Scars 4

Their visitor arrived as they finished dessert fortunately something edible as far as Steve was concerned. He eyed Jesse covertly as he ate the delicious raspberry compote, pleased and relived to see that his appetite had not been too adversely affected by the nightmare of the previous night, although it was nowhere near back to normal. His friend had not even asked for seconds, something which had been customary before his abduction. Glancing away from the younger man, he was amused to note his father doing the same thing as he. It appeared Jesse had two guardian angels of whom he was totally unaware.
"I'll get it," said Steve, rising to his feet as the chime of the front doorbell echoed through the house. He grinned down at Jesse, who was eagerly shovelling in another spoonful of dessert. "Jess, if you don't slow down, you're gonna have indigestion tonight!"
Jesse returned his grin, then stuck his tongue out. Shaking his head with amusement, Steve hurried toward the down the steps to the door.

"This is Simone," he said, a couple of second later, steering a young woman into the room.
"Hello, Simone," said Mark, rising from his chair, pleased to note Jesse following suit. "I'm Mark Sloan. This is my son, Steve and this is our friend, Jesse."
"He," said Jesse, amiably, holding out his hand to shake hers.
"Hello," she said, smiling back shyly. Petite and slender, with long brunette hair cascading over her shoulders, a perfect frame for her pert and attractive features, she was obviously a little nervous, which, considering she had been putting her life at risk in her endeavour to find out what was going on at Marshall Enterprises was somewhat of a surprise. Or perhaps not, mused Mark, as he noted that her wide green eyes hadn't left Jesse since she had entered the room.
For his part, Jesse was the perfect gentleman, guiding her with a hand in the small of her back toward the couch and asking if she wanted anything to drink. Anyone would think he lived there which, reflected the older doctor, somewhat bemusedly, he had done since the day he had arrived at Community General!
"So, what have you found out, Simone?" queried Mark, gently as he took a seat across from her. Steve had perched on the other end of the couch and Jesse had taken a seat beside her.
She rooted around inside her overlarge shoulder bag, withdrawing a wad of papers and a couple of folders and handed them to the older man. "This was all I managed to get," she said. "I stayed behind after work a couple of nights and went through the filing cabinets. Including the one in Mr Zerecki's office. Oh, Mr Zerecki's my boss," she elaborated at their quizzical expressions.
"Thank you, Simone," said Mark, leafing through the papers. "We're very grateful to you."
"Oh, that's all right," she replied, shifting a little awkwardly on the couch as Jesse edged up a little closer in order to get a good look at the papers in Mark's hands. "I er .. I also got onto his computer. I know his password but I'm not sure if he knows I know "
"Wow!" Jesse was impressed. "You've been really thorough!"
She looked up at him from lowered eyelashes. "Oh, it's nothing," she murmured. "I just thought you should have as much information as possible."
"Well, we're indebted to you, Simone," reiterated Mark, trying to hide his amusement at the obvious attraction between the two young people. "Would you like some juice or something whilst we look through this?"
"Oh no," she said, rising to her feet somewhat reluctantly. "I I have to go. I'm meeting my boyfriend tonight."
"You have a boyfriend?" Jesse tried not to sound disappointed. Unfortunately he didn't succeed too well. "Oh, right, of course you do. I should've known I mean that's nice for you him .. I mean " The young doctor had started babbling now, completely flustered and whilst it was entertaining to watch, Mark couldn't see him suffer although the smirk Steve was trying to hide behind one hand told him his son was enjoying it.
"Well, thank you again, Simone," he said, rising to his feet and proceeding to show her the way out. He paused before turning the handle of the door. "Did anyone see you do any of this?" he asked. "Or does anyone suspect you?"
She shook her head. "Oh no. No, I'm pretty sure they don't. I often stay late and I've been working there for two or three years and I've never done anything like this before. Even if they discover that the files had been copied which they wouldn't, then they'd never suspect me. I just for the last few months, I just felt that something has been going on something which might not be exactly legal. I don't want to be involved in anything illegal, Dr Sloan. Well, aside from well, you know, copying a few private papers and stuff. I um I won't get into trouble with the cops for that, will I?"
Mark smiled reassuringly at her. "No," he replied. "I think you can be quite sure that you won't be in trouble with the cops. My son is a Lieutenant with the police and if you were going to be arrested I think he would have done it already."
She heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's good. I Dr Sloan?"
"Yes?"
"I I have never done anything like this before. I mean, I've always wanted to be a spy since I was a little girl and saw this TV series I can't remember what it's called now. But it always seemed so cool. Being a spy, I mean."
"And?" he prompted her.
"Well, There was a kind of `thrill' in doing this you know? The element of danger and everything. But really, all I want to do is make sure that the company I'm working for isn't doing something that will get us all into trouble. I work with some very nice people. I'd hate for them to be caught up in something. The bosses you know, well, it's always the little guys that take the fall, isn't it? It's never the people who deserve it. So if anyone gets into trouble from this, I'd rather it be someone who actually committed some crime rather than a fall guy."
She had obviously been watching way too much TV and trashy movies but she had a point. Mark patted her shoulder encouragingly. "I quite agree with you, Simone," he said. "Now, take care on your way home, won't you? And, if you think you're in the slightest danger, please call me."
"I'll do that," she said, cheerfully as he opened the door for her. "Thanks Dr Sloan. Bye!"
Then she was gone.
"I'm gonna follow her."
Mark half-turned to face his son who had appeared at his shoulder. The other man wore a troubled expression. "Steve?"
"I just want to make sure nothing happens to her, dad," he said. "I don't think this was as easy as she tries to make out. It could be she hasn't noticed anyone watching her because they're too good. I'm not going to let anything happen to someone else."
Implicit in the statement was his own remaining guilt about what had happened to Jesse, something which Mark had tried his best to assuage but which Steve remained determined to hang on to. Nodding silently to his son, he watched as Steve left, then turned back to return to the living room, where the files awaited him.
And, of course, Jesse.

The young man in question was, of course, rifling through the files when Mark returned to the living room. The older man smothered a smile. Trust Jesse. Inquisitive to the last.
"Found anything yet?" he asked casually as he rounded the couch to take a seat on the chair opposite.
Jesse, engrossed in the papers, took a moment to respond and to realise that his mentor was sitting there, regarding him with open amusement.
"Uh I I just thought um here," he stammered, holding out the sheaf to the other man. "Sorry!"
Mark waved off his apology. "No, no, that's all right, Jess," he said. "It's nice to see someone being so industrious."
The young doctor smiled ruefully. "I just thought I'd get a head start," he offered.
"Well, let's see what we have here," mused Mark, scrutinizing the various reports. "Hmmm "
"Hmmm what?" demanded Jesse, eagerly. "You've found something already? What is it?"
Mark smothered another smile at his young friend's expense. "Here," he said, handing him one of the reports. "Read that and tell me what you see."
Jesse did so, studying it carefully, brows puckered into a slight frown. "Uh " he said, eventually. "It's a financial statement," he said.
"And?" prompted the older man.
"Marshall Enterprises makes a lot of money!"
"Yes, they do," came the patient response. "And?"
"Well, they've been receiving a lot of money from a company in the Middle East. What's so unusual about that?"
"Look at the details in this sales book," urged Mark, handing him a large bound book. "What do you see here?"
"It says `goods'. So what? That could just mean oh "
"'Oh' is right," stated the older doctor, grimly. "Everything else in there is detailed right down to the last nut and bolt. So why is what's been sold to the Middle East so vague?"
Jesse stared at him in bewilderment. "I I don't understand," he murmured. "I mean, I sort of do .. but d'you mean that they might have been selling something they don't want anyone else to know about?"
"I think that's exactly what it means," Mark told him. "And perhaps somewhere amongst this pile of papers it will tell us exactly what is being sold."
Jesse continued studying the books he held whilst Mark searched through the rest of the papers. A thought was beginning to take shape in his mind. A thought he didn't much like. "Mark?" he began, tentatively. "You don't think they haven't been selling weapons, have they?"
The older man glanced up. "I don't know, Jess," he said. "Perhaps. From what I've read so far though, they appear to have a lot of Government contracts. It's entirely possible that `goods' may mean `classified government information'."
"They've been selling secrets?" The younger man sounded appalled. "To the Middle East?"
"It does go on, Jesse. You know that as well as anyone."
"Well, yeah. I mean, what with my dad being a spy and everything and all that stuff he and Cinammon spouted about Kal El or whatever that organisation was called but I mean, what has all that got to do with me being kidnapped?"
Mark shook his head helplessly. "I don't know, Jesse," he replied. "But if they are somehow involved in selling secrets to any enemies of the US, it would certainly explain the lengths they went to. Perhaps they mistook you for someone else. They certainly seemed to be under the impression that you had something they wanted."
Jesse shuddered as he recalled the hellish five days he had spent at their not so tender mercies. Suddenly he felt cold and too exposed sitting as close to the windows that opened up onto the deck, where anyone could walk in and
"Jesse? Jesse!"
"Uh? Wh what?"
He emerged from the horror of his memories to discover Mark gripping his forearms fiercely, the pale blue eyes regarding him with deep concern. "Jess, are you all right?"
"Uh, yeah sure. I it's okay, Mark. I'm I'm fine," he stammered.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah. I I'm sorry."
Gathering up the reports and books, Mark put them aside. "Why don't you lie down? We can go through these later."
"But we need to find out what's going on!" protested Jesse. "I don't wanna lie down! I'm fine, Mark. Honest!"
The other man eyed him dubiously. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Well ."
"Look, Mark, I appreciate you're worried. So am I. I mean, I got kidnapped, I got beaten up and well, I just wanna find out who did it and, more importantly why. I hate not knowing. I hate that it happened, but I hate not knowing even more. I just let's just do this, okay? Please?"
Mark swallowed. The pleading expression on that open, honest face was hard to deny, and, coupled with the strength of passion in Jesse's trembling voice, it was impossible. "All right," he said, grudgingly. "All right, we'll do it your way."
That prompted a half-smile, but it didn't quite reach the azure eyes, which were still troubled by memories Mark could do nothing to erase even though he wished with all his heart that he could.

Steve followed Simone to her apartment block, watching as she got out of her car and trotted up the steps. He waited until a light illuminated one of the windows and the silhouette of a slim female was outlined beyond the thin curtains that adorned it.
She appeared to be safe.
He glanced down at his watch, checking the time, wondering idly how his dad and Jesse were doing with all the information the young woman had brought to them and if there would be anything left for him to do by the time he got home.
Probably not.
His father and his friend had undoubtedly already cracked the case and all that would be left for him was an arrest.
Smiling sardonically at this thought he looked back at the apartment. It was dark.
He frowned.
Something wasn't right.
He remembered that Simone had mentioned meeting her boyfriend and that she could just have gone home to dump her things before doing just that, but every instinct within him was screaming at him that this wasn't the case.
Something was very, very wrong.
Checking his gun, he got out of the car and loped across the street and up the steps to the apartment he had seen her enter not moments before.
The door was shut and there was no sound from beyond.
His jaw tightening with anxiety he rapped urgently on the door. "Simone? Simone, it's Steve Sloan. Are you there?"
No answer.
"Simone?" He tried again, knocking even louder, raising his voice although the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that it was all in vain. "Simone, open the door!"
Still no answer.
He tried the door.
It swung open.
He had drawn his gun and now peered inside, ducking back in case someone was waiting there to ambush him. After satisfying himself that there was no-one there, he entered, his weapon held out in front of him with one hand, feeling around for a light switch with the other.
Fumbling around for a moment, he finally found it and light illuminated the room.
He didn't take the time to reflect on how nice the apartment was. His gaze had immediately fallen upon the discarded bag which lay in the middle of the floor.
The rest of the room was clean and tidy. It bespoke of someone who was very neat. Someone who wouldn't just come home, dump their bag on the rug and leave.
Cautiously, he checked the other rooms.
Nothing.
No sign of disturbance.
No sign of Simone.
Lowering his weapon and turning on the safety, he re-holstered it, reaching for his cellphone.
"Get forensics over here," he ordered when his call was answered. "We have another kidnapping."

