, knowing that it
could never be done, only to watch in horror as his nemesis did indeed manage
to do just that, escorting the younger doctor back inside where he was then
guided to safety and sedation.
Fury had roiled in his gut and practically overwhelmed him. He had been
hard pressed not to just put his hands round the old doctor's throat and
squeeze until the life ran out of him. But he had managed to calm himself,
assured that he could gain access to Travis during his stay at the hospital.
Unfortunately, the young doctor had been guarded day and night by both Sloan
and the nursing staff. They had never allowed him out of their sight and
their constant vigilance meant that Danny didn't stand a chance of gaining
entry to the room. The syringe of deadly bacteria burnt a hole in his pocket
and he was forced to concede defeat.
The one thing that sustained him was the knowledge that Travis's bizarre
and obviously drug-induced behaviour would never make it past the Board
and they would be forced to suspend him. That would get the resident out
of his way and equally, punish Sloan for what he had done. He would be distressed
at the suspension or sacking of his favourite puppy.
Then Sloan had managed to pull off another miracle. Not only was Travis
not suspended but the Board had actually publicly supported him and expressed
their concern for his welfare as it seemed someone was out to kill him.
Well, someone was - but they weren't supposed to know that.
Now he was back at the Sloans' beach house and completely inaccessible.
It galled Danny that not only had his plan dramatically backfired, but that
now he would have to come up with a new plan - something failsafe, something
that would get rid of Travis once and for all. Permanently and with as much
pain as possible.
The idea came from an old TV show. Insomnia had plagued him all his life,
commencing during his troubled childhood and stretching into school, college
and hospital life. He couldn't recall when he had last enjoyed a decent
night's sleep. But it was something that he had grown accustomed to and
he had learned to adjust. The stimulants helped, as did late night TV. And
so his idea was born …
A week went by. Jesse recovered quickly from his bout with PCP and although
the memory of it lingered in the minds of those who had witnessed his rooftop
drama, everyone, without fail, had been sympathetic. He had never enjoyed
so much popularity, although he had not exactly been a leper before. The
drawback to this attention was the fact that he never seemed to get a minute
alone and he was only too well aware that Mark, Amanda and Steve in particular
were watching him like a hawk, trying to ensure that no further harm came
to him. Whilst he was grateful for their efforts, he was beginning to feel
smothered. Thus on his first day off he was delighted to be left alone at
the beach house for a change. Mark had been reluctant to leave, Steve even
more so, the latter even suggesting a police guard 'just in case'. Jesse
had balked at this and assured them both that he would be both careful and
watchful. They had both checked on him by telephone before the morning was
halfway over and shortly thereafter, Amanda also phoned on some pretext
or another. He was beginning to feel a little besieged and begged them to
stop, then decided that the best way to avoid them was to get in a little
surfing. He knew that they would not approve - after all, he was going to
go out into the 'big bad world' where anything could happen, but he needed
some freedom.
Thus having made the decision, it didn't take him long to get changed, pick
up the spare surfboard he kept at the beach house and wander down the beach.
It was a beautiful, perfect day. The sky was a deep azure blue, the waves
were pounding the shoreline and the surf was high. Just the right conditions.
With a smile of anticipation, Jesse hefted his surfboard higher under his
arm and ran into the sea.
"He's not here."
Steve emerged from his downstairs apartment with a grim expression. "He's
not down here, either."
"Oh god, where is he?" Amanda was practically in tears. The thought
of anything happening to their young friend was something she didn't even
want to contemplate. But as the moments ticked by with no sign of him, her
fear was beginning to spin out of control.
"It'll be all right, honey," soothed Mark, slipping a comforting
arm around her shoulder, feeling her trembling violently. "I'm sure
Jesse is fine. We're probably just panicking for nothing."
"You don't believe that!" she sobbed, looking up at him and seeing
the truth of her words in his azure eyes, which were clouded with worry.
"You think something's happened to him, too!"
"I swear, if he walks through that door in the next minute looking
healthy and fine, I'm gonna kill him myself!" Steve growled, although
his threat was tempered by the tiny frown creasing his forehead. "Where
is he?"
