Synopsis: A sequel to "A Most Peculiar Birthday Present." Steve &
the gang 
struggle to deal with Amy's death.
Resurrection
May 29th
Amanda looked down at the gravestone sadly. AMY KATHRYN PORTER, it 
read. She knelt down beside it.
"Hey Amy," she said tentatively. She knew that Amy couldn't hear 
her, but she needed to say something. "We all miss you. Jesse, Mark,
me... 
we miss you a lot." She took a deep breath and forced back the tears that 
were threatening to fall. "And Steve... well, Steve misses you the most. 
But you already know that. He's hurting a lot. On the inside. You know how 
he keeps all his feelings bottled up, though." Another breath. "I
went over 
to his house the other day and... I had never seen Steve cry before. He 
just... broke down." A tear fell, but she brushed it away hurriedly. 
"I 
thought you'd want to know, even though you probably can't hear
me, that you've got four people down here that cared about you. Well, at 
least I hope you're above us." She smiled sadly. "And we still do. 
Care 
about you, that is. And say hi to Mark's wife, Kathryn, for me. You can't 
miss her." And then, in a whisper, "Good-bye, Amy."
May 26th
Amy slammed the door and sat down on the steps with anger. She had 
plans to play basketball with Doug that night, but Steve was making her 
baby-sit the son of Steve's date, Eve Walsh. "It's hard for her to find a 
baby-sitter as a single mother and all," he had said. But what he had said
last had stung her the most. "I wish I had never taken you in. It's not 
worth it." It was said under his breath and Amy wasn't supposed to hear
it, 
but she did. She had stormed out of the house and sat down on the steps. 
She felt a foot kick her lightly in the back and then pull away.
"Oops. Sorry, Amy. I didn't see you there." Dr. Mark Sloan, 
Steve's father, sat down beside her. "Not to mention it's dark out
here," he 
added. When he saw the troubled expression on her face, he became concerned.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
Amy looked down at her shoes. "Me and Steve got into a fight," she 
explained softly.
"What was it about?"
"He's making me baby-sit for the son of his date and I already had 
plans. And he... he said..." She trailed off, unable to go on.
"What did he say?" Mark asked, just as the door opened. Steve stood 
there, his face registering suppressed anger.
"Let's go," he said evenly. Amy glared at him and stalked off to the
car. Father and son stood in silence until the car door slammed.
"Steve, try and talk to her," Mark said.
"I told her-"
"Steve..." The classic father warning tone was in Mark's voice. 
"Okay." Steve gazed at his father for a moment. "I'm going to
be 
late." And with that, he was gone.
"Thank you so much for watching Clarke," Eve said, a huge grin 
plastered to her face. "No problem," Amy replied, forcing a smile. 
"We'll see you in a few hours, Amy," Steve said, but Amy would not 
look him in the eye. Knowing that he wouldn't have a good evening because of 
his guilt, he shut the door behind he and Eve.
"Can we play cars?" Clarke asked, a hopeful, boyish grin gracing his 
face. At the moment, Amy felt like locking him in a closet, but then 
realized it wasn't his fault. It wasn't Eve's fault either, or Steve's for 
that matter. She realized she was the one being stubborn. 
"Let's play cars," Amy agreed, taking the young boy's hand. She 
intended to apologize to Steve the next time she saw him. At the time, she 
had no idea how long that would be.
"Something wrong, Steve?" Eve asked, putting her hand on Steve's arm.
"No. Not really anything I want to talk about right now." Steve 
looked at his date and smiled. 
"It's Amy, isn't it?" Steve nodded.
"How did you know?"
"Just the way you acted around each other. Is there a problem 
between the two of you?"
"We got into a fight right before I came to pick you up." He looked 
down at his hands. "I said something I wish I could take back." 
"Steve, she's a teenager. She'll get over it. Tomorrow, she'll have 
forgotten all about it." Steve forced a smile for Eve's sake.
"You're probably right," he lied. What he had said was so cruel... 
If there was anything wished he could take back, it would be that. But what 
was done was done and he hoped Amy would forgive him in time.
"Oh no!" Clarke shouted, seeing the grape juice fall onto the white 
carpet. "Oopsies." 
"That's all right, Clarke. You keep playing cars and I'll clean it 
up. Do you know where Mom keeps the rug cleaner?"
"Under the sink," Clarke answered, obviously happy because he wasn't 
in trouble. He returned to smashing a pair of red and blue cars together.
Amy walked into the kitchen and crouched down near the cabinet under 
the sink. She opened it.
Drain cleaner... window washing fluid... dishwashing detergent... 
black box with beeping red light and timer...
"Huh?" she said aloud. Cautiously, she moved the various bottles out
of the way and looked at the black box. She had seen way too many movies to 
make the mistake. It was a bomb. She read the timer quickly: 0:15. Not 
much time. She stood up and raced into the living room. 
"Clarke?" The young boy looked up at her. "Clarke, why don't
we go 
outside and play?"
"But Mommy said we couldn't go outside when it's dark out."
"Well, I'm making an exception." Amy said, taking the boy's hand. 
They got to the back door and Amy yanked it open... 10... 9... 8... Clarke 
walked outside and raced into the backyard.
"Go next door!" Amy shouted. She shut the door behind her and 
started to go after him, but her shirt was caught in the door. 
"Dammit," she 
swore, trying to pull herself loose.
Clarke raced up to her and tried to help her.
"No, Clarke. Go next door now!" The five-year old jumped back, 
startled, and tore out of the yard. 6... 5... 4... The shirt began to 
tear. "Yes!" Amy cheered silently. 3... 2... 1...
BOOM!
The loud bass beat of the song shook the entire car. 
"Sorry," Steve apologized, turning the radio down. "I didn't
know 
that was going to happen."
"That's all right," Eve smiled. "But as I was saying, I work as
a 
reporter for the L.A. Times."
Steve whistled. "How'd you get a break like that?" 
"My father is a colleague of the editor and he got me in. I did take 
journalism classes. Don't think I just walked in off the street. It was my 
major at Ithaca."
"Really? I've always wanted to go to New York. Never got around to 
it, though." Steve noticed she was staring out the window. "Am I
really 
that boring?" he asked, only half-joking. A fire truck sped past, sirens 
wailing.
"No, I'm sorry, Steve. I just noticed that it was the fourth fire 
truck that we've passed."
"I was beginning to notice that, too." Eve's expression changed to 
worry as Steve and the fire truck both turned onto Eve's street.
"Steve, you don't think..." Eve looked up at him with wide eyes.
"Amy can be trying, but she would never let a fire start," Steve 
assured her. Eve relaxed a bit, but still looked a little tense. They got 
near the house, but found it roped off with yellow police tape. The both 
leapt out of the car and gazed at the charred remains of the house. A pair 
of fire fighters were trying to put out the last of the fire and Steve could 
see several bomb squad members walking through the rubble.
"Stay in the car," Steve demanded. He got out and shut the door 
behind him. Flashing his badge, he quickly walked up to who looked like the 
person in charge. 
"What the hell happened here?" Steve asked, showing the man his
badge.
"Looks like a bomb went off somewhere in the middle of the house. We 
found a-" Eve rushed up beside them.
"Where's my son?" she asked, tears welling up in the corner of her 
eyes. Suddenly, Clarke came racing out of the house next door.
"Mommy!" he squealed, jumping in his mothers arms. Eve held her son 
close. 
"Clarke, what happened?" Eve asked, brushing a stray lock of hair 
from the boy's face.
"I spilled juice on the rug and then Amy went to get magic cleaner to 
get it out and then she got scared and she told me we can go outside and then 
she got her shirt stuck in the door and then she said a bad word and then she 
told me to go to Timmy's house and then I went to Timmy's house and I heard a 
big boom!" Clarke tried to catch his breath as panic rose in Steve's
chest.
"As I was saying, Detective," the man continued. "We found a
body in 
the backyard." 
"Oh God..." Steve murmured. He raced to the back of the house where 
paramedics were zipping up a green body bag.
"Pretty sad stuff," the female paramedic said to her partner. 
"Real 
sad."
Her partner nodded. "Kid couldn't have been more than thirteen." He
looked up and into Steve's eyes. "You the ME?"