"So what makes you think she's been kidnapped? She could just have gone to meet this boyfriend."
Steve shot a glare at his partner. Cheryl had arrived on the scene shortly after forensics, alerted by Captain Newman who had told her to `get your butt over there, Banks and reign in that partner of yours!'
"Because I just know, all right?" he said, tightly. "There's something wrong here, Cheryl. Something very wrong."
"You get that from a bag dropped carelessly in the middle of the apartment?" she argued. "Steve, she could have been in a hurry to meet this boyfriend of hers."
"And what if I'm right?" he demanded. "Huh? What if even now she's being beaten up like Jesse was? What if she's being " his voice tailed off, unable to say the word aloud, and fighting back the nausea it invoked.
"Lieutenant? We found something."
Shooting Cheryl a look that said, very clearly `I told you so', Steve strode across to where one of the forensics guys was kneeling. "What've you got?" he asked, crouching beside him.
"There, look."
He followed the man's pointing finger to a small stain on the wooden floor. It was dark and red and it looked like
"Blood?" he murmured.
The other man nodded. He had already taken a sample, confirming the fact. He took another one to determine DNA.
"We have her hairbrush," he said. "We can get some DNA from that and compare the two."
"She could have cut herself," said Cheryl, still playing devil's advocate. "We could be doing all this for nothing, Steve."
"And what if we're not, huh?" he demanded, rising to his feet and scowling darkly at her. "What if she's already dead? Dammit, she should never have been involved in the first place!"
"Hey, this isn't your fault, partner." Cheryl placed a comforting hand on his arm. "From what you told me, she wanted to do this. She was doing it regardless of whether you or your dad wanted her to. You just intercepted the information she gathered. She would have brought it to the cops anyway, from what I understand."
He nodded, miserably. "I know," he said, in a strangled voice. "I know that. It's just I was here, Cheryl. I was here, watching her and I looked away for all of a minute. If I'd only been watching. I could have prevented this. I could have helped her "
"And you could have ended up a victim of whoever may have taken her," she pointed out. "Face it, Steve, these people know what they're doing and how to go about it. They haven't slipped up so far. If you'd tried to interfere with whatever you believe has gone down here, they wouldn't have hesitated. You would have disappeared just like our witness. And we would never have found you. Just think what that would have done to your dad."
He winced at her words. She was right. Unfortunately, it didn't ease his conscience. Simone had been kidnapped on his watch. She may very well end up dead because of his carelessness, his inattention. They had to find her. He had to find her. It was the least he could do. He wasn't going to let anyone else down.
A commotion at the far end of the hall pulled him rudely out of his dark thoughts. Frowning, he hurried over to the doorway, where a couple of uniforms were trying to restrain an old man.
"Who's in charge here?" he was demanding. "I want to speak to the person in charge! Let me go! I need to speak to "
"I'm in charge," said Steve, as he reached them. "What's going on here? Who are you?"
The old man glared at him for a moment. "Who're you?" he rasped.
"My name is Lieutenant Sloan," Steve told him. He motioned to the two uniforms to release the old man. "And you are?"
"My name`s Frederick Slater," came the terse response. "I came to tell you people that I saw it."
"You saw what?" asked Cheryl.
"I saw the kidnapping or whatever it was."
Steve and Cheryl traded glances and the former immediately guided the old man to a chair in the apartment, squatting in front of it. "You saw the kidnapping?" he said.
"Yes, yes. I saw it!"
"What exactly did you see?"
"Young Simone she walks my dog for me. Nice girl. Bit strange watches too much TV if you ask me, but she's sweet and kind anyway, I was just looking out my window when I saw her being carried down the steps over someone's shoulder."
"This `someone' can you describe him?" asked Steve.
"Big, burly, looked like a fullback for some football team."
"Anything else?" asked Cheryl. "Any distinguishing marks? Colour of hair, whatever?"
He smiled ruefully. "Oh, right. Well, he was white. They were all white. The driver too. He had dark hair couldn't see exactly what colour because of the streetlights, you know, but it was cut very short. The driver had a cap on some kind of baseball cap. The `Raiders', I think it was. There was another man there, but I didn't get a good look at him. Anyway, he carried Simone down the stairs and they bundled her into the van and drove away."
"Van?" echoed Steve. "Did you get a license plate?"
Mr Slater grinned crookedly. "I certainly did, sir. I wrote it down. Here it is."
Steve took the piece of paper the old man proffered him and smiled tightly. "Thank you, Mr Slater," he said. "Thank you very much. Now, would you go with Detective Banks here to the precinct and tell her anything else you can remember? Maybe look through some mug books for us?"
Frederick Slater frowned. "Oh, I don't know," he replied. "I have my dog, you know. I don't like to leave him alone."
"One of the uniformed officers will look after him for you, Mr Slater," Steve offered. "It won't take very long."
He shrugged. "Oh, very well, then. Just as long as they bring me back home again."
"We'll do that," promised Steve. Rising to his feet he motioned to Cheryl and walked her over to a far corner of the room. "I want you to look after this guy," he told her. "If anyone finds out he talked to us "
She nodded. "I get it," she said. "Where will you be?"
He smiled grimly. "Running this plate and hopefully tracking down Simone."

The next few hours were spent pursuing the few clues they did have in the latest kidnapping, Steve fervently praying that they would be able to find Simone in time. He dreaded to think what the thugs who had taken Jesse could be doing to her now. He had called his father with the news, begging him not to relay it to Jesse, knowing his young friend would torture himself with guilt and Steve was already doing enough of that for both of them.
Mark had promised to keep it from their young friend, even though he had expressed his doubts about being able to do so for very long. It would, after all, eventually be all over the news and Jesse would then discover that it had been kept from him.
"Hopefully we'll be able to find her alive, before that happens, Dad," Steve had said, grimly, before hanging up and going back to work.
The descriptions that Frederick Slater had come up with had been useful. A police sketch artist had drawn a composite of the main suspect and they were running him through a computer search as well as having Mr Slater look through some mug books.
The plate had yielded a hit. It had been reported stolen the night before. Unfortunately, that only led them to the victims of the car theft but it was a start. Steve and Cheryl were despatched to the neighbourhood to ask questions of everyone. Had they seen anyone suspicious lurking around at the time of the theft? Did they recognise the man in the picture?
Time moved relentlessly forward and they were no nearer to finding Simone or her kidnappers. They might have a face and a description of the vehicle but they didn't know where it had gone nor where it had ended up. A search of the house where Jesse had been held yielded nothing not that they had expected to be able to find anything there. These guys weren't fools. They weren't about to return to the scene of the previous crime with their newest victim.
Whilst the two of them were busy taking statements from witnesses, others worked on Marshall Enterprises, attempting to ascertain whether they leased any more houses or buildings of any kind.
They did
Unfortunately, there were a significant number.
The kidnappers hadn't necessarily used any of these, either, but it was the only lead they had to go on. And they needed to eliminate these buildings from their enquiries. So came the laborious task of searching each and every one of them.
It was going to take a while.
Meanwhile, the clock moved onwards, unceasingly.
And they had yet to find Simone.

Jesse didn't sleep well that night. He was still too unsettled after his most recent nightmare. Tossing and turning, he finally arose around dawn, padding into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes, to discover that Mark was already up.
The older man looked up from contemplating his coffee to discover the bleary-eyed young man standing in the doorway, peering at him in confusion. Smiling, he ushered Jesse into the kitchen, sat him down on one of the stools and poured him a cup of the freshly made brew.
"You look tired, Jess," he said, gently.
It wasn't intended as a criticism, but Jesse was exhausted and irritable from both his inability to sleep and the horrific half-memories that had started plaguing him now even during his waking hours. "I tried to sleep!" he retorted, defensively. "I just I couldn't!"
"Easy, Jess," Mark soothed him, a little taken aback by this uncharacteristic outburst and alarmed by the turmoil in his friend's vivid blue eyes. "I wasn't accusing you of anything. I was just concerned."
Instantly contrite, Jesse lowered his head, unable to look his mentor in the eyes. "I god, I'm sorry, Mark," he mumbled. "I don't know what came over me. I guess I'm just tired, you know?"
Mark nodded sadly as he watched the younger man run a shaky hand through already tousled blond hair. "I know, Jesse. More nightmares last night, hmm?"
The young doctor's head shot up at that. "How'd you ?" Then he smiled, a little wryly. "Oh, right, of course. You're Mark Sloan. You know everything."
The dry statement elicited a smile from Mark, relieved that Jesse wasn't mistaking his diagnosis as more censure. "That I do," he said, with a broad grin. "Why don't you go lie down on the couch whilst I start breakfast? See if you can get a little sleep there?"
"I I don't know " Truly, Jesse was hesitant to do even that. He was actually very frightened by his nightmares, even though he couldn't recall the details. They had left him feeling disturbed and panicked without giving him a reason why.
"Go, on," said Mark, kindly, laying a gentle hand on a quivering shoulder something which caused him to frown worriedly. "I'll be right here. All you'll hear is the sound of the ocean and me making breakfast. Why don't you just try?"
Swayed by Mark's persuasive argument what was there to fear in the daylight with the ocean nearby and the aroma of Mark's cooking wafting through the living room? Jesse reluctantly acquiesced, sliding off the stool and shuffling into the other room.
Just as he got himself settled onto the couch, Mark's cellphone rang.

Gerard Devereaux had returned to LA to find himself being hauled in by the cops for questioning.
Steve was through pussyfooting around. His best friend had been kidnapped, held for five days and tortured and now the young woman who had helped them had undoubtedly suffered the same fate and probably worse. When he discovered that the attorney who had worked to free their only suspect was expected back in town he obtained an arrest warrant and he and Cheryl went to meet him at the airport.
"I must protest!" declared Devereaux as he was handcuffed and led to the waiting police car.
"So protest!" sneered Steve. "It makes no difference to me, Devereaux."
"How dare you treat me this way?"
Steve had had enough. He was exhausted from being up all night; he was upset about Jesse and he couldn't stop thinking about how Simone might very well end up a victim of the murderous scum who had so hurt his friend. Seething with rage, he grabbed the distinguished attorney by his collar and threw him up against the car. "I'll treat you any way I damned well please!" he snarled. "My friend was almost killed by those thugs you represented and now an innocent young girl is missing kidnapped by those same animals. If anything has happened to her, Devereaux if they have touched one hair on her head, then I'm gonna make sure that you never see the light of day again!"
Shaken not only by the rough treatment but also by the very real threat the detective was making, Devereaux subsided, allowing himself to be manhandled into the car by said detective, where he sat in brooding silence all the way to the precinct.

