Where were you?

By: Dawn Brown

All Disclaimers Apply

"See ya later, Mark," Dr. Jesse Travis called out while exiting Community General Hospital with good friend Dr. Mark Sloan.

"Remember, dinner at my house in two hours."

"Okay, I won’t be late."

Mark shook his head and laughed while approaching his car, "He’s never on time." Before opening the door to his car, Dr. Sloan checked the watch his son had given him for his birthday to find out exactly what time it was. "Oh boy, I’ll need to drive fast to get home and make dinner," he mumbled to himself. One thing he did get right was the part about driving fast.

Dr. Sloan pulled out of the Community General parking lot and turned right. He reached over and put his favorite Glenn Miller CD in the disc player. Mark whistled along to "In The Mood" cheerfully as he drove along. As he checked his rearview window, he noticed a black car with tinted windows. The doctor didn’t think anything about it and continued to drive on.

Further and further away from the big city to his beach home he drove. There wasn’t any traffic as he got away, but the same black car was very close behind him. Suddenly, Mark’s car jerked as if it had been hit. Surely, enough, the black car was rubbing against his own and wasn’t letting up. Dr. Sloan attempted to speed up, but the other car stayed with him. Instead of heading straight to his house, he decided to try to lose the car by taking a bunch of side roads. This wound up getting him in worse danger. Eventually the two cars drove down a road on a hill. The black car battered Mark’s. Mark lost control of the car and it fumbled down the side of the hill with him in it. His head was banged around until he lost consciousness.

* * *

"Daddy! Daddy, wake up! It’s my birthday!" Little Steve jumped into his parents’ bed. His dad placed his arm around his young son as he sat up to check the time on his alarm clock.

"Son, it’s only five a.m. Why did you get up so early, Steve?"

The little boy continued bouncing around in the bed with a grin a mile wide brightening up his face. "Because, it’s my birthday!" At this point Little Steve’s mom was beginning to sit up in the bed.

"Honey, ya look very pleasant this early morning." She gave a look of death to her husband.

"Mark Sloan, you had better take you son back to his room and get him back to sleep or do something with him that does not involve being in this room."

"Yes ma’am. Come on Stevie, I think mommy needs her rest or she’ll be even grouchier when she gets up for your birthday party." Mark’s wife glared at him for his comment, then lay back down to go back to sleep. Mark leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then arose from the bed. Steve jumped into his dad’s arms and the two exited the room.

"Daddy, I don’t like it when you call me Stevie! I’m a big boy now. Guess how many years I am today!"

"Forty-seven."

"No, silly," the little boy giggled, "I’m this many." Steve held up his left hand raising all five fingers.

"You’re five years old!?!? Wow, you are a big boy!"

With a confident smile on his face, little Steve gave a huge, definite nod of his head. Mark took Stevie to his room to dress him so they could go do something.

"Okay, Stevie, go ahead and run out to the car while I get ready."

"I’m going, daddy, but don’t call me Stevie!"

Steve and his dad walked into the living room. Mark put the jacket he had bought his son a couple of weeks earlier on him. Steve ran to the front door and with all his might turned the knob so it would open. Mark headed to the living room closet and took out a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of shorts to avoid going into the bedroom and risking waking his wife up. It took him approximately five minutes to get ready. He exited the house through the front door. As he walked down the steps in the front of the house, he began calling for his son. "Steve? Steve, are you ready? Steve?"

Mark began to get worried, because there was no sight of his young son anywhere. "Come on Steve, I’ll take you wherever you want to go since it’s your birthday." He began to scream for Steve while running to see if he might be hiding in the family car. The door was open and Steve’s jacket was lying on the ground next to the door. Mark continued calling out for his son. Each time that he said "Steve" his voice became more frantic. The doctor noticed a piece of paper on his windshield. As he read it he fell down to the ground in tears.

"If you ever want to see your son again, you’d better stay by the phone and you had NOT call the police."

A figure appeared on the porch. "Mark, what’s going on? Why are you yelling for Steve?"

Mark stood up and looked at the figure, his wife of several years already. He tried to wipe away his tears and ran up the steps to her.