Steve shook his head numbly. "Can I see the... the..."
"The body?" the woman asked. She shook her head. "Not enough
to 
make an ID. Not even with fingerprints. The pathologist is gonna have a 
hell of a time with this one."
"Rocky road!" Jesse argued.
"Vanilla swirl!" Amanda insisted.
"Rocky-"
"Children?" Mark interrupted. "Can we settle this after we
figure 
out what killed Mr. Peterson here?"
Jesse crossed his arms and pouted as Amanda pulled a brown file 
folder out from under a stack of papers, amused.
"Single gunshot wound to the head. Self-inflicted. Suicide note 
next to the body. It's an open and shut case, Mark."
"Oh, but then we don't get to have any fun," Jesse whined. "No 
mystery, no bad guys, no fun at all." Mark smiled at his colleague and
shook 
his head, chuckling.
"All right, Amanda. You win. It's a suicide." 
"And I win because rocky road is the best ice cream to exist," Jesse 
announced triumphantly, a boyish grin on his face.
"Jesse, vanilla swirl is simply the best there is and you need to 
deal with that fact," Amanda said seriously. That is, until she broke out
in 
a fit of giggles.
"Hey, Dr. B. Got one for you." A lanky man, not much taller than 
Jesse, entered the path lab wearing a paramedic uniform. Also, he was 
pushing a gurney along with a body bag on it.
"Shoo, boys," Amanda said, with a wave of her hand. "I have
work to 
do." With that, the two doctors left. 
"What do we have here?" she asked, as soon as she was alone with the
man.
"Bombing down on Raven Avenue. A little house in the suburbs, not 
too far from Malibu." Amanda shook her head in disgust. "Anyway,
they found 
a body in the backyard. Little kid, too. I'm guessing mid-teens at the very 
oldest." 
"I'll have an autopsy done right away," Amanda said.
"See you later, Dr. B.," the man smiled.
"Nice seeing you again, Jason," Amanda replied as he left. She 
quickly prepped for the autopsy and unzipped the body bag. She took a step 
back and took a deep breath. The simple sight of such a gruesome death made 
her feel a little dizzy, but she was soon all right. She finished unzipping 
the body bag and looked down. Something shiny caught her eye. 
Curiously, she reached down for it. Upon closer examination, she 
realized it was the remains of a ring. She could barely make out an 
inscription: *Happy Birthday, Amy. Love, Billy.*
"No," she said aloud. It couldn't be...
Mark dragged himself up the stairs and into his house. Sighing, he 
quietly let himself in and was surprised to find his son sitting alone at the 
kitchen table with all the lights off. 
"Steve? Something wrong?" Mark asked, becoming concerned.
"It's -it's..." Steve stopped, unable to go on.
"Steve, you know you can tell me anything."
"Amy's dead!" he blurted out.
"What!?"
The younger man closed his eyes and forced the tears back before 
continuing. "Eve and I got back from our date and the house... It was all
in pieces. A bomb had gone off and Amy had been in the house and..." 
Steve 
stopped, several tears flowing from his closed eyes. 
Mark looked at his son in shock before returning to the real world. 
"Steve, son, I am so sorry. I know how much you cared about Amy."
"But, Dad, this was different. I said something, not necessarily to 
her, but it hurt her so much and she died while being angry with me."
"I'm sure she wasn't angry with you. People get into arguments all 
the time."
"What I said had been so cruel... I- I told her that I shouldn't 
have taken her in because I didn't think it was worth it. But it wasn't 
true. It never was. I was just angry and I said it and I didn't mean it 
and..." Steve lowered his voice. "And now she'll never know."
"No matter where she's at right now, I'm sure she's watching you. 
Amy knows you didn't mean what you said."
"This is all my fault!" Steve exploded. "If I hadn't let her
stay 
with me, she'd be safe in a foster home somewhere!"
"Steve, let me share something I believe. I believe that God has a 
plan for us all. If Amy was supposed to die today, then she was going to die 
today, no matter what she was doing or where she was. You aren't to
blame."
"Then I'm going to find the guy who did this to her and make them 
pay." Steve gritted his teeth in anger. He stood up and stalked out of
the 
room. Mark looked down at the table and felt his own tears come. Amy had 
been the closest Mark had ever had to a grandchild. He just hoped that where 
ever she was, she was happy.
"Yes, I understand. I'll tell him," Amanda nodded and hung up the 
phone slowly. She leaned her head on the door frame and made the tears that 
stung her eyes return to their ducts. She had just learned of the death of 
Amy from Mark. Of the four in the tightly knit group, Jesse was the only one 
who didn't know yet and Amanda was elected to tell him.
"Hey, Amanda. I have found the coolest ice cream shop where we can 
hold the con... Amanda?" Jesse entered the pathology lab, a grin on his 
face, but his expression quickly turned to concern. "Amanda, are you all 
right? Why are you crying?"
Amanda drew in a ragged breath and tried to compose herself. 
"Amy's dead," she said, unable to hold back the waterfall of tears 
that were rushing out.
"Amanda, come here," Jesse murmured, pulling his friend into a hug. 
He closed his eyes. A single tear squeezed out and rolled silently down his 
cheek.
Steve sat at his kitchen table, alone. On the table lay several 
school papers of Amy's. With trembling hands, he picked one up. It was an 
Algebra paper she had doodled all over. In the corner, there was a small 
stick figure of Superman with a police badge hanging off its belt. 
Underneath, it read: *Super Steve: Leaps tall fences in a few bounds!* Steve 
smiled a little, bit it just made his heart hurt even worse.
Jesse sat at the island in the center of his kitchen, his chin 
resting on his folded arms. He stared into space, a thoughtful expression on 
his face. He missed Amy. Now who was he going to get to help him set up 
Steve for a practical joke or to defend him when Steve yelled at him and 
Amanda for investigating when they weren't supposed to? No one, he thought 
to himself. He hadn't realized until now how much he had taken her for 
granted.
Amanda sat on the couch in her living room holding a pillow over the 
knees that were drawn up to her chest. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She had 
called Colin and asked him to take CJ for the weekend, so she wouldn't have 
to worry about him. After losing someone close to her, she didn't really 
feel like having the responsibility of watching a rambunctious three-year 
old. She really didn't feel like doing anything at all.
Mark sat in the Community General doctor's lounge, his chin on his 
hands. He felt awful inside. The sudden and tragic death of Amy had brought 
back memories of his wife, Kathryn, who had died after suffering from cancer 
for three months in the hospital. He loved both of them dearly and now 
missed them with the same passion.
May 27th
"I'm sorry, Sloan. No can do," Captain Newman declined. "I
cannot 
put you on the Walsh bombing case."
"You have to!" Steve exploded. "I need to know who did
this," he 
said. lowering his voice.
"Sloan, there is the issue of conflict of personal interest. I know 
Amy meant a lot to you and I'm putting my best men on the case."
"Why can't I be one of them?" the detective asked evenly.
"Steve, I know you're hurting, but you are in no shape to even be at 
work now. Go home and take a few days off." Steve was a bit taken aback
by 
the rare use of his first name by the captain, but was undaunted. He opened 
his mouth to protest, but was quickly cut off. "Go home. That's an
order."
"But Captain," he pleaded.
"Dismissed." Still angry, Steve stalked out of the precinct. By 
time he got to his car, he had cooled down some, but not much. He sat in his 
car and saw a note sticking to the steering wheel. It read:
Hey Sloan-
How does it feel to know that 
you're responsible for killing ME 
and HER?! I was as good as dead 
for THREE YEARS and now 
I've made sure that since you've 
taken away something I hold dearly, 
that I've PERMANENTLY taken 
away something you hold close. 
Have a nice day, Sloan.
- A friend.
Enraged, Steve tore the note into tiny pieces. Realizing whatever 
prints that could have been recovered were now gone forever, he cursed 
silently and leaned his head against the steering wheel in defeat. Slowly, 
he let his logic take over and pushed his emotions aside for the time being. 
Whoever had sent the note had obviously been the same person that bombed 
Eve's house. Furthermore, it seemed to be someone Steve had jailed for three 
years. That is, in
assumption that it wasn't a practical joke and the note was bogus...