Mark paced anxiously in the kitchen, checking his watch time and time again. He had worked himself into a near-frenzy by the time the doorbell rang.
Rushing to open it, he greeted the newcomer by grabbing hold of her arm and virtually dragging her into the house.
"Hello, Mark," said Amanda, calmly, smiling in amusement at his behaviour it wasn't often she got to see Mark Sloan this disconcerted.
"I didn't think you were going to get here," he declared, distractedly. "I was just going to what's so funny?" he demanded as she snorted with laughter.
"Oh, Mark, please calm down," she implored. "It took me ten minutes and only because I was already on my way to see how Jesse was anyway. The hospital didn't say it was an emergency they just told you they needed cover because of sickness."
"I know that," he replied, a little flustered, then he saw the humour of the situation and smiled. "I'm sorry, honey. I guess I'm over-reacting."
"A little," she confirmed. She kissed him on the cheek. "But you're forgiven. I doubt that it's the hospital's call that has you so on edge. I suspect it's a mutual friend of ours." All trace of humour disappeared as she uttered the words. "How is he, anyway?"
Mark shook his head, helplessly. "He's not doing so well, Amanda. He's been suffering from nightmares worse than the ones he had in the hospital. I think these are related to the other attack."
"The the ?"
"Yes," he interjected, before she could utter the word aloud. Jesse might have been sleeping on the couch when Mark answered the door, but he could have awoken and may be listening even now. The last thing he wanted to do was reveal to the younger man what had happened to him before his own mind was ready to do that for him. "They've been growing increasingly more powerful," he went on, in a low voice. "He ran literally screaming from his room the other night and whilst he is eating, he's still not eating as well as he should."
"Oh, Jesse!" Amanda was dismayed by Mark's news, tears coming to her eyes at the thought of Jesse's continued torment. "I'll look after him, Mark," she promised. "I'll even cook him breakfast."
"I already promised to do that before the hospital called," Mark told her. "But that would be great, honey. I know that it's probably the fact that his stomach can't tolerate too much food yet, but it still worries me. It may also be related to his nightmares. See if you can't persuade him to eat a little more, would you?"
"I'll see what I can do."
Satisfied that he was leaving young friend in the most capable of hands, Mark walked across the room to collect his medical bag and, with a brief glance toward the couch, where Jesse was still lost to the world, his lips parted in a slight smile, he left.

Gerard Devereaux sat bowed over the table in the interrogation room, his head in his hands. He had refused to call his own attorney, citing the fact that he was innocent as the reason. In reality, he knew that calling Ben Chambers would only signal his guilt or the fact that he had something to hide.
Besides, he was sick of all the subterfuge. In a way, it was a relief that it was out in the open.
He only hoped he could escape with his career intact.
"So tell me again, who hired you to defend that scum?" demanded Steve, from where he sat across the desk from the detainee, leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, an implacable expression on his face.
Devereaux shook his head, helplessly. "It was Marshall Enterprises," he said, his voice muffled by his hands. "I've already told you."
"Yes, you told us." Steve was relentless. "Now tell me again. Who at Marshall Enterprises hired you to defend him?"
Devereaux sighed. "It was the company accountant," he said, in a low voice. "He called me and told me that there was a defendant in jail who had a connection to Marshall and that I was to go and get him out on bail."
"So he's the one responsible for everything?"
Devereaux wanted to say `yes'. Then they could haul Brian Stewart in here and grill him. But he knew that the man was acting on orders from above, just like he had been. He shook his head, dropping his hands onto the table and clenching them into fists. "No," he managed. "No, he's not."
"Then who is?" Steve surged to his feet, planted both hands on the table and leaned over the other man, glaring at him. "You either tell me, Devereaux or I book you for conspiracy to commit murder. Who knows it might yet be murder. Dammit, man, there's a young woman out there who is going to die if you don't tell me what you know!"
The attorney couldn't take it any more. He had signed on with Marshall Enterprises to be their attorney, not a hired lackey who condoned violence and murder. He still had some standards, goddamit! "All right! All right!" he exploded. "It was the deputy CEO! I don't know why. I don't know how he knew that man. I only know that he was the one who originally hired me and that Brian Brian Stewart, the accountant, took his orders from him."
"And what about the other guys involved in the kidnapping?" demanded Steve. "Do you know who they are?"
He shrugged. "I I don't " A photograph was thrust under his nose. The man looked vaguely familiar but he didn't know his name.
"This is the bastard who hurt my friend, Devereaux," Steve spat out. "I don't take too kindly to people hurting those I care about. If you know him, I need to know. If you know where he hangs out, I need to know that, too. If you know of any other properties that Marshall Enterprises own or lease out other than those we've already searched, I need those. We have to find that girl. If we don't find her well, you already know what will happen to you."
Devereaux started shaking. My god, when had this gotten so out of control? When had he become this man this pawn who worked for people who kidnapped and murdered others? "I I don't "
"Dammit, man!" Steve punctuated his exclamation with a blow to the table that almost dented the sturdy wood from which it was constructed. "Tell me what you know!"
The attorney stared at him, terrified. The detective's eyes were blazing with fury and he very much feared that that fury would be unleashed on him at any moment and somehow he didn't think anyone was going to stop it.
He capitulated.
And told Steve everything he knew.

Jesse came awake to the delicious aroma of eggs and bacon wafting over him. Sniffing the air appreciatively, he yawned widely and stretched his arms over the end of the couch.
"Awake, I see," came the amused observation.
Recognising the distinctive female voice, Jesse almost fell off the couch in shock, his eyes popping open to stare upwards at the grinning pathologist. "A Amanda!" he exclaimed.
"Well, full marks for observation," she teased him. "Mark had to go to the hospital. Apparently, there are a few doctors off sick in the ER. You hungry?" She waved a dismissive hand. "Never mind," she went on. "Stupid question. You're always hungry. Well, are you coming? I've made breakfast."
He smiled crookedly. "I know, I can smell it and it smells delicious!"
"Years of feeding two growing kids," she said, good-naturedly as she helped him up from the floor. He still hadn't quite recovered all his strength after his incarceration and the bruising was making movement a little painful. "I hope you do my cooking justice, Jesse Travis. After all the time I took the time to lovingly prepare this sumptuous feast."
`Sumptuous feast' was right, reflected the young doctor enthusiastically as they entered the kitchen and he saw the spread she had laid out. Bacon, crisp and steaming, sausages, piled high and cooked just the way he liked them, eggs, their whites cooked to perfection contrasting with the bright yellow of their runny yolks, a pile of yummy-looking pancakes, a jar of maple syrup standing nearby and mounds of freshly buttered toast. His mouth was already watering by the time he slid carefully onto one of the stools and he started helping himself almost immediately.
Amanda looked on approvingly as her charge started piling the food onto his plate. He looked eager to get started and indeed, the next moment, he did so, tucking in with an excitement she hadn't seen from him in a while.
Halfway through the meal, however of which Amanda partook with a little more dignity than her young friend he ran out of steam.
She tried not to show her disappointment not in him, but his lack of appetite. He had been held for five days without food, she reasoned with herself as Mark had also pointed out it was bound to take him some time to regain his true appetite. It wasn't that he wasn't willing, either. It was just that his still delicate stomach couldn't take as much as it used to.
Striving for a forced cheerfulness she didn't feel, she put her own fork down on her plate and started clearing things away, trying not to notice his crestfallen expression. His eyes followed her every movement, staring wistfully at the food he had been unable to eat and her heart ached for him.
"Well, I think we should take a walk after that little lot," she said, turning to him with a smile. "You could use the fresh air, Jesse."
"You think?" He tried on a bright and breezy smile for her benefit. She wasn't fooled. His eyes were desolate and all she wanted to do was hug him and tell him it would be better soon.
But it wouldn't.
He was being haunted by his nightmares, according to Mark, and his recovery was suffering a setback because of them subconsciously even if he didn't realise it himself. His emotions were all over the place as was to be expected after such an ordeal.
She squeezed his arm. "Jesse, honey, it will be okay," she said, softly.
"Promise?"
She almost choked as tear-bright blue eyes met hers. He had been putting on such a great act but that was all it was an act. He was terrified of something and he didn't know what it was.
Unfortunately, she and the rest of his friends did.
She could only hope and pray that he never found out that they hadn't told him.
He might never forgive them.
"I promise," she replied, lying through her teeth.

He was just descending from his stool and Amanda had turned to tackle the washing up when a noise from behind them caused them both to swing around. What they saw filled them both with terror.
"Dr Travis," drawled the man from his nightmares, the man who had captured and beaten him so badly. "We meet again."

Mark arrived at Community General to find the ER a hive of activity. Smiling, he noted the efficiency with which the staff were working, each one a well oiled cog in the ER machine. Jesse would be so proud of his staff. The older doctor made a mental note to relate this to him when he returned. It might cheer him up.
As he passed the nurse's station, Sally Broadley, one of the senior nurses on staff, glanced up. "Doctor Sloan!" she exclaimed in delighted surprise. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd taken a few days off? How's Doctor Travis?"
"He's fine, thank you, Sally," Mark replied, affably. Jesse's kidnap had been the talk of the hospital for some time both during and after his captivity. Whilst most of the people there didn't know the full details, they knew enough to understand how much he had suffered at the hands of his captors. Jesse was extremely popular with everyone and they had all been relieved and glad to see him returned although shocked and distressed at his suffering. "Uh I came in because you have some staff off sick," the older man went on, frowning as his eyes strayed toward the trauma rooms, which appeared to be both fully occupied and fully staffed.
"Off sick?" echoed Sally, quizzically. "No, no, Doctor Sloan. We have a full complement in tonight. Just as well. As there's been a fire downtown. But we have more than enough people to cope with the emergency."
"Then why was I called?" Mark asked the question even whilst sick dread settled in his gut. He half expected the answer he received.
"Called? No-one called you, Doctor," said Sally. "We haven't had the time and besides, we wouldn't disturb you when you were looking after Doctor Travis. I'm glad he's doing all right. Give him our best would you Doctor Sloan? Doctor Sloan?"
Mark had already gone, the sick dread turning to a dawning realisation.
He had been lured out of the house.
Jesse was in danger!

Steve's cellphone rang just as he was emerging from the interrogation session with Gerard Devereaux. "Sloan," he answered, curtly. "Oh, hi, dad," he went on, more warmly as he recognised the voice. But as he listened, his face darkened with both rage and fear. "I'll be right there," he said, ending the call, and snapping his cellphone shut as he ran toward the squadroom. "Cheryl, get a patrol car out to the beach house! Now!"

Jesse and Amanda stood frozen to the spot, both staring wide-eyed at the man and the gun he held on them. His cruel grin sent shivers of fear running up and down Jesse's spine and he began to tremble uncontrollably.
Amanda, standing next to him, reached out a tentative hand to touch his arm, offering support and comfort.
He didn't feel it.
He remembered the cold, tiny room.
The dark.
The sick dread of waiting for the door to open.
The fear when it finally did.
He remembered the beatings.
The pain.
The unimaginable pain.
The hopelessness of knowing he was going to die, alone, where no-one would ever find him.
His legs would have buckled beneath him had it not been for Amanda's presence next to him.
He had to stay strong - for her.
"Wha what do you want?" he forced out.
Surely that couldn't be his voice? That small, scared, unsteady sound.
"What do I want?" The man echoed derisively. He guffawed, throwing his head back in amusement, then turned to the two other men who flanked him. "He wants to know what I want, boys."
The other men grinned and shook their heads.
Then, with a single jerk of his head, he motioned them toward their two captives. "Tie them up," he commanded.
Jesse and Amanda were helpless to resist. Their eyes were riveted on the weapon that was aimed directly at them and the coldness of their captor's eyes.
The other two men made short work of securing the two, tying their hands behind their backs so tightly that the rope bit into their wrists. They were not gentle.
"Let's get them into the other room," he ordered. "I have a few questions to ask Dr Travis here."
"L .. let Amanda go!" pleaded Jesse as he was shoved forward. He gained a brutal blow to his face for his insolence, rocking his head backward.
"Jesse!" screamed Amanda. "Stop it! Just stop it! Leave him alone!"
The men were no respecters of women. An equally devastating smack to the face followed her protest.
Jesse heard her cry out and something in him snapped.
"You leave her alone!" he yelled, struggling for all he was worth even as they manhandled him into the other room. "You bastards! You want me you don't need her! Let her go!"
A large figure loomed over him. He was so close he could smell the sweat under the man's armpits, could see the fillings in his teeth as he bent over to look Jesse squarely in the face. The man's breath wafted over him and he jerked backward. "We have plans for you," he said. His voice dripped ice and sent a corresponding chill through the young man. "Her we don't care about, but we're a little bored. I'm sure we can come up with something entertaining."
The inference was clear and Jesse sucked in a breath.
`Oh God! No! Not Amanda!'