The three of them had, individually, been calling Jesse all afternoon. As
each successive call elicited no response, their concern grew, turning into
apprehension and then real fear. Eventually, they had all made their way
to the beach house, leaving startled colleagues and staff questioning their
sudden disappearance. Upon arrival, there was no sign of Jesse. There was
no evidence of foul play, either, but all three knew how deceptive that
could be.
They had searched everywhere to no avail. The house was empty. Jesse was
nowhere to be found. It was as though he had disappeared from the face of
the earth, never to be seen again, lost to them forever …
… Or …
"Hey, guys!"
As one they turned to stare at the phantom who had just boldly entered through
the patio doors. He was wearing his surfing gear, he was dripping wet and
his surfboard could be seen stowed outside. Yet there was a veritable chorus.
"Where were you?"
"Where have you been?""
"We've been so worried!"
Jesse stared at the three of them in open-mouthed shock, then a wide grin
lit his face. "Guys, guys, where d'you think I was?" he demanded.
"I was surfing!"
"Surfing?" Steve echoed nastily, taking a menacing step
toward his young friend. "You've been surfing whilst we've been convinced
you were dead or worse?"
The smile disappeared to be replaced by a puzzled expression. "What's
worse than dead?" he asked, then enlightenment hit as Steve took another
step toward him and he read the murderous look on his best friend's face.
"Oh. Ah … "
"Oh, ah, indeed," said Mark, sternly. "Jesse, how could you?"
"How could I what?" demanded Jesse, helplessly. He studied his
three friends for a moment, their expressions ranging from homicidal (Steve's),
through agitated (Mark's) to distressed (Amanda). "Oh look, guys. It
was only surfing. It was a beautiful day. The surf was up. What - you wanted
me to waste it stuck inside on my day off?"
"No, we wanted you to tell us where you were going!" exploded
Mark.
"So we wouldn't worry!" added Amanda
"And then feel like wringing your neck when we found out you were okay!"
concluded Steve.
Jesse backed up a step. He was beginning to wonder if he wasn't in more
danger from his friends than he was some unseen assailant. He was also beginning
to feel more than a little put upon.
"Why didn't you tell anyone where you were going?" asked
Mark, a little more calmly, noting the increasing agitation in his young
friend's body language.
"What am I - 12 years old?" demanded Jesse, hotly. "I was
perfectly safe! Look, I appreciate the concern, honest, but don't you think
it's getting a little out of hand?"
"Jesse, you were almost killed a couple of weeks ago!" stated
Steve, who wasn't quite ready to let go of his anger just yet.
Jesse turned to him. "Gee, Steve, thanks for pointing that out!"
he responded sarcastically.
"Jesse, we were just concerned when we couldn't get hold of you, honey,"
said Amanda, whose own incipient annoyance at what she saw as Jesse's irresponsibility
had died in the face of his growing distress. "We don't mean to smother
you but … we care about you and whilst that monster is still out there
we just need you to be careful."
"You … you do?" Jesse said, in a small voice, suddenly ashamed
of the way he had reacted. "I … I'm sorry. I … guess I didn't
think. It's just … I'm so tired of always having to be careful,"
he admitted. "I just want my life back."
"We know you do, sweetheart," murmured Amanda, stepping up to
him and enfolding him in a loving embrace. "But we'd like you to live."
"We certainly would," agreed Mark, wholeheartedly, a sigh of relief
escaping him as the potential explosion blew over and Jesse acquiesced to
Amanda's urgings to go into the sitting room.
"I'm all wet," he protested half-heartedly as she led him in the
direction of the sofa.
"A little water never hurt anything," proclaimed Mark, firmly,
as he followed them.
"You won't say that when the salt stains the cushions," Jesse
pointed out, ruefully.
"Then why don't you go have a shower, and we'll wait out here?"
suggested Amanda.
Jesse eyed her and then, with a mischievous smile and a twinkle in his deep
blue eyes, said, "Well, much as I love you guys, having a shower with
the three of you is not my idea of a good time!"
With that, he was gone, leaving them laughing in his wake.