"Mark, what’s wrong?" she demanded as he stood gazing at her blankly. Frustration was clear in her voice.

"Someone took Steve," was all he could mutter out before breaking into tears again. His wife began to collapse, but Mark grabbed her before she fell, and they held onto one another. Together they went into the house and Mark grabbed the phone to call his own father, a member of the LAPD.

"Dad, please help me. Someone kidnapped Steve and they threatened to not let me see him again if I called the police, and I don’t know what to do!

The voice on the other end answered immediately. "I’ll be right there son."

* * *

It’s been seven hours since you called me, son, and there hasn’t been any sign or evidence of Steve’s disappearance." Mark’s dad stood behind him with one hand on his back as a comfort. Unbelievably, Mark had convinced his father not to call the rest of the force in on it. Mrs. Sloan sat in young Carol’s room.

While the two men stood together the phone rang. Mrs. Sloan ran out into the living room, while Mark raced to grab the phone. Mark’s father looked on.

"Hello?"

"Is this Dr. Mark Sloan, Steve Sloan’s dad?"

"Yes. Do you have my son?"

"How much is the rugrat worth to ya?"

"What do you want?"

"One million dollars."

"One million! I don’t have that kind of money. Are you crazy?" Mark began to freak out, not knowing how to react.

"Well, if you don’t have that kind of money, I’m sorry," the man said in an uncaring voice. Mark didn’t know what to say to the man. Then in the receiver, Mark heard a gunshot and Steve yell.

"Steve!" Mark screamed in the phone.

"Now you’re paying a million for your son’s corpse," the kidnapper said and snapped the phone down.

The phone fell from Mark’s hand as he leaned back against the wall and guided himself to the ground. He kept saying "no" to himself on the way down.

"Son, what did he say?"

Mark buried his head in his arms. He wept and wouldn’t say what had happened.

"Mark? Mark? Our son’s alive, isn’t he?"

With that, Mark looked up at his wife, his face wet with tears, then looked at his own father.

"No, no, Mark, he can’t be," his wife said as she sat down on the couch.

Mark ran his hands through his brown hair. "They shot him while I was on the phone," his lips quivered as he spoke. The silence in the room was unbearable, but then was broken by the chiming of the phone again. Mark walked over and picked it up while his hand shook.

"Yes?"

"You ready to pay for your son’s body?"

Mark drew in a deep breath. "What do you want?"

"If you want the body, I still want the million dollars that I asked for in the first place."

"But," Mark began to get agitated, but managed to stay calm, "when do you want it?"

"I’ll call back tomorrow." The kidnapper hung up the phone yet again.

"He said he’d call back tomorrow." Mark approached his sobbing wife and put his arms around her, only to be pushed away.

"You killed my son! You killed my son, and as soon as we get Steve’s body back, I want you to leave and never come back," Dr. Sloan’s wife screamed.

"Honey, I’m sorry," he cried out to her, but she walked into their bedroom and locked herself in.

"Son, I think we better call in the department on this."

Mark quickly cut him off, "I want Steve back, and if you get everyone else involved, I won’t ever see him again--even though it’s just his body. I have just lost everything I have." He felt a tug on his leg and looked down to see his two-year old daughter Carol. Mark picked her up in his arms, as if he would never let her go. "Well, almost everything."

"Mark, I’ll talk to you as soon as possible about any information I find," he opened the door to leave, "Oh, and Mark, I love you," and he left.

Mark’s dad was not a very emotional person. With all the years on the force, he couldn’t let cases get to him, or he wouldn’t be a good cop. During this whole time, Mark’s father showed no sign of emotion until he told Mark that he loved him, which only happened once in a blue moon.

Mark sat, still holding Carol until she jumped down to play with her toys. He lay down on the couch and began to cry again while watching Carol. Eventually, he fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning Mrs. Sloan walked into the living room to find Mark asleep with Carol in his arms. Mrs. Sloan walked over to the closet and got a quilt out to lay over the two sleeping. She thought about how she had treated her husband the night before. Mrs. Sloan placed the cover over them and began walking towards the kitchen. The phone started ringing. Mark sat up quickly forgetting that Carol was lying there with him, and almost knocked her off of the sofa. He placed her down on the floor and grabbed the phone on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Well, well, Dr. Sloan, are you ready to bring the money?"