Mark drove like a maniac.
His eyes were riveted on the road ahead yet all he could see was Jesse and Amanda, alone at his house his house where, even now, they were probably being subjected to .
No!
He wouldn't let himself think it.
Amanda his friend, his dear, sweet friend - almost a daughter to him.
And Jesse my god, Jesse.
He wouldn't be able to withstand any more torture.
Not after what he had already endured.
He had already floored the gas pedal.
Glancing at his speedometer, he gritted his teeth
and increased his speed.

Jesse had been tossed into one of Mark's armchairs, where he was cringing in terror as his tormentor bent over him, his unpleasant features further contorted by a malicious grin. The gun had been handed to one of the other men and he had withdrawn a knife, which he now trailed lovingly down the young doctor's exposed neck, drawing blood. The ring he wore on his index finger glinted in the sunlight.
"I'm going to enjoy this," he snarled. Then, "You didn't really think you'd got away from us, did you, Dr Travis Jesse?"
Jesse flinched at the way his name was uttered the venom contained within the one word sending another shiver through him. He backed up, trying to get away from the man's leering features, his fetid, cigarette-laced breath. But there was nowhere to go.
Turning his face away and closing his eyes didn't work either as a hand grabbed him around the throat and shook him hard.
His teeth rattled and his hair fell over his eyes and a muffled whimper escaped his throat.
Sheer gut-wrenching fear was overcoming him, rendering him immobile and mute. He could barely breathe and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.
He couldn't go through all that again.
He couldn't!
"Now tell me what I want to know or we start on the woman."
That forced his eyes open.
He stared at the man in stark horror, glancing to his right, where Amanda was being restrained by the two other goons, one of whom was running his hand suggestively up and down her body.
She was struggling desperately, her face a mask of pure terror. Jesse couldn't believe this was happening. Not again. Not to Amanda.
But he couldn't tell them what they wanted to know.
God, if he could, he would have broken before. He would have told them when they had kidnapped him.
Didn't they understand that?
He wrenched his eyes away from the horrifying sight of his friend and her two captors. "I don't know anything!" he gasped. "Please, please believe me. I don't know what you're talking about! I would tell you if I could. Honest! Please, please don't hurt her. Please!"
"Hurt her?" The big man laughed aloud, the raucous sound echoing around the walls of the beach house. "You've got me wrong, little man," he went on, nastily. "We're gonna kill you both. We're gonna have fun with the woman. It will just make your deaths quicker if you tell me what I want to know."
"But I don't know anything!" screamed Jesse, despairingly. "I don't! I would have told you if I did! Please " His entreaty was brutally curtailed as the man backhanded him again, his ring cutting into the soft flesh, creating a livid wound which started bleeding almost immediately.
"You want it that way? Fine." He turned from Jesse, who had curled into a fetal position in the overstuffed armchair and was whimpering softly. "Keep an eye on him," he ordered one of his companions. "I want to get acquainted with this young woman here."
Jesse heard the words through the haze of agony and made a frantic effort to get free, but he was held down by one of the other men, the grip on his throat threatening to crush his windpipe.
His gaze strayed toward Amanda again, widening in utter horror as he watched his torturer advance upon her.
Her eyes were riveted upon the man, as she cringed backward, in a futile attempt to escape his advances. It was to no avail as he reached her, grabbing her by the throat, running his hand seductively down her neck, to the hollow of her throat and then continuing downward.
Nausea assailed Jesse as a stray memory surged to the front of his mind and engulfed him
Lying on the floor of his prison, he gasped for air, his whole body throbbing with an agony he had never before experienced. He shivered incessantly, yet he was hot so very hot. He felt like he was being seared from within, like there was a molten pool of lava consuming him.
His genitals hammered with pain and sickness roiled in his stomach. He vaguely remembered throwing up at one point. Now he merely dry-heaved. There was nothing remaining in his stomach except bile.
A low moan escaped his dry, chapped lips. He didn't even have the strength left to cry.
He heard the door open.
He no longer had the energy to wonder what was in store for him this time.
There was no sound except that of heavy footsteps, coming nearer and nearer.
He would have moved but he couldn't.
He started drifting in and out of consciousness, praying for oblivion so he wouldn't have to feel the pain from this particular beating.
He found himself, absurdly, noting that it was amazing what the human body could withstand.
A hand touched him.
He jerked.
It continued to travel downwards, pausing to stroke his heated flesh, running inquisitive fingers through the blood which seeped through various open wounds. He heard a murmur of appreciation and couldn't figure out what was happening.
The hand continued on its journey, featherlight touches to his abused flesh. Reaching the waistband of his shorts, it paused then slowly eased them down.
His mind suddenly grew horribly clear.
No!
Please, god, no!
He tried to crawl away, but he was helpless as the assault continued, as skin was squeezed and clawed, as his body was brutally violated.
His mind and soul were rent asunder and he sank into welcome oblivion, praying never to awaken
"No!!!"
The sound shattered the morning. Jesse became a writhing heap of terror in the chair, thrashing about frenziedly as the memory engulfed him, scream after scream being torn from his throat as the memory crashed in on him. The man holding him was having difficulty controlling his prisoner and called for help.
Swearing, the brute who had been about to assault Amanda strode across the room, laying into the young doctor with his fists again and again to quieten him down and, when that didn't work, he stabbed him in the side.
The shock of the vicious attack caught at Jesse's breath, curtailing his shrieking and his eyes flew open.
"You little bastard!" barked the man, landing another blow to Jesse's midsection. "Shut up!"
Jesse could barely see for the agony that coursed through him. Wetness trickled down his side, running into the top of his sweats, staining his grey t-shirt. His face pulsated from the blows that had been rendered to him. He was barely aware of anything save the remnants of the terrible memory and a distant sobbing that he eventually recognised as being Amanda.
He turned his head, focusing dizzily on the spot where he had last seen her. She was a blurry figure and he blinked several times in order to focus on her.
Tears streaked her attractive face, her breast was heaving with the force of her cries and her dress had been torn, large bloody gashes on her shoulder mute evidence of the violence of the attack, but it seemed that was as far as it had gone.
Before .
He shook his head.
It was a mistake as the room swam alarmingly round him.
Nausea rose and he strove to contain it.
It took every ounce of his willpower to do so, but eventually, he managed. The three men were glaring at him the ringleader breathing heavily with exertion, brandishing the knife with which he had stabbed him, Jesse's blood streaking the tip, dripping from the edge onto the carpet.
`Mark'll never get those stains out,' was the first, incongruous thought that came to Jesse's mind. He glanced toward Amanda again and locked gazes with her. She looked utterly wretched and very frightened. He attempted a smile to show her that everything was going to be okay.
He just wished he believed it.
The memory of the final, degrading assault on him during his last captivity had traumatized him. The images continued to play on in his mind, a never-ending reel of horror and shame. But he had to focus on the here and now. He couldn't let Amanda suffer the same thing. He would die to protect her if necessary.
Right now, he wanted to die.
"Don't don't touch her " he gasped, heaving himself upward in the chair, paying for it with a surge of pain that nearly overwhelmed his senses.
"Jesse !" Amanda's hysterical voice carried over the agony and dragged him back to consciousness. Her dress was being ripped from her, she was being forced her to the floor, the knife at her throat. They went down together and Jesse screamed with all of his might, trying to force the bastard's attention away from his friend. All he could see of Amanda was the long legs, flailing out in a futile attempt to push her attacker away from her.
`No! Amanda!'

"Get away from her!"
Jesse barely heard the familiar voice above the roaring in his ears. He had failed Amanda. He had failed her and he was plunging into darkness a darkness from which he didn't want to wake.
Her muted cries were but a distant accompaniment to his own tiny whimpers of pain, of desolation at the memory of what had been done to him, what was being done to Amanda.
He couldn't endure it any longer.
He couldn't.
It was all too much.
He completely missed the flurry of activity, didn't see the shocked tableau as Steve stormed through the door, his gun aimed at the three intruders, Cheryl and a couple of uniformed officers flanking him, moving swiftly to disarm the three men as, taken by complete surprise, they had no choice but to surrender.
He couldn't hear the soft reassurances from Cheryl as she assisted Amanda from the floor, grabbing the multicoloured blanket from the back of the couch and flinging it around her, covering her near-nakedness.
It was the distraught voice from above him that brought him briefly back to reality. Amanda was leaning over him, her trembling fingers stroking his brow, her face awash with tears, marked by numerous cuts and abrasions. "J Jesse?" she was sobbing, uncontrollably. "Jesse? Jesse, please !"
He leaned into her touch instinctively, his breathing ragged and shallow with residual terror. "'Manda" he rasped in a dry, hoarse, pain-filled voice. "M Manda ?"
"Oh god Jesse!" Suddenly he was enveloped in her arms, and she was burying her face in his shoulder, as she wept uncontrollably. He laid his cheek against her soft hair, completely unaware of the tears rolling down his own cheeks, only knowing that somehow, she was safe.
Then the darkness swallowed him whole.

It's all right, honey, it's all right." Mark's soothing voice came from somewhere above her and Amanda lifted her head, trying to seek him out through eyes blurred with tears.
"M Mark?" she gasped. "Oh, Mark! They tried to and Jesse, he was Oh god ."
She collapsed forward onto Jesse again, hugging him tightly, coiling herself into him and the chair in which he was slumped. She was lost in her own world of emotional pain and only the young man who had shared the experience with her was allowed within it.
A gentle touch on her shoulder startled her and she cowered away, a tiny shriek of protest escaping her lips.
"It's all right, Amanda." Cheryl knelt next to her, in close proximity but not touching her, well aware of how such intimate contact would scare her in her current highly distressed state. "Amanda, please, you have to let Dr Sloan look at Jesse. He's injured see? And we have to untie him like we untied you."
Amanda lifted her head, her eyes meeting those of the female cop. There was sympathy and compassion in the other woman's gaze and the young pathologist desperately wanted to respond to it.
But it was all too recent, too raw. Whilst flinching away from both Cheryl and Mark, she nodded, mutely and grudgingly loosened her hold on Jesse to whom she had run immediately upon being freed from her bonds. She had had no other thought than to get to him, to hold him, have him hold her, her traumatized soul seeking out and finding another who had gone through the same thing.
Dazed and disoriented, she sat back, whilst Mark, who had been utterly horror stricken at seeing what was being done to his friends in his house, reached out for the unconscious young doctor, easing him slowly forward so he could release him.
The police had all been occupied with the intruders, only Cheryl remaining free to see to the captives. Mark had been forcibly restrained from entering the room by another uniformed cop until it was deemed safe, although the older man had tried his hardest to persuade the cop otherwise, aching to tend to those he cared about. Cheryl had reached Amanda first, yearning to be able to do something for the other woman, but before she had been able to offer more than a few words and cover her up, the pathologist had scrambled across the room, where she had literally thrown herself on Jesse, who had been staring around him in complete confusion, obviously not knowing what was happening.
Now the female cop looked on worriedly as Mark gently untied the ropes which had bitten so cruelly into Jesse's wrists, and slid him back into the cushions, lifting up his t-shirt so he could examine the wound.
"My medical bag," he barked at her, barely glancing up from his young friend, noting the tear-tracks on the pallid face as his questing fingers searched out a pulse.
It was there rapid and thready, but there. He allowed himself a modicum of relief, but couldn't dwell on it as Cheryl placed his bag beside him. Removing his stethoscope, he listened first to Jesse's heartbeat and then the laboured breathing. Gingerly, he reached behind the young man, to ensure that there was no bleeding from his back, then motioned to the paramedics who had entered and were waiting behind him. "Let's stabilise him," he said. "And then we'll get him to Community General. I'll ride with him."
As they did their job, he glanced away from Jesse, to focus on the other friend. Amanda was sitting huddled on the floor beside the chair, her hands clutching the blanket tightly around her. She was shaking uncontrollably, staring blankly into the distance. She was in shock.
"Amanda?" he whispered, moving closer to her but trying not to appear threatening. "Amanda, honey? It's Mark."
Slowly achingly slowly the glassy-eyed gaze cleared and focussed on him. She still seemed dazed and she winced as he reached out a supplicating hand toward her. He let that hand fall into his lap, longing to take her into his arms, but knowing better than to try right now.
"Amanda, I want you to go with Cheryl," he said, evenly. "She'll look after you."
Amanda stared at him for a full moment, uncomprehendingly, then she frowned. "Where are you going?" she asked in a small, shaky voice.
"I'm going to be with Jesse," he told her. "He's badly hurt, honey. He needs surgery."
Her gaze slid toward the inert figure of her other friend and her lower lip quivered. "They hurt him, Mark," she murmured. "They hit him and and he was stabbed."
"I know, Amanda, honey, I know."
"He he tried to stop them. He screamed when they .. when they " Her brow furrowed. "M Mark?"
"Yes, honey?"
"I think maybe . Maybe he remembered ."
"Remembered what?" demanded Cheryl, falling silent at Mark's raised hand.
"He remembered what had happened to him? Is that what you're saying, Amanda?" he probed, gently.
She nodded. A lone tear fell, sliding from her bruised cheek onto the blanket. "He was in such pain," she said, in a low voice. "I I never wanted that, Mark. I didn't. He he tried so hard to stop them "
Her voice tailed off then as she dissolved into helpless sobbing, covering her face with her hands. Mark was hard pressed not to reach out and enfold her in his arms but again remembered that he couldn't not right now. Instead, he motioned to Cheryl to take care of her and the policewoman tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder. Amanda, sensing it was a woman's touch, leaned into it and then fell against Cheryl's shoulder, not protesting when the cop wrapped her arms around her.
Mark, pretty close to tears himself at the ordeal his dear friend was still enduring, turned back to Jesse. The paramedics had inserted an IV and placed an oxygen mask on his face, to stabilise his breathing. They indicated they were ready to transport and, pulling himself stiffly to his feet, he made to follow them.
Before he could take a step, however, Steve appeared at his shoulder, his gaze switching between his two friends. He looked both helpless and furious it was a strange combination. "How're they doing?" he asked in an undertone.
Mark shook his head. "Amanda's going to need some help," he said. "She wasn't actually raped but she came pretty close to it. It seems that Jesse intervened at least once before we got here although it looks like part of that was by accident."
"What d'you mean?"
Mark's eyes were bleak. "He remembered the rape, Steve," he said, sombrely. "He remembered it."
Steve swallowed, unable to say anything more, as his father turned away, to accompany the paramedics. The cop was shaking with rage, unable to quite believe that such a monstrous thing could take place in their home to the people whom they cared so much about.
Narrowing his eyes, he turned the rage inward, eyeing the three intruders as they were taken to the cars outside under heavy guard.
They would pay for what they had done here today.