"No," Steve said aloud. If there was one small lead that could help 
find Amy's killer, then he was going to take advantage of it any way 
possible. He quickly started the car and drove home.
	Amanda sat down heavily in the chair at her desk. She looked at the 
stack of autopsy reports and letters that filled her desk. She randomly drew 
a letter from beneath a pile of medical supply catalogs and slit it open with 
a scalpel. She made a mental note to disinfect it before her next autopsy. 
Before sliding the paper out, she glanced at the return address: Bishop & 
Sons Dentistry. Her heart began to pound. Dr. Bishop was Amy's dentist. 
She slipped the sheet of paper out and unfolded it. 
*To Whom it May Concern:
We at Bishop & Sons Dentistry have positively identified the tooth remains
as 
those belonging to one Amy Kathryn Porter...*
The words became a blur as tears filled Amanda's eyes. The slight 
shred of hope that the body wasn't Amy's was ripped from her grasp. The 
worst thing, however, was that she had to tell everyone. She knew the 
hardest thing she'd have to do was look Steve in the eye and tell him that 
Amy was gone forever. Slowly, she slipped the paper back into its envelope 
and filed it in her filing cabinet. New tears sprung from her eyes when she 
saw Amy's smiling school photo looking up
at her from the paper-clipped file.
Just then, Jesse entered the path lab. 
"Hey, Amanda," he said, in a barely audible tone. Little sleep and 
the loss of a friend had taken its toll on the young doctor. "Whatcha got 
there?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.
"Amy's file," Amanda replied softly. "The tooth fragments were 
verified to be... well, you know. I was just filing the letter away."
"God, I miss her," Jesse said lowering his eyes to the floor. Amanda
looked over at her friend. "You know, I never told anyone this before, but
after Amy was shot and before I told anyone she came out of the coma, we 
talked. For a long time. She told me she could see Steve performing CPR. 
The odd thing was, it was from above."
"You think she had a near-death experience?" Amanda asked in
surprise.
Jesse nodded and continued. "Anyway, she also said that she saw Mark 
working on her in OR. Then she saw a light and, well, you know, from there 
on it's the same thing as you read about other people's. Except with the 
'superior being' or angel or whatever you call it asked her if she wanted to 
go or stay..."
"She said yes because she wanted to see her brother and mother again, 
but was forced back anyway like in everyone else's story," Amanda finished.
"No." A pause. "She said she wanted to go back because she
wanted 
to stay with Steve." The two looked at each other for a few moments in 
silence. "She really loved Steve, you know. She didn't have a father and 
Steve was all she had." Another pause. "And she was all Steve had,
as far 
as having kids." A small smile crept across his face. "You know he
can't 
find a normal, sane female to go out with, let alone procreate with. Geez, 
now that would be scary."
"You're right." Amanda almost smiled. Almost. She then turned 
serious. "This has to be tearing him up inside. You know what, I'm going 
over to his house right now. He probably needs someone. You coming?"
The young doctor smiled again. "Yeah. My shift ends in about 
fifteen minutes. Want me to meet you there or..."
"I'll wait."
Steve sat alone at his kitchen table and stared into his cup of 
coffee. The dull brown liquid reflected his pain-etched face. He had been 
forced into taking sick-leave, something he didn't want to do. Then, there 
was a knock on the door. Steve quickly looked in the mirror to make sure no 
obvious signs of his true feelings were showing. He stood up and answered 
the door.
"Hello?" he asked, opening the door. There stood a young girl, about
Amy's age, with a notebook in one hand. 
"Hi, you must be Steve," the girl said softly. Steve dug his 
fingernails into his palm. It was all he could do to keep from crying.
"Yes. And you are..." He let the sentence hang.
"Oh, sorry. I'm Alexandra Wells. Alex, actually. I am- was one of 
Amy's friends." Steve forced a lump down in his throat as the girl handed 
him the notebook. "We kept a notebook. We wrote each other notes in it
and 
gave it to each other in between classes." She swallowed and brushed a
tear 
away that had begun to fall. "I thought you might want it." Alex
handed the 
notebook to him. Steve could now see that it was covered with stickers and 
pictures cut and torn out of magazines.
"I can't. It'd be like reading her thoughts..." Steve declined,
giving 
the notebook back.
Alex held her hands up and shook her head. "Keep it. She'd want you 
to have it." Steve accepted it and brought his hands down to his sides. 
"And we're all gonna wear these on Monday. For her," she added,
handing him 
a small red bow with a pin attached to the back. "My mom's waiting in the 
driveway, so I'm gonna go now," she said awkwardly. With that, she dashed 
off to the golden mini-van parked in the Sloan driveway.
Steve closed the door and tried to digest what had just taken place. 
He sat down at the table heavily. With shaky hands, he opened to the middle 
of the notebook and read.
*Alex-
Hey. What's up? N/M/H.*
Steve wasn't sure what N/M/H meant but read on.
*I got a an A on that Algebra test third period. Now I'm getting a 
B+ average. But I never would have gotten it if Steve hadn't helped me. Now 
he's going to act like he didn't do anything at all like with the Science 
final. I remember when Mark (Steve's dad, remember?) told me something about 
Steve's mom, Kathryn (that's my middle name!), doing that for Steve when he 
was my age. I guess it runs in the family though, right?*
The 'tough' cop had tears beginning to form in his eyes. He 
remembered his mom doing that and smiled at the memory.
*Anyway, I saw Sean in study hall. He is HOT!!! We were talking 
about the dance next week and he asked me if he was going with anyone and I 
said no and he asked me to save a dance for him and I almost died right 
there!! Did you see Veronica's dress? What a little...*
Steve slammed the notebook shut and became angry with himself for 
reading Amy's personal thoughts. He looked at the cover, at all the pictures 
and words taped to it and became so absorbed in it, that he didn't hear the 
knock at the door. When no one answered, the visitors let themselves in.
"Steve?" a soft female voice called out.
"Amy?" he asked hopefully. He stood up and cursed himself for making
such a stupid mistake. Amy was dead. She was never going to come back again.
"Steve, it's Amanda," the voice said. Amanda and Jesse stepped into 
the kitchen and sat down at the table.
"Hey, Steve. Um... what are you doing?" Jesse asked, eyeing the 
notebook on the table.
"A friend of Amy's dropped this off. They were friends and they 
wrote notes in this spiral and I started to read it..." Steve trailed off
and 
put his face in his hands. 
"Steve, it's all right to cry," Amanda assured her friend, slipping 
an arm around his shoulders. His entire body shook as sobs racked his body. 
Jesse and Amanda could feel their own hot tears roll down their cheeks. 
Suddenly, Steve straightened up and wiped his face.
"You guys, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have..."
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Amanda cut him off, wiping tears 
from his face as if she was his mother. "Would you like us to stay?"
"Could you?" Steve asked, a smile beginning to come across his 
handsome face.
"Anything, pal," Jesse said, a broad grin on his face. Amanda picked
up a tissue and wiped the tears off his face, too, as he tried to squirm out 
of her reach.
"Amanda, really, I can do it myself," Jesse protested. "Amanda,
come 
on!" Inside, Steve still hurt. He was jealous of the way they seemed to 
have gotten over Amy's death. Just then, Mark came down the stairs, having 
heard noise.
"Are you guys having a party down here?" Mark asked. "It's in
my own 
house and I wasn't even invited." He crossed his arms and grinned at the 
occupants of the room. 
"No party here," Jesse said. "But we can have one
arranged!" he 
continued, boyish grin on his face. Steve resumed his staring contest with 
the coffee.
"It's two days to her funeral, you know," Steve remarked quietly. He
looked up. "Are you all coming?"
"I've got Taylor to cover for me and Mark and Amanda have the day 
off," Jesse said, nodding.
"Thanks, you guys. You know, for being there." Steve forced a
smile.
"Always," Mark smiled back.