"Where do you want it at?"

"Take it to Community General and leave it in the trash can beside the elevator on the third floor. Also, wait for two more hours, because I have other business to tend to." The stranger hung up the phone. He looked up to his wife and told her the news.

"They want the money in a couple of hours down at Community General."

She nodded and then broke down. "Mark, I’m so sorry about what it said. I love you so much, and I know it wasn’t your fault. You mean the world to me…"

Mark grabbed her and cut her off in mid-sentence. "I understand, don’t worry about yesterday. I just want him back. I love you with all of my heart, too."

An hour passed and the Sloans sat together waiting.

"I’m going to have to leave soon to take the money to Community General. A knock came from the door. Mark walked over and opened it. His father stood in the frame of the door holding a familiar baseball cap. "Dad, why do you have my hat?"

"Son, I think you’d better come with me," he said with a serious face.

"You found his body, didn’t you?" Mrs. Sloan asked.

"Actually we think we know where he’s at."

"Dad!" Mark exclaimed. "Which means that you and some of your police buddies are working on it, and I told you not to get the rest of the department involved."

"Just come with me, Mark," his father demanded.

"Honey, wait here by the phone in case something happens." Mark kissed his wife and left out the door with his own father.

* * *

Mark’s father didn’t tell him what was going on while riding along in the car. In fact, neither man said a word to the other. Finally they reached their destination--the American Hotel on 101^st Street. Police surrounded the premises, many with their guns drawn.

"What’s going on, dad?"

"A man has barricaded himself in that room over there," he pointed as he spoke, "He claims to be involved with a group that kidnapped a local man’s son, and to have asked for ransom."

"Are you saying that you think that the local man is me?"

"Yes."

"What made you come up with that crazy idea? The man killed my son over the phone-I heard the gun shot," Mark broke down into tears. "I ask you not to meddle in my business, and all you ever do is end up in even more trouble."

"Mark, my crazy idea is based on the fact, this hat fell off of the man as he ran into the hotel room, and since your name is written inside, I just figured…"

"Steve must have grabbed it and put it on as he walked out the door. He always has loved wearing that hat."

"I know, son, I know." Suddenly gunshots rang out. The man inside the room was firing round after round at the officers. Mark’s dad pushed him down on the ground and they hid out of the line of fire. Finally, the noise from the bullets flying ended. The man inside had been shot. A couple of officers went to the door and broke it down, looking to make sure no one else was inside. When the all clear was given, both Sloan men approached and entered the room. On the bed lay the shirt that Mark had last seen his son in. It was soaked with blood. Upon seeing the shirt, Mark fell back against the wall.

As officer Sloan tried to help his son, two more of Los Angeles’ finest opened the door to the bathroom.

"Officer Sloan, come here, now," one of the other policemen called to him. He finished helping Mark slide down to the floor then approached the bathroom. He peered into the door.

"God bless," he said. Quickly he turned back to Mark, "Mark, get over here, hurry." Mark sat with a blank look. Officer Sloan started crying, "Son, you really need to come here."

Mark looked up at his father and saw the tears in his eyes. "Dad?" Mark ran over to the door. There in the middle of the bathroom, lay a young boy. His arms and legs had been tied, tape covered his mouth and eyes, bruises were in various spots on his body, and he had several scrapes from which he had a little blood coming from. The most important detail, though, was the fact the shirt on the boy was missing.

"Oh, my, Steve!" Mark grabbed his son into his arms, and gently untied his hands and legs then slowly pulled the tape off of his mouth. Before going on with removing the tape off of his eyes, Dr. Sloan did a quick check on his vitals. "Get an ambulance, now! Also, call my wife," he demanded, "Turn off the lights in here just in case he is awake when I pull the tape off." Slowly he pulled off the tape, but didn’t get response either orally or by the eyes opening.

Everything quickly began to stir up. As soon as the ambulance arrived, the EMTs placed little Steve onto a stretcher and began to work on him. His dad stayed by his side all of the way into the ambulance and on the way to the hospital. Of course, Mark even barked commands at the EMTs as they worked on his young son.