The stab wound Jesse had sustained had, fortunately, not penetrated the internal organs. There was, therefore, no internal bleeding to deal with. Mark cleaned and debrided the wound, ensured that there was no intra abdominal fluid or blood present and closed it up. Jesse's vitals stabilised and he was taken to ICU for precaution. After several hours of monitoring he was moved to a normal room, where Mark kept an eye on him, watching for signs of a return to consciousness.
Inbetween taking care of Jesse, he visited Amanda. She had undergone an examination and had been diagnosed as suffering from cuts, bruises and abrasions. The sexual assault had been serious but had gone no further than the tearing of her dress and the visual reminders. Unfortunately, the psychological scars were also forming and she had curled herself into a ball on the bed in which she was going to spend the night.
She was crying softly when Mark walked into the room. His heart went out to her and he sank into the chair by her bed, his desire to comfort her almost a palpable thing. But he daren't not yet.
"Oh honey," he said, helplessly. "I wish I could do something to help you."
She hadn't been aware of his presence until he had spoken. Now, she glanced up, her eyes awash with tears and reached out a trembling hand. Almost immediately, he took it between his own, squeezing tightly, stroking her fingers with his own, not knowing what else to do.
"I I can't forget, Mark," she sobbed. "It it won't go away, no matter how hard I try."
"I know," he said, softly. "Amanda, if you need any help dealing with this, you know you only have to ask. If we can't be there for you if you can't talk to us, then there are others here at the hospital who would. Deborah Hayes would be the best person."
She nodded. Deborah was a friend. She was also a rape counsellor. Whilst Amanda hadn't actually undergone an actual rape, she had come close to it. She needed to talk it out with someone, she knew and Deborah may be the best person. "How how's Jesse?" she asked, in an attempt to forget her own trauma for a while.
Mark shook his head. "Still unconscious. He was beaten pretty badly. He has some spectacular looking bruising on his face, " `as do you' he noted, silently, studying the large, dark contusion on her cheek. "The stab wound wasn't as serious as it looked. It didn't penetrate anything vital. He's going to be all right physically at least."
Closing her eyes she recalled the scream he had emitted. It had been a sound she had never heard before shrill and terrifying. It had been a sound from hell. "He was in such pain," she recalled, very quietly. "Oh Mark, this is going to destroy him."
"We're not going to let it." He sounded so firm, so sure of himself. She looked at him. His jaw was set firm, his eyes lit with the fire of resolve. She realised she had complete faith in his words.
"I want to help," she whispered.
He smiled down at her. "I think you can probably help each other," he said.
They were interrupted by the arrival of one of the nurses taking care of Jesse.
"Dr Sloan, you'd better come," she said, anxiously.
Mark needed no second bidding. With an apologetic look at Amanda, he hurried to the young man's room, wondering apprehensively what he was going to find when he got there.
It was as bad as he had feared. Jesse was curled up in a fetal position in the bed, face buried in the pillow. He was sobbing inconsolably.
Mark felt his throat contract as he approached the young doctor. He was hesitant to touch him, lest he flinch away, as Amanda had done at Mark's home, just after her attack. Jesse had not recalled the rape when first rescued from the other house and thus had had no reason to recoil from contact with his mentor. Now, however, it was fresh in his mind, and Mark didn't know what it would do to his own composure if the young man he very much regarded as a surrogate son withdrew from him.
"Jesse?" he said, softly. "Jesse, it's Mark."
No reaction.
Tentatively, he perched on the edge of the bed, as far away from Jesse as he could get. "Jesse, son, it's Mark, can you hear me?"
This produced a response, unfortunately, it was not the one for which Mark had hoped. Jesse merely curled even tighter around himself, inching further away from the presence which was in such close proximity.
`Oh Jess '
Mark bit his lip, not sure how to proceed. He desperately wanted to reach his friend, longed to reach out and comfort him, but he couldn't, not whilst he was in such a highly distressed state. It would only make things worse. "Jess, I am so, so sorry. Please believe me. You know that Steve and I would have done anything anything at all to prevent what happened to you."
Jesse's sobs ebbed away as the words penetrated his mind, then, slowly, he turned a tear-streaked face toward the source of the voice, and Mark himself flinched at the anguish and betrayal he saw in the blue eyes that were directed toward him. "You you knew?"
There was such condemnation in that voice, such pain. He could only nod, sorrowfully. "Jesse, we were the ones who found you. I was the one who examined you. It was one of my findings. I I'm sorry."
"You you knew, and you you didn't tell me?" The words emerged on hitched breaths as Jesse struggled both to speak and absorb the fact that those around him had had prior knowledge of what he had endured. And they hadn't condescended to tell him. "How how could you? How could you keep it from me?"
"How could we not?" Mark's response was almost immediate. "Jesse, you were already suffering enough. You had been severely beaten over a course of several days. You almost died from a combination of the injuries you sustained and malnourishment. You were already having nightmares about the beatings. I didn't want to add to your burden. I may have been wrong, but I wanted you to remember on your own if you even did remember."
A slight frown furrowed the younger man's forehead. "Wh what d'you mean?" he sniffed.
Mark sighed. "We didn't know if you remembered the rape, Jess," he told him, sadly. "You were unconscious and delirious from infection when we found you. The rape had been a fairly recent event during your captivity. It was entirely possible that you had been so out of it at that point that you were completely unaware of it taking place. When you didn't recall it immediately upon waking or for the few days afterward, we hoped that it was something you didn't remember at all, and if you didn't remember it then we weren't going to tell you. You were suffering quite enough."
"That that wasn't your call to to make," protested Jesse, sullenly, although his tone had lost some of the initial censure. "I I should've been told."
"Perhaps," Mark said, rubbing his hand across his moustache distractedly. "I just Jess, we care about you very much. The last thing we wanted to do was place an extra burden on you "
"You already said that."
"I know, but it bears repeating. I'm sorry, son. I am. For everything. For not telling you, for what you have been through since you were freed, for being kidnapped in the first place and for what you went through at the time."
"That that wasn't your fault," Jesse pointed out, closing his eyes briefly against a fresh onslaught of tears. Mark was being so kind and all he could do was snap at him. He felt all of two inches tall.
"I can't help feeling somehow responsible," the older man said. "I know it's irrational, but it's just you're the last person in the world this should have happened to. I would have done anything to prevent all of this."
"I know," he said, very quietly. He blinked rapidly, biting back another sob and re-focused on the older man. A sad little half-smile appeared on his face. He looked so utterly defenceless that it almost broke Mark's heart. "I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry for, my friend," came the stern response. "Nothing at all. The only thing you have to do is get better."
His gaze slid away again, focussing on the window, beyond which was the corridor and the rest of Community General, the hospital in which he had been so happy, where he had carved out such a great career. He didn't know how he was ever going to resume it after this. He felt broken. "I don't know if I can," he admitted, very quietly.
Mark took a chance and reached out to rest a gentle hand on the quivering shoulder. To his immeasurable relief, Jesse didn't shrink away. Indeed, he seemed to welcome the contact, inching back a little into it. "Yes, you can, Jess," he said. "You have a lot of help here. There's Steve and there's me and you and Amanda need each other right now. You can both do each other a lot of good by sharing what you've been through. And, Jess, we have kept this particular secret from everyone else in the hospital. No-one else knows what happened. You have my word on that."
Jesse half-turned, favouring Mark with a look of such trust that the older man's heart almost ripped itself apart. "No-one?" he echoed.
`Well, aside from two trusted nurses,' thought Mark. But he wasn't going to reveal that to Jesse. Those nurses would keep their counsel. They would never reveal their knowledge to Jesse, and would treat him as they always had with motherly indulgence. He would never know the difference. "No-one," he lied. "Your secret is and always will be safe."

The three men arrested at the Beach house were questioned separately. All of them refused to talk, invoking their right to remain silent. A Public Defender was found for each of them, disappointing Steve and Cheryl who had hoped to see someone else from Marshall Enterprises. They were not, however, surprised. With Devereaux out of commission for the time being, had another company lawyer turned up to defend them, questions would definitely have been asked questions Marshall Enterprises had no intention of answering. No-one there wanted further suspicion cast on the company.
Not that Steve didn't have any evidence that they were ultimately responsible for the abduction and torture of Jesse and, more than likely, Simone as well. The latter remained a `missing person' all attempts to extract information regarding her whereabouts from the three suspects failing dismally.
In fact, the only solid lead they had was Devereaux, whose information had proved invaluable in narrowing down their list of suspects. Unfortunately, the man he had cited as being responsible for hiring him and giving Brian Stewart, the accountant, his orders, had disappeared, all efforts in tracking him down proving futile.
Brian Stewart had also vanished. This didn't bode well for the accountant, if what Devereaux had told them was true. So far, no witnesses had been left to tell the tale, apart from the attorney and he was in police custody where he would remain for the foreseeable future if Steve had anything to do with it. He didn't want anyone else in this case going missing and he had a strong feeling that if he released the attorney, he would suffer the same fate as everyone else.
Steve was frustrated and enraged at the lack of progress, particularly in light of the fact that they actually had in custody the men who had carried out the dirty work. All he needed to do was link them with the deputy CEO and he had the proof he needed to go after him with the full force of the law. Unfortunately, all he had was heresay. He may be able to get an arrest warrant issued but making any charges stick once they located him if they ever did was going to be damned difficult.
In the meantime, a small team of officers were still trying to track down Simone. Devereaux had furnished them with a few more addresses to add to their list and they were hopeful that they might turn up something soon.
Unfortunately, Steve didn't hold out the hope that they would find the young woman alive if indeed they found her at all. The three men had obviously extracted the information they required out of her before calling on Jesse and Amanda at the beach house. She may even have been forced to tell them how to get in, having been there herself. She had probably been buried by now like the rest of the evidence against whoever had masterminded this entire plot.