May 28th
"...and may she always rest in peace," the priest concluded, closing 
the Bible. He made a quick sign of the cross and sought shelter. The rain 
that had begun early in the day had been getting harder and harder with each 
passing moment. As Mark, Jesse and Amanda headed for their cars, Steve stood 
rooted to the spot, looking down at the ground. He thought that maybe if he 
looked at the tombstone long enough, the name would change. Anything but Amy 
Kathryn Porter.
"Steve?" Mark placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
"In a minute, Dad," Steve replied, not breaking his gaze. Mark 
nodded behind him and the trio of doctors left the cemetery. Steve stood at 
that spot for a long time. It could have been minutes, hours, days, he 
wouldn't have known the difference. The raindrops fell harder, faster and 
there were more of them. Steve remembered one of the first few days he had 
spent with Amy. The two of them had gone outside in a rainstorm and splashed 
in the puddles until they were both soaked clear through their clothing.
Steve remembered the pain and worry that had gone through his head 
when Amy was shot. Steve had been assigned to protect her in the case of a 
gang murder, but it was strangely iintertwined with her brother's murder. On 
the way to the trial, Amy noticed that a car had been following them. Steve 
turned into an alley, where he got out of the car, gun aimed. The whole 
memory flashed back to him:
*Amy glanced behind her and back into the rearview mirror. Then, she 
adjusted it and turned around again.
"Will you stop it?" Steve shooed Amy's hand away. "What are
you 
doing?"
"Huh? Oh. That truck has been following us since we pulled out of 
the driveway." Amy turned around in her seat again. She and Steve were on
their way to the courthouse.
"What?!" Steve fixed the rearview mirror and saw that sure enough, 
Amy was right. "You're right." Steve turned the car into an alley. 
The 
other car followed.
"Of course I am," Amy smiled smugly. Steve jerked the car to a stop 
and felt for his gun. His .9mm Beretta semi-automatic was where it always 
was. Pulling it out of its holster, he opened the car door.
"Stay put," Steve commanded and got out of the car. Only, he forgot 
to shut the door behind him.
The car behind them stopped and the driver side and passenger side 
doors opened. Two men stepped out, with guns similar to Steve's.
"Give us the girl," one of them growled.
"Why do you need her?" Steve asked, finger tightening on the trigger.
He wanted to keep them talking as long as he could. Steve felt a presence 
behind him and Amy was there. Amy walked slowly in front of Steve and toward 
the men.
"Amy, get back here!" Steve shouted, grabbing for her arm. He
missed.
"Get back in the car, Steve." Amy's voice was surprisingly calm for 
the situation. Knowing Steve hadn't honored her request, she turned to face 
him. "Steve, get in the car. They'll shoot you. It's me they want. 
Steve-" Amy stopped at the same instant that several gunshots sounded. A 
blank look clouded her face and she brought her hand to her left side. When 
she pulled it away, there was blood on it. All at once, her entire body went 
limp and she fell onto the hard asphalt. 
Steve looked over at the two men. They had both put their guns away 
and were already halfway in the car. He fired three shots at the car. The 
side mirror shattered along with the windshield, but that seemed to be all 
the damage done. 
Steve knelt down by Amy's side and checked for a pulse. He was glad 
to find one, however weak. He placed his ear close to her mouth and checked 
for breathing. It was shallow, but there as well. He whipped the cell phone 
out of his pocket and called in an ambulance.
"I need an ambulance to 156th and Walsh. We have a gun shot wound 
victim down. Pulmonary and respiratory signs are detected, but I don't know 
how long they'll last." Steve quickly hung up the phone, ignoring the 
operator's instructions to stay on the line. "Come on, Amy," he
murmured, 
shrugging off his jacket. He wrapped it around his hand and pressed it 
against the wound. "Don't you even think about dying on me."*
After several days in a coma, Amy eventually woke up and was on her 
way to a
complete recovery. Rather than have her moved from foster home to foster 
home every few months, Steve had offered to take her in until they found a 
permanent place. What Amy didn't know was that Steve was trying to 
officially adopt her. No wonder Amy had been so hurt when he had said what 
he said.
Steve was about to turn away from the grave site when he heard a soft 
voice. The voice couldn't have been louder than a whisper, but he was 
vaguely sure he had heard it. He looked down and sighed. A single tear 
rolled down his cheek and he brushed it away. No more tears. He had cried 
enough in the past few days. He knelt down next to her grave, one hand 
supporting him on the cool granite of her gravestone. He pulled the small 
red bow out from his pocket and set it near her name. He then whispered, 
"Good-bye."
May 29th
Amanda looked down at the gravestone sadly. AMY KATHRYN PORTER, it 
read. She knelt down beside it.
"Hey Amy," she said tentatively. She knew that Amy couldn't hear 
her, but she needed to say something. "We all miss you. Jesse, Mark,
me... 
we miss you a lot." She took a deep breath and forced back the tears that 
were threatening to fall. "And Steve... well, Steve misses you the most. 
But you already know that. He's hurting a lot. On the inside. You know how 
he keeps all his feelings bottled up, though." Another breath. "I
went over 
to his house the other day and... I had never seen Steve cry before. He 
just... broke down." A tear fell, but she brushed it away hurriedly. 
"I 
thought you'd want to know, even though you probably can't hear
me, that you've got four people down here that cared about you. Well, at 
least I hope you're above us." She smiled sadly. "And we still do. 
Care 
about you, that is. And say hi to Mark's wife, Kathryn, for me. You can't 
miss her." And then, in a whisper, "Good-bye, Amy."
She opened her eyes and looked around. Her vision was blurry, but 
she could make out several boxes stacked atop one another. A single light 
bulb hanging in the center of the closet-like room was the only source of 
light she had. After a few moments, her vision cleared, for the most part, 
and she realized that not only was she bound the a chair and gagged, but her 
clothes were torn slightly and a little burnt on the edges. She frantically 
tried to release herself from her bonds, but to no avail. She cursed as the 
rough texture of the rope cut into her wrists and
ankles. The door open and a shadow fell over her.
	May 30th
Steve glanced over at his digital clock. 2:37 AM, it read. He had 
barely gotten any sleep and was sure he'd be in great shape the next day. 
Morning, he corrected himself. The five hours he had left to get sleep was 
quickly becoming less. He rolled onto his side and brought the covers up to 
his neck. A chill went up his spine.
He remembered the old story he heard when he was a kid. Whenever a 
chill went up your spine, someone was walking over your future grave site. 
He forced himself to close his eyes and count backwards from one hundred. 
100... 99... 98... 97... He could hear his father cough from downstairs and a 
dog bark somewhere down the beach. 96... 95... 94... 93... The phone rang 
and... wait! The phone rang? Steve sat up and picked up the phone on its 
second ring.
"Sloan," he answered groggily.
"Steve? Is that you? You have to help me. I don't know where I'm 
at and--" Steve immediately recognized the voice as Amy's. But it
couldn't 
be. Amy was dead. Wasn't she?
"Amy? Oh my God, is that you?"
"Yes! Yes, of course it's me. Listen, Steve, you have to get me out 
of here!" The panic was apparent in her voice.
"Amy, where are you? I'll be right there," he replied, turning on 
the light. He was now fully awake. 
"Steve, I don't know! A store room of some kind. The man left his 
cell phone in here when I was tied up and he didn't think I could get to it, 
but I did and--" Her words were cut off as another person seemed to have 
taken the phone from her.
"Sloan?" the person growled.
"Amy?" Steve said frantically.
"Wrong, Sloan," the voice replied, chuckling. He heard Amy cry out 
and then all was silent.
"Who is this?" he demanded angrily.
"That's for me to know and you to find out," the deep voice 
responded, obviously amused.
"I swear to God, if you hurt her, I'll kill you," Steve threatened. 
His eyes travelled to the gun on the night stand.
"Just one problem, Sloan. You don't know where I am and you don't 
know where your precious little Amy is and when and if you and your genius 
father find us, it'll be too late." Steve ignored the run-on and seethed
in 
silent fury.
"If you even-"
"Stop threatening me, Officer Sloan. Oh, yes. It's Detective Sloan, 
now isn't it?" The anger was apparent in the man's voice. Well, Steve 
guessed it was a man, given the voice. "They promote the man who put me in
jail for three years!" Steve thought of what his father would do in the 
situation.