* * *

Mark sat exhausted, beside his son’s hospital bed. He rubbed the little left hand and stared at his son’s young face. Slowly, Steve’s eyes began to flutter open.

"Daddy?" he asked in a small weak voice.

"Hey, Steve, how are you feeling," he spoke in a whisper.

"It hurts all over," he said, "Daddy, where were you?"

"I’m so, so sorry son. I didn’t want this to happen to you," Mark battled hard to hold back tears, "I’m so glad that you’re alright."

Steve tried to reach for Mark to give him a hug, but Mark made him lay back down. "You need your rest, Stevie." Mark smiled at his son.

"Don’t call me Stevie," he said with the same tone he normally had when saying that to his father. "I love you."

Mark had begun to cry by this point, "I love you, too." At this moment, Steve’s grandfather walked in. He carried a little teddy bear that wore a blue and red baseball cap, and the cap of Mark’s that the police had found.

"Well, young man, here’s a new teddy bear for you, AND your favorite baseball cap," he smiled at the little boy.

Steve looked at him, then over at his own father and said, "Daddy, I want to be a policeman just like granddaddy when I grow up, that way I can help you and him when you guys are in trouble, and maybe I can work with you, daddy."

"Hi, dad," Mark said, "what else did you find out?"

"Well, the guy in the gun fight is dead, as you know, and we have found out that the other men involved went to the pick-up site, but left as soon as they heard the news. We’re still looking for them, but we are positive they won’t be back." Both men looked over at Steve to find he was sound asleep.

"I’m so glad to have my son back," Mark said as he still gazed at his son.

"Well, I’m glad to have both my son and grandson back," the elder Sloan said, "Mark, did I ever tell you about the time I, well, I know I didn’t so I’ll skip the question. Anyway, about twenty years ago when I was very young and new to the force, I," he rambled on, but Mark had already quickly fallen asleep for the night.

* * *

Mark woke up to see the sun shining threw the blinds at Community General Hospital. Jesse lay asleep on the extra bed in the room all cuddled like a little kid. Amanda was asleep sitting up with her knees pulled up in her chair. Next to Mark’s bed, though, was Steve, asleep, but suddenly waking up as Mark stared over at him.

"Hey, dad," he said has rubbed his father’s head.

Mark coughed as he tried to speak, but Steve put a finger to his lip to signal him that he didn’t need to be talking quite yet.

"You’ve given us all quite a scare, especially me."

Mark finally was able to speak in a whispered voice. "Steve, what happened?"

"A couple of men were chasing you and ran you off the side of the road."

"What happened to them?" he asked yet another question, but their conversation didn’t interrupt the sleep of either Amanda or Jesse.

"When their car hit yours, it must have spun out of control, because we found them both dead after running into the side of a hill only feet from where your car went down." Mark sort of looked away from his son. "Dad, what are you thinking about?"

"Steve, do you remember your fifth birthday?"

Steve gave his dad a sort of startled and confused look. "Yeah, but you said it was something we would never talk about, and to try to forget."

"How long have I been in this hospital?"

"About thirty-six hours, why?"

"While I was, I guess, out of it, I had this dream-not actually a dream, really a nightmare-about when you were kidnapped that year. I just relived the whole thing in my mind and that scares me more than anything else. I can’t believe I let that happen to you." Mark’s breathing became a little heavier.

"I was wondering where you were in your mind while you lie there asleep. Well, Dad, don’t worry about that. Besides, that was forty-some odd years ago," he said, "But, this wreck has something to do with that."

"What is it?"

"The two men in the car were the two that escaped."

"You’re kidding, Steve?"

"Nope, but now it’s over with and we can go on with our lives," Steve smiled at his father.

"It’s amazing how the roles change, son. After you were kidnapped, I was sitting next to the bed holding your hand and staring at you, but now, you’re sitting next to my bed staring at me. I love you, Steve."

"I love you, too, dad, and I won’t let anything in this world take you away from me, sort of like you and grandpa did back then." With that said, Mark fell back asleep as Steve watched on, happy that everything would be all right.