The call came as he and Cheryl were about to leave for the night. The three men were in jail cells, pending arraignment. Steve was fairly confident that, given what he and the other cops had witnessed, and with their statements alone, they would not be given bail. Apart from any other consideration, the suspects were a definite flight risk if the rest of the case was anything to go by. He just hoped the judge would see it the same way.
"Sloan here," he said, in answer to the call on his cell. His face darkened as he listened to the voice on the other end then he snapped the cellphone shut and turned to his partner. "They think they've found the place," he said, tersely. "I think we may have found Simone."

With a siren blaring away on top of their unmarked car, they soon reached the house where the uniforms had found evidence of recent activity. They had secured the area and had found no trace of anyone. This was fairly ominous for Simone. It looked like she had been moved already and if that was the case, well, then
They searched the house from top to bottom.
No luck.
Then, quite by chance, Steve stumbled against a bookcase in one of the large reception rooms. There was a click and suddenly, the whole thing started moving.
"My god, a concealed room!" exclaimed Cheryl as the bookcase came to a halt, revealing a set of stairs leading downwards.
There was an incessant `drip, drip, drip' of water and a musty smell. Both cops ignored that, focusing instead on what may await them when they reached the bottom of the stairs.
It was Simone.
Her broken, bleeding, twisted, naked body lay sprawled in a pathetic heap on the water-strewn floor. She didn't look to be breathing.
Hitching in a breath and cursing softly, Steve stepped forward, reaching a hand toward her neck. He felt for the carotid artery, remembering to breathe again when he felt the faint pulse.
"She's alive!" he yelled to the cops who waited at the top of the stairs. "Get an ambulance here! Now!"

They ran the gurney into the ER, Steve loping along beside the EMT's who were giving the information on their patient to the doctor who met them. Steve vaguely recognised him. He was one of the people who worked alongside Jesse and his dad sometimes. He was a good doctor nothing special, not like his dad. Not like Jesse. He hadn't realised till that moment just how highly he valued the other two men, how brilliant they both were. Cut from the same cloth in every respect their skill, compassionate and sympathetic natures, the ability to be able to assess conditions and know immediately what was required he sometimes envied them their extraordinary talents. But neither of them had ever thought of themselves as anything exceptional. They were both just doing what came naturally as naturally as breathing.
This doctor was good. Jesse had told him once that the guy could probably run the ER better than he could. He had been belittling his own incredible gift he sometimes did that; Steve had no idea why. Maybe it was some kind of defence mechanism, or perhaps he truly believed that he was inferior in some way. The detective made a mental note to remind his friend one day soon that he was an exceptional doctor, a truly skilled surgeon and if he ever got injured in the line of duty he would want no-one else taking care of him but his best friend.
Then he remembered that Jesse had already fulfilled that role saving his life when in anyone else's hands he may well have died.
He hoped that what had happened to Jesse wouldn't affect his career, nor his remarkable talent for empathising with his patients. It would be an incalculable loss to medicine.
"You'll have to stand back, sir."
The voice rudely broke him from his self-imposed reverie. "Huh?"
The doctor was regarding him with a frown. "You'll have to stand back whilst we attend to the young woman," he said. "Are you okay?"
Steve nodded. "Yeah, yes, I'm fine," he said, distractedly. His gaze travelled toward the gurney which was now ensconced in a trauma room. Doctors and nursing staff were bustling round their patient, calling out instructions, ordering tests. Steve had heard the terms before `CBC's, Chem 7, FBC's, EKG, Foley, pulse ox, large bore IV's ` The list was endless. They had already intubated Simone and someone was bagging her whilst they inserted needles into the veins they could find beneath the grime and blood and searched for any internal injuries which may account for the condition she was in.
"Is she going to be all right?"
The doctor followed Steve's line of sight, studying the young woman appraisingly and then returned his gaze to Steve. "I don't know," he replied, sadly. "We'll do everything we can. I promise."
It was all Steve could ask. He just wished that it was his dad or Jesse in there. He would feel far more confident about Simone's survival physically at least then. But his father was off duty and probably with either Amanda or Jesse and Jesse well
He nodded at the doctor, then watched as he hurried into the trauma room, issuing more orders as Simone's condition continued to deteriorate despite all their attempts to save her.
Disconsolate, he turned away, looking down the corridor. There wasn't much to do here now apart from wait and waiting was always so depressing. Forensics had managed to get some clues at the scene scrapings from beneath Simone's fingernails for starters and he hoped that would lead to the three men they had in custody so they could charge them with the young woman's abduction and rape. He didn't want to contemplate the other charge. Murder, if she died.
Which she very well might.
He started to wander down the hall, aimlessly to begin with then with a renewed sense of purpose.
He hadn't seen Amanda or Jesse since the beach house; hadn't even had much time to find out how they were other than a brief phone call to his father after the lawyers had arrived for the three men. The news had not been all bad, but it had not been good, either.
He didn't know if he had the nerve to face either of his friends after what had happened to them.
On the other hand, he couldn't not see them. He needed to reassure himself that they were alive, that they were all right.
Relatively all right, anyway.
Squaring his shoulders, he realised he had reached the first room. Instinct had led him here first. His hand shook a little as it reached out for the door handle and he cursed under his breath, annoyed at his own weakness.
Shutting his eyes briefly, he muttered a short prayer and then opened the door.

Jesse was lying still, staring up at the ceiling. He was bruised and battered and there was an oddly defenceless look about him as if he had taken all the crap life had to offer and had decided to give in.
Steve felt his throat tighten.
"Hey, Jess," he said. His voice sounded somewhat strangled.
Soulful blue eyes turned in his direction, looking at him as if he was a stranger. It sent chills down the detective's spine.
`Oh god, Jesse '
Steeling himself, he grabbed the chair by the door and carried it across to the bed, placing it so that he could rest his arms on the back, to look at his friend. "How are you doing?" he asked, quietly, not even sure he wanted the answer to that question.
Jesse's mouth worked but nothing emerged. He struggled for a few more minutes then gave up and his eyelids drifted shut
"I'm sorry, Jess," Steve blurted out before he could think. "I'm so, so sorry." The young man shifted restlessly, turning his head away. Still, Steve couldn't stop. "I would do anything to take this away," he went on, desperate to get some reaction other than the one he was eliciting. "Just tell me what I can do to help you. I'll do anything I swear."
"Can can you make it not have happened?" asked a small voice. "Can you make it all go away?"
Steve shook his head. "No," he said, hearing the catch in his own voice and striving to retain his composure. The last thing Jesse needed was his emotions spilling out of him, although he was being hard pressed to keep them in check in the face of such utter desolation. "No, I can't. I wish I could."
"Then what good are you?" The venom in his friend's voice astonished the detective. A sliver of pain sliced through his heart.
"I I don't know," he admitted. "I god, Jesse, I don't know what to do here. I don't know what to say."
"And you expect me to help you?" spat Jesse, bitterly. "I can't help you, Steve. I can't even help myself."
Silence descended as Steve digested the words and his friend's anger. He deserved it, he knew. He hadn't found Jesse in time the first time and then, to compound his complicity in the whole thing, he had allowed Jesse to be attacked where he should be safe. He still had no idea what had happened to the two guards. The police car had been empty, their bodies nowhere in sight. Forensics had found blood when they had sprayed Luminol on the seats and a search was underway. Two more victims. At least they had probably died quickly.
His friend was dying by degrees.
And he could do nothing except sit by and watch.
His hands were curled around the back of the chair in a white-knuckled grip and he felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck and, strangely, down his cheeks. "Jess "
"Steve "
Their voices tailed off as they both spoke together. Steve blinked rapidly, staring at his friend in confusion. Jesse had turned to face him again, and a lone tear was trailing down his cheek. Appalled, Steve made to rise the last thing he had wanted to do was upset his friend. A small hand came to rest on one of his, covering the whitened knuckles.
"I'm sorry," Jesse whispered. "Steve, please I just I didn't mean it. Please forgive me."
"Forgive you?" echoed the detective disbelievingly. "God, Jess, there's nothing to forgive! This is my fault. I didn't find you I let them I mean and then you should have been safe at the beach house and you weren't. They got to you again, they almost and Amanda my god, Jesse, this is my fault!"
"No!"
The denial was so swift, so passionate that he was taken aback. "Jesse "
"Steve, these guys were good. They didn't leave you any clues. You found me before I died. You found me, Steve. You're not Superman. You don't have x-ray vision or superpowers. How could you know where I was? And you tried to protect me afterwards. You put a guard on the house. They still got past it. They're ruthless people, Steve and they were determined to get what they wanted. I just I just wish I knew what it was they did want. Your dad reckons that it was something to do with Government information. But how could I have something to do with that? I just I .. I'm sorry, Steve. I didn't mean to I just I didn't remember what had happened till they and then " His voice tailed off as the tears started to fall in earnest and a sob escaped - then another, then another.
Steve couldn't just sit by whilst his friend suffered. Without even thinking, he surged upward from the chair, pushed it out of the way, sank onto the bed and placed a comforting arm around the quivering shoulders. Jesse had curled into a tight little ball again, his face hidden in his pillow, trying desperately to stifle his cries. His body shook with the force of them and the detective's throat closed up. One hand reached upward to stroke the soft blond hair, trying to give what little comfort he could.
Moments later, a nurse hurried into the room, swiftly followed by his father, who took one look at the scene and turned back to the young woman, giving her a set of hushed instructions.
She left the room, returning moment later with a syringe, which Mark emptied into the IV which was connected to the back of Jesse's hand. Seconds after that, Jesse's sobs faltered, then stopped and his breathing evened out as the sedative took effect.

Mark led a stunned Steve out into the corridor, noting the way he kept glancing back toward the room and the diminutive figure who was hunched up in the bed. "Dad," he began. "I didn't I don't "
"It's all right, son," the older man soothed him. "Just give him some time. He's going through a lot right now and he's doing remarkably well considering the circumstances."
"Remarkably well?" Steve echoed, dubiously. "You call that `remarkably well?"
Mark sighed, allowing his own eyes to drift toward his sleeping friend. "We had a talk a little while ago," he said. "Before you came in with Simone yes," he went on, holding up a stilling hand as the other man attempted to speak. "I know about her. She's in surgery right now, Steve. They'll let us know as soon as they can."
Steve nodded. At least she was still alive. It was one thing to be grateful for. There wasn't much else. "You had a talk with Jesse?" he prompted, trying to take his mind off the young woman's plight, trying to suppress the guilt that rose within him. This was his fault. He should never have agreed to allowing her to help them.
"He's agreed to see a counsellor," his father said, sombrely, turning back to Steve in time to see the distress that clouded his son's face at the mention of Simone and all too well aware of the reason for it. He shared in the guilt that Steve was feeling. Another innocent victim had suffered at the hands of those monsters and this time it was his fault. He didn't know how he was going to deal with that. He chose instead for the time being to concentrate on the plight of his two friends his family. "To be honest I think he was just agreeing because he didn't have the heart to do anything else, but it's a start."
"What about Amanda?"
Mark smiled thinly. "She's going to see Deborah Hayes," he said. "They're friends as well as colleagues. It may make things easier for her."
"Are they gonna be all right?"
The older man couldn't meet his son's earnest gaze. Instead, he directed his gaze back at the room behind them. "I can't answer that, Steve," he said, quietly. "I wish I could."