"Look, if you'll just calm down..."
"NO! I WON'T CALM DOWN!" the man blew up. "I'LL NEVER FORGET
WHAT 
YOU DID TO ME!" The line went dead.
"Hello? Hello?" Steve stared down at the receiver.
"Dad, it was not a dream!" Steve insisted. He, along with Jesse, 
Amanda and his father, were sitting on the porch that overlooked the Pacific 
Ocean. He had called them all to the house and told them about the early 
morning phone call.
"Steve, you've been under a lot of stress lately and..." Amanda 
started.
"Why don't you believe me? You said it yourself, Amanda. You 
wouldn't have been able to tell who the body was without the tooth
remains."
"And they came back positive. You're in denial. You have to deal 
with the fact that Amy is... gone."
"Amanda, what if the records got switched or something?"
"I doubt that," Mark pointed out. "Gerald and I have been
friends 
for a long time and he wouldn't make a mistake like that."
"Gerald?" they all said at once.
"Dr. Bishop. Amy's dentist," he clarified. "He's always been 
accurate. I left him a message to be extra careful with this case."
"What if he didn't get the message? Then he wouldn't have known 
because Amy kept the last name of Porter and he wouldn't have made the 
connection. What if he had an assistant do it late one night who wouldn't 
put effort into it?" Steve put in.
"Steve..." There was a definite note of warning in the doctor's 
voice.
"Look, all I know is that I got a phone call early this morning and I 
am sure it was Amy!" Silence hung like cloud over the group. Steve stood
up 
and stalked into the house.
Jesse, who had been silent up until now, asked, "What if Steve's 
right?"
"Jesse-" Amanda started.
"Just hear me out here," Jesse continued. "Okay, someone wants
to 
get Steve back for putting him away for three years. At least, that's what 
Steve thinks. So anyway, he follows Steve around and figures out that Amy's 
baby-sitting. He plant the bomb in Steve's date's house and waits for it to 
go off."
"But that doesn't make sense, Jesse. Whose body did we find then?"
"Maybe he found someone who looked a little like Amy and then killed 
her and put her near the blast and..."
"But how could he be sure that Amy didn't die in the blast?"
"I don't know! But maybe Steve did get that phone call and Amy's all 
right and..." He lowered his voice. "And everything can be the way
it used 
to be." Another silence filled the air.
"Maybe Jesse's right," Mark agreed softly. He looked at Amanda, 
waiting for a reaction. 
"Maybe, but there's only one way to find out." A slow grin crept 
across her face.
"No, Steve doesn't know about this," Mark said to Chief Masters. 
"But he knows what he heard and... well, you know I'd never ask you to bend
the rules... but could you see if there's anyone who's gotten out of jail in 
the last month or so that Steve put away? And they had to have been in jail 
for three years." Mark crossed his fingers behind his back. Chief Masters
studied his face.
"All right, Sloan. Just try not to get Steve's hopes too high. 
There is the chance that it was a hoax." Masters sat down at the computer 
and pressed a few keys. Another screen came up and he repeated the process. 
His eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Well, Sloan, you're right. Actually, there's three people that fit 
the qualifications." The printer made a few noises and information on each
suspect printed out. Mark picked it up and scanned the names.
"I recognize this one," Mark said, pointing to the photo of Sean 
Pryl. He was a tall man, with blond hair and blue eyes. He didn't look like 
the criminal type, more like the boy-next-door type. Then again, Mark 
reminded himself, you can't tell if someone is a criminal by what they look 
like.
"Pryl? Yeah. Never figured out why they put him away. Not so much 
as a driving citation. He was just let off because of new DNA evidence. He 
didn't do it, but, unfortunately, the jury didn't see it that way."
"He was a patient of mine about a week ago. I remember him because 
he came in with a severe fracture to the right tibia. The bone was sticking 
out of his leg." Masters made a disgusted look and glanced down at the
lunch 
on his desk. He picked the brown paper bag off the desk and threw it in the 
trash can.
"You were going to eat?" Mark chuckled. It was a well known fact 
that no one had ever seen the Chief eat.
"Were. Operative word." Masters smiled, amused by the doctor's 
facial expression. Disappointment?
"Anyway, I remember him. Winced a lot, but didn't complain. And he 
had his wife with him. I think he fell off the roof or something."
"Wife?" Masters raised an eyebrow. "Pryl never mentioned a
wife. 
Then again, we never really talked.
"They were newlyweds. I think her name was Josephine. Anyway, I
just 
wanted to stop by for these," Mark waved the papers. Thanks."
"Any time, Doctor."
"All right." Steve, Mark, Amanda and Jesse were gathered in Mark's 
living room. On the table was the three sheets of paper with information on 
the three suspects. "We have Sean Pryl."
"You can question him, Mark," Jesse said. "You can make up
something 
about checking up on his leg."
"That's what I had in mind, Jess," Mark replied. "You can check
out 
Joseph Rizzo. He's the owner of the Rizzo Auto Shop on PCH. You know what 
I'm talking about, right?" The young doctor nodded. "And Amanda, all
that's 
left is Nick Coleman. He works at a bagger at that Sav-A-Lot store down the 
street from the Rizzo's place."
"What am I supposed to tell him?"
"Say you're a reporter," Jesse suggested. Steve remained silent, 
waiting for his assignment.
"Steve, you wait by the phone in case Amy or her kidnapper try and 
call again," Mark said, standing.
"But, Dad-"
"No, Steve. What'll happen if Amy gets another chance at the phone 
and there's no one here to answer it? We all meet back here in two hours."
Steve didn't protest any further, knowing his father was right.
Mark rang the doorbell of the Pryl residence. A petite, yet 
good-looking woman in her early thirties answered the door.
"Dr. Sloan?" she said, recognition gracing her face. "It's so
nice 
to see you again. Making a house call?"
Mark chuckled. "Actually, I did come to check up on Sean. Is he 
here?"
"He can't go very far," Mrs. Pryl smiled. "Please come in, Dr. 
Sloan," she added, stepping aside.
"Call me Mark," he insisted.
"Then you can call me Joey," she smiled again. "Honey, Dr.
Sloan is 
here to check up on your cast. Could you come in here?" she called. Sean 
Pryl wheeled out of the kitchen. Then it hit Mark. He couldn't have done 
it. Not alone, anyway.
"What a surprise," Sean grinned. "Can I help you with
something?"
"Actually, Sean, I came to see if you were experiencing any pain in 
your leg at all."
Sean shook his head. "None. The meds you prescribed worked really 
well."
"All right. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by,"
Mark smiled
charismatically.
"Anything else?" Sean asked.
"Yes, one last thing, now that you mention it. What were you doing 
on May eighth?" Sean narrowed his eyebrows.
"I don't really remember," he responded. "Probably worked on
the 
computer all day." Mark noticed that he had flinched a little.
"And you've been remembering to take your medicine with every meal?"
"Yes, Mark. He doesn't like the way it tastes, so I just put it in 
his food," Sean's wife interrupted.
"That's all. Don't forget to get your prescription renewed when the 
first one runs out," Mark said, heading for the door. Joey held it open
for 
him and let him out.
"If there's anything you need..." Mark began.
"We'll let you know," Joey finished. "Thank you for stopping
by, Dr. 
S- Mark."
"One last thing. Were you here on the evening of the eighth?"
"No. I was at the hospital. I work at Greenlawn as an R.N. Why?"
"Well, the medicine taken with dinner is the most important and you 
know how awful that medicine tastes," Mark lied. Well, it wasn't exactly a
lie; it just wasn't the truth.
"He did take it. I remember he called me from his cell phone and 
told me."
"Cell phone? Why didn't he just use the regular phone since he was 
here?"
"I thought that was strange. He said it was because we were having 
phone trouble. I didn't notice any when I got home, though. Is that all?"
"Yes. Thank you." Mark walked back to his car and got in.
Maybe he didn't use the regular phone because he wasn't here. Maybe 
he was with his accomplices, Mark thought. He started the engine and headed 
towards the beach house.
"Is Mr. Rizzo in?" Jesse asked the receptionist. She looked up at 
him from her
magazine, annoyed. She blew a huge bubble with her gun and popped it.