Simone survived surgery. Unfortunately, she lapsed into a coma. No-one could say with any certainty whether she would come out of it or, if she did, whether she would ever truly recover psychologically.
Steve and his father both suffered through their own varying degrees of self-reproach and neither of them told Jesse about Simone. He had enough to endure without adding to it.
Inevitably, though, it was only a matter of time before he discovered what had happened. And, predictably, he held himself fully responsible.

Mark entered Simone's room to find someone had already beaten him to it. A slight figure garbed in a hospital robe and gown was sitting hunched in the chair by the bed, holding the young woman's hand.
The voice was indistinct, barely audible over the whoosh of the respirator and the beeping of the machines keeping Simone alive, but the occasional word drifted over to where Mark was standing and tore his heart in two as he listened.
" . So sorry, Simone .. my fault .. should never have let you . Please forgive me .. have to wake up . can't die . Please, please don't die "
Not wishing to startle him, Mark closed the door quietly and stepped further into the room. The young man was so engrossed in his plea to the comatose young woman, however, that he probably wouldn't have heard him had he slammed the door and done a goosestep. "Jesse?" he said, quietly, as he squatted next to the chair, placing a gentle hand on his friend's arm. "Jesse, what are you doing here?"
Tear-filled blue eyes slowly turned in his direction. Jesse looked utterly devastated. "I Mark, this is what did they do never mind." He shook his head fiercely. "I know what they did to her. I I remember what it was like Mark, why would anyone do this? I don't understand."
Mark swallowed hard. What could he say? He didn't understand it either. Bad people did bad things. They both knew that. They had both had plenty of experience of it. Especially recently. But despite everything that had happened to him, Jesse's faith in people kept re-establishing itself, only to be ripped apart time after time. Mark wasn't sure how he could help him recover from this latest blow. He wasn't even sure how he was going to recover from it himself. He hadn't given himself much time or opportunity to think about it, keeping himself busy with his friends' treatment, running himself ragged so he could fall into bed at night and sleep except the sleep he got was peppered with nightmares. And he usually woke with a start, facing another long night of insomnia. It was taking its toll, he knew, and he couldn't help Jesse and Amanda if his own health deteriorated. `Physician, heal thyself' the old maxim would have made him laugh, once upon a time. Now it just made him bitter and angry and sad.
"I don't, either, Jess," he said, softly, at last. He shook his head as he followed Jesse's gaze to the fragile, broken figure of the young woman. "This shouldn't have happened. She shouldn't have been there. We I should have done more to stop her."
"You couldn't." A new voice entered the conversation. They hadn't even heard the door open. Another young woman stood in the doorway, her tearful gaze directed at both men. Mark rose awkwardly to his feet, his brow furrowed into a frown. "I'm Donna," she said, extending a hand toward him. He took it automatically and smiled at her. "Simone's best friend. The one who told dad to tell you about her."
"Oh yes, of course." Mark glanced back and then tried to collect himself. "Donna, I'm sorry "
"Like I said, it wasn't your fault. Either of you," she clarified, noting the distress on the younger man's face as he rose too, trying to suppress a grimace and favouring his left side. "Simone had already started prying into things at work. I warned her that she was doing something stupid, something that could get her fired or, if there was anything too big involved, hurt. But she didn't listen. She never listened to anyone. If you'd tried to dissuade her then it would have made no difference. She would still have been there except that no-one would have realised she had gone missing till it was too late and she would never have been found. Dad told me how your son never stopped looking. Please, thank him for me."
"I will," said Mark, sincerely.
"I I'd like some time with her if I may?"
"Yes, yes, of course. Jesse?"
The young man looked at him, somewhat dazedly. "Huh?"
Taking his friend by the arm, he gently steered him past Donna and out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Jesse was very quiet as he led the younger man back to his room. Then, "Mark?"
"Yes, Jesse?"
"I I don't feel so good."
Mark paused, peering down into the upturned face. He didn't like what he saw. Jesse was very pale and beads of sweat stood out on his brow. He surreptitiously slid his arm around the young doctor, more or less holding him up as his legs began to buckle. "Let's get you back to bed, Jess," he said, trying to hide his concern. "Don't worry. Everything's going to be all right."

"He has an infection."
"Oh god." Steve wiped his face with his hands as Mark imparted the news to him on his next visit to the hospital. "Is he gonna be all right?"
"Yes, but it's just one more setback. I don't know how much more he's expected to take, Steve."
"How about Amanda?"
"I was just going to see her. Care to come?"
"Yes, I would. She was asleep last time I came by."
"Well, she's due to be discharged today. She still has some time to spend with Deborah but I think she's going to be all right. She was with Jesse yesterday. I think they got a lot of things out in the open."

"I don't wanna talk about it, Amanda."
"Well, I do, Jesse. I need to talk about it. I I can't sleep and I can't talk about it with Mark or Steve. You were there. You you understand what it's like "
"Yes, yes I do!" His voice was harsh, strident and she winced. "But you weren't you didn't I just can't, Amanda. I know I should. I know you're hurting, but I can't!"
"Please, Jesse, please don't shut me out. I need you. I I can't do this alone."
Jesse's face softened. She knew he had never been able to bear her tears; although she hadn't exactly had control over her emotions at that point. He reached for her hand and grasped it tightly. "I'm sorry," he said, softly. "I'm sorry, Amanda. Please, please don't cry."
"I I don't mean to," she sobbed. "I wish I could stop. It just gives him more power over me."
He nodded. "Yeah, that's what Deborah told me, too. That getting upset about it gives them the power but she also said that we had to work through it, that if that's what it took, we shouldn't suppress everything. Don't feel bad you're not doing anything wrong."
"I just I just think I should have done more to stop him. That I should have been stronger, fought harder "
"Yeah, that's what I thought too." He sounded resigned, weary and she pressed his hand a little harder. A sad smile quirked his lips. "Deborah asked me whether I was injured at the time."
"You were," she declared.
"Yeah and I was a little delirious too, I think. She says that's probably why it took so long for me to remember that and my memory suppressed it because it had enough to deal with."
"Ah, the numerous and incalculable workings of the mind," she quipped, tearfully.
"Yeah. I just wish "
"You wish what, honey?"
"I wish I had been able to do something to help you."
"You did," she said, in a low voice. "Oh Jesse, you did. If it hadn't been for you then I don't even want to think about it."
"Deborah says she says that almost getting raped is almost as bad as the actual thing. I'm I'm sorry if I belittled you. I didn't mean to."
"Oh honey I know. I just we're the only two people who know what it's like well," she amended. "The only two who know each other and you know what I mean."
"Yeah, similar experience, same guys."
"Uh-huh."
"So how do you feel now?"
"I don't know " Her voice tailed off as she considered the question. She was shaking at the memory of the assault. "Confused, angry, upset, afraid, humiliated I just feel everything all at the same time."
"Me too," he offered, in a small voice. "I just feel so degraded. So dirty. Like I'll never be clean again. I I feel I just want to disappear, crawl into a hole and never come out."
Amanda nodded. "I know. I I feel the same. But at the same time I feel guilty for thinking that. I keep thinking of Mark and Steve and especially you and I just wish it would all go away."
"I I asked Steve if he could make it all go away." He admitted. His voice was practically inaudible and he winced at her gasp of shock. "I was so angry, Amanda and I don't even think it was him I was angry at."
"It was yourself," she whispered. "Yourself and them. The ones who did it. I know, Jesse. I what did Steve say?"
He didn't answer for a full minute then he looked away. "He he I think I made him cry," he said. He looked and sounded utterly mortified. "Oh god, Amanda, I never meant to do that. I never meant to upset my friend. I just "
She took him in her arms as he broke down, sobbing gently in her embrace as tears rolled down her own cheeks.
She thanked god that the rapist had not had the time to carry out the act on her, and wished with all her heart that they had not had the opportunity to carry it out on Jesse either.

She was lost in the memory of her visit to Jesse when Mark and Steve entered her room. After their breakdown, they had managed to discuss the attack a little more, absolving each other of any guilt in each other's attack in the process.
It had helped a little. Deborah was pleased with her progress and had hinted that Jesse was doing a little better as well. But it was going to be a long haul for both of them and they had to prepare themselves for that.
She had told Amanda though that with the support system they both had surrounding them ie Mark and Steve and, in her case, her own loving family they would recover.
Now she glanced up as she became aware that she was not alone. She had to suppress the anxiety that this feeling invoked before she could actually look them in the eyes, and when she did it was with a watery smile.
"Hey, guys," she said, softly.
"Hi, Amanda," said Steve, softly, whilst Mark bent down to kiss her on the forehead. Thank god she no longer flinched when he did that. Opening up to let him in had been the first step and one of the hardest. But they had always been close and this had, unexpectedly, brought them even closer. She clung to his hand as he perched on the bed beside her and although her grip was a little tight, he made no comment.
"I have good news," he said, cheerfully. "You're getting out of here today."
Her face fell. Here she felt safe. She wasn't sure if she was ready to go home and she sure as hell couldn't go and stay with Mark and Steve going back to the beach house was out of the question for the moment until her recovery advanced somewhat. It was, after all, where her attack had happened. She was going to go back, though. She was determined not to let those monsters affect her life and her friendship with Mark and Steve. They were both too important to her.
"Your mom has told me she wants you to stay with her," Mark went on, apparently blithely unaware of her trepidation although his keen eyes had seen and taken note of her reaction and he had decided it was best not to comment on it. "Has she spoken to you?"
"She .,.. she mentioned it," Amanda confessed. "I didn't want to impose but I don't want to be alone right now. I don't feel safe enough."
"So you and the boys are going to stay there." Mark grinned. "Between you and me I think she's dying to get you there so she can spoil you rotten."
That elicited an answering if somewhat diluted smile. "She'll probably have cooked enough to feed an army already," she declared. "By the time I come back to work I'll be the size of a house!"
"All the more for us to love, honey," Mark pointed out, squeezing the hand that lay within his own.
"Yeah, and maybe if you're bigger I'll have more chance of keeping up with you when you're zooming around the pathology lab," Steve teased her.
She glared at him. "Don't count on it, mister," she retorted, albeit a little shakily. "I can still run rings around you you only like to run when there's a pretty, bikini-clad young woman to chase."
"Who told you that?" demanded Steve, trying to sound offended.
Her eyes twinkled as she glanced quickly at Mark and then diverted her gaze to Steve once more. "Oh, that would be telling!"
"How's Jesse?" she asked after the hilarity that statement had provoked had died away.
Mark's expression saddened. "Not so good, honey," he said. "The wound site has a stapph infection."
"Oh no!" She made to get out of bed, only Mark's restraining hand stopping her.
"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.
"I want to see him!"
"Well, you will as soon as you're discharged and I've been to check up on him again. He's asleep right now, Amanda. Give him some time."
With a sigh, she subsided back into her pillows, a wan smile drifting across her peaked face. "I wish I could do something," she said, softly. "I just feel so "
"I know," Mark interjected. "Give it some time, sweetheart. What does Deborah say?"
She shrugged. "That it's going to take time," she said, unconsciously reiterating what the older man had just said. "I just sometimes I shake for no reason. It scares me, Mark."
The two men exchanged glances. "For what it's worth, Amanda, those guys are never gonna see the outside world again," said Steve. He took a seat on the other side of the bed, placing his hand over the one that was encased in Mark's. "We have them on several charges and the DA is positively salivating at being able to handle a case that's so clear cut.
"He's going to get them put away for good?" she asked, timidly.
"He sure is," confirmed the detective, glad to be able to put her mind at ease on one thing at least.
The three men were being charged with kidnapping, aggravated assault, rape and murder. The bodies of one of the two cops guarding Jesse had washed up in the LA River. They had dragged it for the other body, but had had no luck thus far. The bullet that was dug out of him was an exact match to the gun one of the three men had been brandishing when Steve and the other cops had burst in on them at the beach house. The skin they had retrieved from beneath Simone's fingers was a match to the bigger of the three men and they had Jesse's testimony plus Amanda's.
They couldn't prove that they had killed their associate, nor could they implicate them in the disappearance of the Company accountant, whom they also suspected as being dead. The deputy CEO was another matter. He had been seen boarding a private airplane at a small airfield south of LA. It seemed as though he was the man behind everything, especially when the auditors hired to check Marshall Enterprise's financial dealings discovered years of falsified accounts and dubious business dealings, all leading back to him.
He had set up an intricate network of dummy corporations all of which led, inescapably, to the fact that he had been selling information about their Government contracts to the Middle East. A fact which the FBI were rather annoyed about when they became involved.
In fact, the FBI agents who had visited the precinct had been somewhat terse with both the Captain and Steve for not informing them sooner of their suspicions. A rather heated discussion took place in the Captain's office, the reverberations from which was felt throughout the building.
Once they had taken over the investigation, there wasn't much left for Steve and Cheryl to do except process the men they had caught one of the many items on the agenda which they had argued through with the FBI, who were intent on taking them into custody for themselves. Steve was well aware, however, that for information given to the Government, the three men who had done so much harm to so many innocent people would be given new identities and `lost' within the system.
There was no way he was about to let that happen.
And Captain Newman had backed him all the way.
So the three were set for trial. Fortunately, they didn't need Jesse's statement since one of them had actually, finally cracked under pressure. They made sure to move him away from his buddies after that. They didn't want any reprisals not before the trial was over, anyway. His testimony would negate Jesse having to attend court an ordeal that nobody wanted to submit him to, most especially Steve.
The detective didn't much care what happened to any of the men after the trial. For all he cared, they could burn in the furthest reaches of hell. In fact, he rather hoped they would get the death penalty. It was too quick, too clean for what they had done to his friends and to their other victims, but it was what they deserved.

Amanda was relieved to know that her attackers would not escape justice. Still, she burned with the need for vengeance, her anger turning outward, directed at the men who had tired so hard to humiliate and control her and who had done so much worse to her dear friend.
She dreamt that night that she was alone with them again, except this time she was the one in control. She had them strapped to tables in the pathology lab, where they were writhing and struggling to be free. Their faces were contorted in horror as she plunged a scalpel into them over and over again, making precise cuts cuts that would kill slowly, that would hurt them as they had hurt her. The blood ran red, forming large puddles on her pristine floor. Tutting with irritation, she fetched a mop and cleaned it up, but the blood continued to pour from their open wounds, and she couldn't wipe the floor fast enough to keep it clean.
Finally, she had had enough and, taking a large circular saw, descended upon them with it. Terrified and in agony, they could only watch, wide eyed as she approached
She awoke with a gasp, surging upward in bed.
Breathing hard and blinking rapidly, she gazed fearfully around the darkened room, trying to figure out where she was. Slowly, it came to her. `My mom's. I'm at my mom's ` CJ and Dion were next door and she had a sudden compulsion to see them, to hold them, to be with her babies the one pure breath of innocence in her life.
Shakily, she got out of bed, threw on her robe and tiptoed to the door. She opened it without a sound and wandered next door, where her two boys were sleeping. The light of the moon bathed them in a luminescence which only enhanced their sweet faces and she felt tears of joy come to her eyes. Falling to her knees between the two beds, she placed a gentle hand over each of one of her sons' and leaned back against the bedside table, grateful for the feel of warm, living flesh beneath her own.
Her mother found her there the next morning, waking her before the boys saw her and wondered what mommy was doing. Quietly, she led her out and they held on to each other, Amanda slowly falling to pieces in her mother's arms, then, in the ensuing days, finding that she was able to re-assemble those pieces. Perhaps not in the same combination, but sure now that the jigsaw that would be complete in the end.

"How are you doing, Jesse?"
The young man looked up from the book he was reading to offer Mark a weak smile. It was nowhere near the trademark, full blown `Travis' grin, but it was a welcome sight nevertheless. "Hey, Mark," he said, softly. "You come to give me some good news?"
"I did," said the older man, seating himself beside his friend, peering at the book as he did so. "Hmm Borders, Trees and Purty Flowers? What is that, some kind of Texan gardening book?"
Jesse flushed, snapping the book closed so suddenly that he almost got his fingers caught in the pages. "Um not exactly," he hedged. "It's um you know, it's just a book."
Mark narrowed his eyes and tried to appear stern, folding his arms to accentuate the look. "Don't give me that, Jesse Travis," he scolded him. "I know what that book's about. It's top of the bestseller list. It's another `tell all' like Melissa's, isn't it?"
Jesse nodded, shamefacedly.
"And Amanda sent it to you, didn't she?"
He nodded again, biting his lip.
"And how far have you got?"
"Well, I . What d'you mean `how far have I got'?" demanded the younger man, suspiciously.
Mark couldn't restrain his grin any more. "I'll tell you a secret, Jesse," he said, conspiratorially. "I've already browsed it."
"You you have?" The younger man sounded shocked. "Mark !"
"Well, I was curious!" came the defensive reply. "I didn't say I enjoyed it."
"It is good, though, isn't it?" said Jesse, his eyes alight with glee something that warmed Mark's heart. "Did you get to the bit where that senator and the call girl have that chocolate sauce sent up to his room and "
"Jesse, Jesse, Jesse!"
"What?" Total innocence beamed up at him, and he was hard put to stifle the laughter that wanted to bubble out of him. The younger man was doing better than he had even hoped. Deborah had been very pleased with his progress, although she had pointed out that there would still be setbacks and dark days to come and that they should be on their guard for a good while yet. Mark had promised her that they would deal with it together, which had prompted a burst of laughter from the therapist as she told them she didn't think they'd have much choice as they seemed closer than most real families.
Mark had had to agree with that. The last few weeks had proved to him how much he loved the members of his close circle. He was already aware of his own feelings for his son, but the extent of how much he cherished Jesse and Amanda had been something of a surprise, although, really, it shouldn't have been, considering how protective he was of them both.
It might not have been the family he had been expecting, but he was very glad he had it.
"I don't think I want to know the details, Jess," he said, returning his attention to his young friend, who, he realised, somewhat belatedly, was now staring up at him in concern
Jesse smiled wickedly. "You sure?" he said. "There's the story of a doctor on page 79. It all starts with "
"Jesse!"
He subsided, although the little gleam still remained in his eyes. "Oh, okay," he said.
There was a comfortable silence as Mark examined him, nodding in satisfaction as he noted temperature, pulse and heartrate. The wound was faring nicely too. The infection had all but disappeared since they had started Jesse on a wide spectrum antibiotic. He had another day of it then he would be free of his IV's at last.
"I think you can go home tomorrow," he said, finishing his exam.
Jesse's face fell it was reminiscent of Amanda's expression when he had told her the same thing. And as in that case, Mark understood immediately the reasons behind it.
"I hesitate to ask, Jess," he said. "But if you want to, you can "
"Stay at the beach house?" the younger man finished for him, shyly. "I'd I'd like that, Mark."
"Are you sure it won't bring back any bad memories?"
Jesse's face darkened. "I think I've already had all of them," he pointed out. "I don't think there are any more left."
"Yes, but "
"Mark, I gotta start living my life again. I can't stay cooped up in here forever. I want to get back to work as well "
"Well, I think that may have to wait a while. I want to wait till Deborah's happy with you before we consider that."
"I know, I know," came the somewhat sulky response. He fiddled with the bedclothes for a moment. "Mark?"
"Yes, Jesse?"
"I I am gonna be okay. It's gonna take some time, I know that, but I have you guys and Amanda and I have each other. I wanna go see her, make sure she's doing all right. I wanna talk to her I I know there's no way this will ever really be over, but we both have to put it behind us we all have to do that. You have to stop feeling so guilty, too, and so does Steve. I think we have enough to cope with without all that as well. Plus "
"Plus what, Jess?" pressed Mark, gently as Jesse's words tailed off. He was extraordinarily proud of his young friend his surrogate son. The young man had courage to spare and a heart bigger than anyone he had ever known. Yes, there may indeed be dark days ahead. There may be setbacks, but from each one, Jesse and Amanda would emerge stronger and more determined than ever. He had no doubt whatsoever about that.
"Well plus you have to get some sleep. You look like hell, Mark."
The older man was a little taken aback by this diagnosis. "And that's Dr Travis speaking, I suppose?"
"Yes. Yes, it is," asserted the younger man. "And I prescribe a good night's rest. After all, you're gonna have to prepare for a house guest!"
That was when the patented, full-blown, Travis grin emerged and Mark chuckled. "Yessir!" he replied.

One of the dark days came shortly afterward when, despite the best treatment the hospital could offer, Simone passed away. Her parents were dead so it had been left to her best friend, Donna, to give the order to turn off the machines when she learned that brain activity was diminishing and had finally stopped.
Both Jesse and Amanda cried for the loss of the young life another murder charge to add to those already allotted to the three men. It set back their recovery and gave them more evidence of the evil in the world an evil which they both fought so hard against and had so recently been an unwilling part of. Mark and Steve were immersed in guilt, and nothing Donna could say could do anything to alleviate it. The funeral was a horrid affair. Both Jesse and Amanda insisted on being there and Mark and Steve, despite their misgivings, agreed and attended themselves even though both felt horribly responsible.
The darkness lasted for a few days afterward as each of them strove to deal with the new feelings of pain and remorse. Donna sent them each a sweet `thank you' note, which, unfortunately, only succeeded in intensifying the misery they were all enduring, although they didn't tell her that. They had no intention of inflicting their suffering on anyone else.
Deborah continued to be pleased with both her patients, however, despite the setbacks, and a few weeks later, Amanda returned to work, followed shortly thereafter by Jesse, who was on restricted duty for a while. He threw himself wholeheartedly into his job, though and when he wasn't at the hospital, he could be found at Bob's. There were occasions when they thought no-one was watching that both of them flinched when someone came too close or invaded their personal space and it saddened their friends. But their determination to overcome what had happened to them also made those same friends beam with pride.

A few weeks after Jesse had returned to work full time, finally taking up the post they had been celebrating when the whole nightmare had begun, he found a disk that had slipped behind his desk in the office he had been allocated at the hospital. He had only had it for a couple of weeks before his attack so no-one had thought to search there.
On the disk were the details of the Government contracts and evidence of the deputy CEO's betrayal of his country. Jesse immediately turned it over to Steve and he gave it to the FBI.
They figured out that it must have been planted on him by someone during his work for the homeless. It was the only explanation. The disk had been next to a jacket he had left there a jacket he had often worn down in the tenements and under the bridges where the real homeless resided.
As to who had given it to him Mark hazarded a guess that it must have been someone else working for Marshall Enterprises who didn't approve of what was going on someone who had obviously feared for his or her life, else why would they have concealed the disk on Jesse and why hadn't they told him about it or contacted him later?
"I can only surmise that whoever slipped you the disc intended to call you later, Jesse," suggested Mark as they sat pondering the subject in the doctor's lounge. "They may have wanted you to take it to Steve or the FBI and obviously they just never got the chance to call."
"So someone at Marshalls figured out that they had stolen the information and killed them?" There was a quiver in Jesse's voice when he asked the question. He had a horrible feeling he knew what whoever it was had gone through after that.
"I'm afraid so," Mark agreed. "And they must have found out where he'd been and who had the disc. These were very clever people, Jess. But it's all over now."
Yes, it was over.
But Jesse would never forget.
The men who had attacked them did indeed get the death penalty, something which didn't exactly make Jesse happy, although Amanda seemed ambivalent about it. He could understand her reaction. It was his own he had difficulty figuring out.
Why wouldn't he want the men who had done such terrible things to him and to Simone and Amanda to die?
Mark could have told him.
Courage, strength and a compassionate heart.
Jesse had all three in spades.
And it was the latter which made him who he was.
Someone special.
Someone they loved a great deal.

END

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