"You got an appointment?" she asked.
"No, I would just like him to take a look at my car. I've been 
having problems with..."
"Just drive your car into the garage and he'll be with you in a 
minute." The woman looked back down at her magazine and put on a pair of 
headphones.
Later, Jesse stood over Rizzo as the mechanic worked on the car.
"So, um, Mr. Rizzo..."
"Just call me Joe."
"Um, all right... Joe. Um..." Jesse tried to think of something 
that Mark would say in this situation. "Er, that's a nice tattoo," he
said, 
gesturing to the cobra on his arm. Rizzo gave him an odd look.
"I got it in prison," he said, not looking him in the eye.
"Oh, you were in prison?"
"Yeah. All I did was hit someone with my car and leave. I mean, no 
big deal, right? The kid was already dead."
"Kid?" Jesse choked out.
"Sixteen, seventeen maybe," Joe shrugged. "Gang member. I
probably 
did the city a favor and Sloan locked me up for three years for it."
"Sloan? As in Detective Steve Sloan?"
"Yeah, how do you know him? Listen, my parole officer didn't send 
you out after me, did he? Little..." Rizzo held up the wrench and began
to 
tap it against his palm.
"No, uh, he locked me up, too." Rizzo let out a laugh. 
"For what, stealing candy?"
"No..." Jesse tried to think up a lie. "Um, jewelry."
"From where?" Rizzo asked, no longer interested in the car.
"Just a few houses along the beach. He was in his when I broke into 
it." Great, now he knows that Steve lives on the beach. Nice move,
Travis, 
he thought.
"You, uh, still into that stuff?" the mechanic asked.
"Nah. But I really want to get some good revenge on Stev-, er, 
Sloan. Have you ever thought about it?" Jesse asked coyly.
"You kidding? That's all I thought about the past three years."
"So, you think you're gonna do it?"
"I don't think so. But if I did, I'd go straight for him, you know. 
Maybe cut his brake lines or something. Hey, wait. You ain't a cop, are 
you?" 
"No. I, uh, own a bar in downtown L.A. Never liked guns anyway."
"I do," Rizzo grinned. Jesse swallowed.
"Um, so when will my car be ready?"
"Come back tomorrow and I'll let you know, all right... Um, what's 
your name again?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Uh, Briggs. Norman Briggs. So, I'll see you 
tomorrow then?" Rizzo grunted in response and Jesse headed back to the
beach 
house.
"Mr. Coleman?" Amanda stepped up beside the tall, lanky grocery 
bagger. "Could I have a moment of your time? I'm a reporter for the L.A. 
Star and I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time."
"Sure." The man turned around. "Clyde, get over here and cover
for 
me. I'm going on break."
"Okay," the other man, obviously Clyde, replied, coming over to take 
his place. 
Coleman led Amanda into the Personnel Only room. 
"Now what did you say your name was?" Coleman asked, sitting down at 
one of the tables. He motioned for Amanda to do the same.
"Amanda. Amanda Stone," she lied. She didn't want to give out her 
real name, just in case. She then remembered if this was the guy they were 
looking for, then he'd already know everything about Steve, including who his 
friends were.
"So what are you doing your story on, Ms. Stone?" Coleman asked.
"I'm doing it on a police detective I believe you are familiar with,"
Amanda responded. "Detective Steve Sloan." She saw Coleman flinch a
little.
"Yes, I know him." 
"I understand you were arrested and sentenced to three years in 
prison by him."
"Yeah, but I deserved every moment. I was a petty thief, robbing 
houses, hot wiring ATMs. Nothing big, though."
"Do you still have ill feelings for Detective Sloan?"
"Sloan? No. I got over it a long time ago. I was pretty angry at 
him, but I got over it."
"All right. Sorry about bothering you, but I must be going now." 
Amanda stood up and shouldered her purse.
"It's all right," Coleman said, waving away her apology. "Come
back 
if you need any other information." Coleman went back to his post and
Clyde 
went back to his register. 
Unnoticed, Amanda slipped back into the Personnel Only room. In the 
corner, she saw a copy machine and on a rack near that, time cards. Amanda 
walked over quietly, even though there was no one else in the room. She 
searched the names before her eyes came to rest on Coleman, Nick.
Amanda glanced behind her and slipped it out of the slot. She 
quickly slid it into the photocopy machine and made copies of both the front 
and back. Without getting caught, she left with the two copies.
She opened the door of her car and almost hit it against the 
motorcycle next to it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the licence 
plate.
NC ROCKS
Back at the beach house, Steve sat down near the phone. No one had 
called and he was beginning to become discouraged. Just then, the trio of 
doctors all came in at once. 
"I'm telling you, Amanda. Rizzo did it. He was talking about 
revenge like he was planning on it," Jesse insisted.
"No way," Amanda argued. "It had to be Nick Coleman for the
simple 
and obvious fact that he said he didn't want revenge on Steve. He was trying 
to throw us off the trail," Amanda argued. "And his time card says he
was 
out at the time of the bombing."
"But forty five minutes isn't enough time for him to drive his car 
over to the Walsh house, do everything, and get back without being missed."
"Children!" Mark's tone was that of an experienced father. The two 
fell silent and sat down on each side of Steve.
"Did you rule anyone out?" Steve asked hopefully. All three shook 
their heads. 
"All right. Let's get all the facts here. Coleman could have done 
it because, number one... Well, is there physically any way Coleman could 
have done it?" 
"Not unless..." Amanda trailed off. She sighed in defeat. 
"No." 
Jesse looked smug. 
"As I said, Rizzo is responsible for everything," Jesse announced 
triumphantly. "He was really into getting revenge on Steve. You should
have 
heard him. He practically asked me if I wanted to be in on it with him."
"I'm not going to rule out Pryl, either. I mean, he can't really get
around with his cast, but he could have had accomplices. Also, his wife said 
that he had called her from his cell phone. Maybe he was setting up his own 
alibi while he made sure his accomplices got the job done. He said he used 
the cell phone because of phone difficulty, but Mrs. Pryl said she didn't 
know anything was wrong with the phone."
"The motorcycle!" Amanda shouted, standing up. The other three 
occupants of the room looked at her in surprise. "Coleman could have
gotten 
there and back in time by cutting through traffic on a motorcycle! There was 
a motorcycle in the parking lot of the Sav-A-Lot store and it had his 
initials on it."
"That is a possibility, but not probable. You said that he didn't 
have any ill feelings towards Steve," Mark said. 
"But maybe that was all to throw us off," Amanda suggested. 
"You know, Amanda's right. We should definitely take extra caution 
around Coleman. But there's one last thing I want to clear up about those 
tooth remains..."
"Like why they checked out to be Amy's?" Steve offered.
"I haven't seen Gerald in a while," Mark smiled. "I think it's
been 
much too long since our last visit."
"Sloan's getting too close," he said nervously, pacing in front of 
the tied up girl. She was trying to get out of the ropes by twisting and 
kicking. But that only made the ropes dig deeper into her already raw skin. 
"He knows that you're alive and he won't quit until he finds you." An
evil 
grin spread across his face. "I know how I can make him suffer even more. 
You wait here." With that, he left the closet-like room.
"I thought I'd go for a walk," the girl grumbled after the man had 
left. The man came back with a knife, sheet of paper and pen. He dropped 
the things used for writing on the ground and started at her with the knife. 
The girl closed her eyes as he stepped behind her. She let out a whoosh of 
air as the knife cut through the ropes. She made a mad dash for the door, 
but was quickly stopped.
"Not so fast," he grinned. "You aren't going anywhere just yet.
You're going to write a good-bye note to Sloan and then I'm going to kill 
you."
"And if I don't?" she said cockily. She had nothing to lose; she was 
going to die in any case.
"If you don't cooperate, I'll make it slow and painful," he 
threatened, tapping the knife against his palm.
She began to write.
"Mark! What a pleasant surprise." Dr. Gerald Bishop, a gray-haired 
man in his early sixties stood up from behind his desk and greeted Mark with 
a warm handshake. They both sat down. "I heard about your granddaughter. 
I'm very sorry."
"It's all right," Mark said, not bothering to explain that Amy wasn't
his granddaughter biologically, but in every other way. "I came about the 
verification about her tooth remains. Did you handle them yourself?"
"No. Actually, I just returned from a conference in the Caribbean."
Mark whistled. "I hear it's nice this time of year."
"Mark, it's nice every time of year." Gerald began to chuckle as 
Mark's beeper went off. He glanced down at the number.
"Gerald, I'm sorry, but-" Mark began to apologize. Gerald waved the
apology away. 
"That's all right, Mark. It's probably an emergency at the hospital. 
Stop by more often. It's a shame what it takes to get you to visit me." 
The men shook hands again and Mark walked out of the office and into the 
lobby.
"May I use the phone?" Mark asked the secretary.
"Of course, Dr. Sloan," she smiled, going back to her paperwork. 
Mark dialed the number that had appeared on his pager, his son's number.
"Dad?" Mark recognized his son's voice as soon as he picked up.
"You paged me?"
"Yeah. Did you find anything out?" Mark turned away from the 
secretary's desk and said in a whisper, "Steve, I'm on my way home. I'll 
tell you everything when I get there."
"Sorry, Dad. I'm just... you know."
Mark turned back towards the secretary. "I understand. I'll be 
there as soon as I can," he said loudly. He hung up the phone when a
thought 
occurred to him.
"Excuse me," he said to the secretary.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes, I was wondering what the name of Dr. Bishop's assistant is."
"He has two, but poor Natalie has been out with a bad case of the flu 
for the past two weeks. His other assistant is Lucinda Coleman."
"I see," Mark grinned slyly. "Is she married to a Nicholas
Coleman?"
She shook her head. "Nicky? No, that's her brother."
"Thank you." Mark left the dentist's office to share the news with 
his friends.
	"So Coleman was behind it all along?" Steve asked. Amanda
looked 
triumphant and Jesse looked defeated. Mark just nodded.
"Amanda was right. His feigning not being angry with you was a 
set-up. He knew Amanda wasn't a reporter, so he told her exactly what she 
didn't want to hear."
"We're going over there now," Steve said rising. Mark grabbed his 
arm. 
"Steve, maybe we should wait."
"No, Dad. Every minute we sit here contemplating how it was done is 
another minute of time Coleman walks free," Steve insisted, freeing himself
from his father's grasp. "I'll call back-up in on the way." Jesse
hurried 
out behind him.
"Can I run the siren?" he asked. 
"No, you and Amanda stay here just in case. Dad and I are going." 
Jesse opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it.
"Are you done yet?"Coleman asked impatiently.
"I'm finished," Amy replied, standing up. She rubbed her wrist where
it was red. She looked over her note one last time.
*Steve-
Sitting in this closet of a room, I'm being forced to write a goodbye 
letter to you. Believe me, I don't want to. I don't want to cause any more 
pain than I already have. You were always there for me, even if I didn't 
reciprocate the same way. When I fell off your bike (the one I wasn't 
supposed to be riding in the first place), you were the one who put bandages 
on my skinned knees. When I didn't make the basketball team, you were there 
to help me on my jump shot and I made the travelling team. When I didn't 
have a father to talk to, you were there. As far as I care, Richard Porter 
just donated half my genetic make-up. You're my dad.
I don't know what's going to happen to me, but you have to promise to 
go on. Don't go and do something stupid like take your life. Believe me, 
it's much too precious. Say goodbye to Amanda, Jesse and Mark for me. I 
hope you find someone that is not an insane homicidal murderer to marry 
someday. Remember me. I love you, Steve.
-Amy*
She handed the note to Coleman who skimmed it quickly and sneered in 
disgust. He probably doesn't even know what half the words mean, she 
thought. He grabbed her roughly by the arm and he led her out of the room. 
She then realized where she was. She was in a grocery store, now closed. 
*There goes my chance of yelling to attract attention*, she thought.
Coleman led Amy into another room where there was a heavy metal door. 
Meat locker. Bad. 
"Here's your new home," he said meanly, throwing her in, along with 
the note. She didn't notice it. Before she could escape, he slammed the 
door and locked it. 
"Let me out!" she demanded, banging on the door. "When the
store 
opens tomorrow, they'll find me here!" Coleman peeked in through the small
window.
"Tomorrow is Memorial Day. They aren't going to find you for two 
days. By then, you'll be dead." He began to laugh. "Now, I'm off to
make 
Sloan physically suffer."
"DON'T YOU DARE HURT STEVE!" she screamed, surprising Coleman. 
"DO 
YOU HEAR ME? DON'T GO NEAR HIM!" Coleman almost took her seriously, but 
then realized her position. Through gritted teeth, she hissed, "You have 
your revenge. Now leave him alone."
Coleman began to leave and left for the front of the store. He saw 
Steve's car pull up in the lot. Too late. He stepped outside innocently as 
he and his father leapt out of the car.
"Steve? Wow, what a surprise." Coleman pretended to be surprised, 
but Mark could see he was nervous.
"Where is she?" Steve demanded, pulling out his gun. "If you
don't 
tell me, I'll swear I'll..."
"Who?" he asked innocently.
"Amy and you know it," Mark said evenly. "You made the mistake
of 
leaving your motorcycle out where Amanda could see it. You knew we couldn't 
have pinned it on you if you had taken a car. The time to get there wouldn't 
fit in your break time. But using a motorcycle would." Coleman glanced 
nervously back and forth between the two. He took off.
"Stop right there!" Steve put his gun back in his holster and 
followed him. He cut through an alley and finally caught up with him. Steve 
pinned Coleman to the ground and cuffed him.
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," Steve said, pulling 
him up. "It's your choice."
"It's been almost two hours, Dad," Steve said, leaving the 
interrogation room. Mark stood up and patted his son on the back. 
"Steve, at least we know that Coleman can't do anything to her now. 
It'll just be a matter of time before she finds her way out."
"He said he'd only talk to you," Steve said, changing the subject. 
Mark stepped into the interrogation room.
"You wanted to see me?" Mark said coldly, sitting across from his 
son's tormentor.
"Yes, I want to tell you how I did it," Coleman grinned. Mark stood 
up in disgust and began to leave. "If you stay, I'll tell you where she's 
at." The doctor sighed in defeat and sat down again.
A long story of elaborate planning and twisted pasts unraveled. 
Coleman told Mark how he had stolen a cadaver from a medical clinic and and 
planted her body in the house. He told of how he'd "rescued" her at
the last 
minute, only to keep her locked up against her will; how he'd forced her to 
take her ring off and throw it into the rubble of what was left of the 
cadaver.
"Where is she?" Mark asked impatiently.
"I'm sure that where ever she's at, she thinks it's *cool*," he 
stated, putting extra emphasis on the last word. "You have less than an 
hour."
"To find her?" Coleman nodded. "Did you plant a bomb near
her?"
"No, I'm much more creative than that. Mark probed further, but got 
no more
information. He stepped out of the interrogation room to see his son sitting 
in the chair. He stood up eagerly.
"Did you find anything out?" he asked. 
"He strung me along a little. He said Amy had less than an hour to 
live and that she'd think that where ever she's at was cool."
"Maybe it's one of her haunts. She liked to hang out at... Dad?" 
Steve looked at his father as a look of wonderment came over his face. 
"Dad, 
what is it? Do you know where she's at?"
"I don't think Coleman meant 'cool' as in she liked the place. I 
think he was talking about temperature."
"Dad, this is L.A. in late May. It's warm everywhere."
"Except freezers," Mark grinned, beginning to leave.
"The meat locker at the grocery store," Steve said, beginning to 
understand. "I'll call the owner and tell him to meet us there."
Steve and Mark pulled up at the same time a beat up '84 Oldsmobile 
did. It was dark out by time they got there. Steve flashed his badge when a 
man stepped out of the car. "Are you the owner?" Mark asked.
"Yeah, you said something about someone being trapped in my store?" 
he replied, unlocking the front door.
"Yes, just wait here a moment. We aren't exactly sure," Steve 
responded, running in. 
"Not sure? You woke me up and you aren't sure?" But it was too 
late, Mark and Steve were already in there. The younger man raced to the 
back, throwing the half door that guarded the back, open. He spotted a large 
metal door and ran to it. His heart pounding in his chest, he looked in the 
window.
"She's in here," Steve announced, seeing Amy's still form sitting up 
against a wall of the freezer. "Get the keys." Mark raced to the
front of 
the store and took the keys out of the owner's hand. 
"Here, Steve," Mark said breathlessly. Quickly, Steve unlocked the 
freezer and rushed to Amy's side. His fingers automatically felt for a 
pulse. Slow and weak, but a pulse nonetheless. He quickly shrugged off his 
jacket and wrapped it around her. Careful not to move her too much in case 
of spinal cord or head injuries, Steve dragged her out of the freezer and 
into the warm air of the main store.
"Come on, Amy," Steve mumbled. "I went to your funeral once and
I'm 
not going again." He pulled her up to a surprised Mark.
"Is she still..." Steve nodded quickly in response to his father's 
potential question as he checked for breathing. Shallow, but there. The 
memory of when she was shot raced back to him again. He winced mentally at 
the pain it brought back but was brought back to the situation. By now, the 
owner came to the back of the store to see what all the fuss was about.
"Call 911! NOW!" Steve demanded. The man nodded, a mixture of terror
and surprise on his face, and took off. Steve checked Amy's breathing and 
found it absent. Then he realized her pulse was missing as well. "Dad,
she 
stopped breathing," he said, looking up at his father.
"Start CPR," Mark demanded, as if he was in ER. Mark knelt near 
Amy's head and tilted it back to check the airway. Steve scooted down and 
began chest compressions. They engaged in CPR for about two minutes with no 
results when the sound of ambulances came from the parking lot. Moments 
later, two paramedics raced up, carrying a oxygen mask and a heart monitor. 
They hooked both up. 
I just got her back. I'm not going to lose her again, Steve thought. 
I can't.
"Clear?" the female paramedic asked.
"Clear," the other responded. She pressed the paddles against Amy's 
chest and Amy gave a little jump. The line on the heart rate machine showed 
a blip and then went back to flat.
"Again. Clear." She shocked Amy for a second time. Nothing. 
"I'm 
sorry, sir." She looked up at Steve with dull brown eyes. 
"No..." Steve breathed. The male paramedic took the oxygen mask off 
her face and moved to remove the heart rate machine. No, Steve thought. We 
were so close. Amy, don't you even think about dying on me. He remembered 
his exact words from the day of her shooting as her death became all too 
real. He closed his eyes tightly and reopened them slowly.
Suddenly, a jagged line played across the screen. Amy moved slightly 
to one side. Then, the male paramedic grinned. 
"We got a rhythm." The two loaded her on a stretcher and took her to
Community General. As the two paramedics walked away, Steve could have sworn 
he saw Amy's hand reach for his.
June 4th
Steve poked his head in the room. Amy was curled up in a ball at the 
top of the bed. She was asleep and had at least three blankets covering her. 
He sat down in the chair by the bed and watched her sleep. 
"Steve?" Amy murmured as her eyelids fluttered open.
"I'm right here," Steve smiled down at her. Amy opened her eyes and 
tried to ignore the pain in her chest. The pain tore through her entire 
chest cavity with each move she made. But even more, she tried to hide her 
discomfort from Steve.
"What happened?" she asked. 
"Well, a bomb went off at Eve's house when you were baby-sitting. A 
medical cadaver planted near the house, so she would be disfigured in the 
blast. We thought it was you, but had the tooth remains checked anyway. 
They checked out, but it ended up being the assistant who switched the 
records. She's the sister of the person who set this whole thing up, Nick 
Coleman. Right now, he's in prison awaiting trial. But before my father 
figured this all out, we, meaning Amanda, Jesse, my dad and I, attended your 
funeral and your friend, Alex, dropped this off at the house, saying you 
thought I should have it." He handed her notebook to her and continued. 
"Anyway, I aged twenty years in the past week and at thirtyblmvph, that
isn't 
a good thing."
"Thirtyblmvph? New number to me." Steve smiled. Typical Amy, 
trying to lighten the situation with humor.
"But anyway, you were locked in a meat locker and left for dead until 
Coleman gave us enough clues to find you. You've been in and out of 
consciousness for a few days now."
"But I got away with a few bumps and bruises, right?" Jesse walked 
in, holding Amy's patient chart.
"...and a concussion, three bruised ribs, one broken rib and mild 
hypothermia," the doctor finished, looking up from the chart. "And
Amy, I 
wouldn't advise curling up like that. You'll do more damage that way." 
Amy winced as she stretched out nearly three-fourths length of the 
bed. She brought a hand to her side and forced back tears of pain. Steve 
looked down at her in sympathy. He knew she was in pain, but he had no idea 
how much. He realized that she had been trying to keep her discomfort from 
him.
"Amy, why don't you get some rest?" Jesse offered. "Since Mark
and 
Steve brought you in, we- we've come so close to losing you." His voice 
began to break as Amy looked up at him with sad eyes. "You coded on us
four 
times, Amy."
"Sorry... I... promise... I... won't... do it... again... Stay... 
with me... until I... fall asleep... Steve..." she requested, closing her 
eyes. Her pale hand, IV imbedded in her forearm, slid out from underneath 
the covers. Steve took it and held it. He laughed silently to himself when 
he realized that Amy's entire fist fit in the palm of his hand. He squeezed 
her hand reassuringly.
"I'll stay," he promised. Soon, her breathing became deep and even 
and Steve knew she had fallen asleep. He slowly stood up and kissed her 
lightly on the forehead. With that, he and Jesse left the room.
"Mark, I am so glad this whole thing is over," Amanda sighed, sitting
down in the chair at her desk.
"That goes double for me," Mark agreed. He sat next to Jesse on the 
autopsy table. 
"Ditto," Jesse smiled, taking a deep breath. "She was this
close," 
he said, spreading his index finger and thumb about a centimeter apart to 
better illustrate. "If you and Steve hadn't found her when you did, then 
we'd have a huge case of hypothermia on our hands."
"Speaking of Steve, where'd he go?" Amanda asked.
"He was paged on the way here and had to go take care of something at 
the station," Jesse answered. "And he wasn't too happy about
it."
"No, I don't suppose it would be," Mark said. "If anything like
that 
had ever happened to Steve or Carol... I don't know what I'd do."
June 16th 
Steve stared silently out of the window. He watched the rain fall 
onto the sand, creating small splashes of sand to fly in the air. He looked 
back at the sleeping figure on his couch through the kitchen doorway. Amy 
had come home the day before and had slept away most of the time. She was 
curled up at the top, but since her ribs had healed for the most part, they 
no longer bothered her.
He had watched her sleep the entire night before and a good part of 
the morning. He wasn't feeling drowsy, although he knew he should be. Mark 
came down the stairs and into the kitchen.
"Hey, son," he said quietly, so as not to wake Amy. "Did you
get any 
sleep last night?" he asked, seeing the circles around Steve's eyes.
Steve shook his head. "I couldn't. I watched her sleep all night. 
I thought that if... that if I took my eyes off her for an instant... that 
she'd be gone again." Steve looked up at his father with pain in his eyes 
that told him he wasn't willing to go through that again, but also with the 
knowledge that none of the five were willing to go through that again.
"Steve, it's over," Mark said softly. "It's finally over."
"Dad, you weren't there during the trial. They read the letter she 
wrote me. She thought she was going to die and I couldn't do anything to 
help her. If I hadn't made her baby-sit... If I cancelled my date with 
Eve..."
"It's too late for 'ifs.' What's important is that Amy is safe. It 
isn't your fault." Steve opened his mouth to protest, but stopped. 
Instead, 
he looked up at his father and smiled. It had been a long time since he had 
seen his son smile. Much too long.
Amy began to stir. "Steve?" she whispered weakly. 
"I'm coming," he said. The two Sloans walked into the living room.
"Just wanted to make sure you're still here," she sighed, closing her
eyes again. 
"I'm not going anywhere," Steve said. Mark smiled. 
"Everything's 
going to be all right."
*Yeah*, Mark thought. *Everything is going to be all right.*