Homeless Once More, Part Fifteen
By Cathy Roberts
glroberts@bigfoot.com
A John Carter story, rated M15. Spoilers for "The Miracle
Worker"

WARNING: THERE IS VIOLENCE IN THIS STORY.

"ER" and all its characters belong to Warner Bros. No
infringement of their copyright is intended. This story
was written for the enjoyment of "ER" fans everywhere, and
may be downloaded for your own pleasure. However this
story may not be used, distributed or archived without the
permission of the author.

The last episode seen was "The Middle of Nowhere"

A big thank you to Melissa, the editor who keeps me from
sounding stupid.



The men went into the house and to the living room where
the rest of the Carter family was gathered. The group
included John's aunt, Rebecca Taylor, her husband Charles
and their daughter K. C., Chase's mother Mary, John's mother
and his sister Barbara, and John's grandparents, Millicent
and Robert. Chase was also there, his wheelchair was parked
by the Christmas Tree and he smiled broadly when he saw John
enter the room.

"Merry Cismas, John," he proudly said.

Tears sprang to John's eyes when he heard that. It was the
first actual sentence that Chase had spoken since his overdose.
He blinked hard to keep from crying.

"Merry Christmas, Chase," John said as he put the presents
under the tree.

"Where Anna?" Chase asked.

"Anna moved away, Chase. Remember?"

Chase shook his head, "No. Anna not go."

"I'm afraid she did go. She went back to Philadelphia."

"Anna my friend. You love Anna. She not go," Chase pouted.

John knelt down by Chase, "Anna cared about you, Chase.
But, she was in love with someone else and she went back to
Philadelphia to be with him."

"I'll try to work with you so you can remember that."

John looked up to see who had said that. When he had entered
the room he hadn't made much attention to who was there since
he was expecting to see the usual family members. Somehow
he managed to miss the woman who had now walked up to
Chase. She reminded him of Gillian Anderson, the actress
from "The X-Files", although her red hair was long and curly.
She was short and petite, with pale, almost translucent skin
and bright green eyes. But, she wasn't beautiful, not by
any stretch of the imagination. Still, there was something
about her that made her seem very pretty.

"John, I'd like for you to meet Jessica Cantrell. She's a
rehabilitation therapist. We hired her to work with Chase
and as you can see, she's already accomplished a lot," Millicent
smiled at the young woman.

"Chase has accomplished a lot, Mrs. Carter. He's the one
doing all the hard work." Jessica smiled down at John, "Chase
talks about you constantly and it's a pleasure to finally
meet you."

She extended her hand so John stood and clasped it. She had
a firm handshake and her hand was warm. John's couldn't keep
from noticing that her smile went all the way to her eyes.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, too. I've always believed that
the people at Kenner weren't doing as much as they could for
Chase."

"They have a lot of patients to care for and therefore it
becomes difficult for them to give a lot of attention to one
individual."

"Hey, where's my hug?" Barbara said as she punched him in the
upper arm. "I didn't fly from Europe just so you could
ignore me."

"Merry Christmas, Barb," John gave her a big hug, lifting her
up off the floor. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too. Now, you better give everyone
else a hug or they'll get upset that I'm monopolizing you."

"Okay." John turned back to Jessica, "It was nice to meet you.
Chase, I'll talk to you later."

"Kay," Chase responded.

Jessica smiled, "It was nice to meet you, too."

John left them and went around the room, making sure he
greeted everyone. He saved his mother for last and gave her
a long hug and a kiss.

"Merry Christmas, Mom."

"Merry Christmas, John. You look very nice. New clothes?"

He grinned, "Yeah. Kerry gave them to me."

"She has good taste in clothes. You look very good in that
sweater. It's a good color for you."

"Shall we open presents now?" Millicent asked.

Everyone said yes and she began to hand them out. It was a
family rule that not a single present could be opened until
the last present had been distributed. John had only been able
to afford to buy one present per person, but he had carefully
selected each present and he hoped that everyone liked what
he had bought.

Millicent looked carefully under the tree to make sure that
no more presents remained. "We can open our presents now," she
announced. She returned to her seat on the couch and began to
open her own gifts.

"Come sit by me." Barbara pulled John over to where she had
been sitting on the floor. It didn't take long for the
Carter's to open all their presents and exchange their
"thank you's" for the gifts. Millicent went to the kitchen
to check on the progress of the Christmas Dinner and Robert
went to the bar to fix drinks for everyone.

"John, what would you like?"

"A soda will be fine, sir."

"Are you sure? I do have some beer."

"I'm sure."

"Fine. Branch, your usual?"

"No, Father. I'll take a soda as well. I quit drinking
alcohol a few months ago."

"Is that so?" Robert was secretly pleased to hear his
youngest son say that. He had felt that Branch drank way too
much but had never felt as if it was his right to say
anything to him about it. "Would anyone else like a soda?"

The women all chose diet sodas while Roland and Charles
opted for coffee.

"Mr. Carter, Chase and I would like two regular sodas please,"
Jessica said.

Barbara leaned in close to John, "I knew she would go for
a regular soda. She probably never has to worry about her
weight."

"She looks fine to me," John commented.

"You're a man, of course she looks fine to you." Barbara
grinned and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow.

John looked at Jessica, knowing that he found her attractive,
but not feeling more than that. The idea of making love to
her held no interest at all to him, and he suddenly felt
afraid that he would never have that type of interest in a
woman ever again. The room suddenly felt too hot and crowded.

"I need some fresh air." John stood and left the room,
heading out to the front steps. He sat down on the top step,
resting his head on his knees and taking deep breaths. He
tensed as he heard the door open and close, not wanting to
talk to anyone. He didn't budge when the person draped his
coat around his shoulders and then arms encircled him from
behind. He knew then that it was Barbara because she would
often come up behind him like that.

Barbara rested her head between his shoulder blades,
"Feeling any better?"

"It was stuffy inside. You don't need to baby-sit me," he
snapped.

"I didn't come out here to baby-sit you. You walked out
on me. You looked upset and I wanted to make sure you were
okay."

"I'm okay. You can go now."

"I miss you, John. We don't get to see much of each other."

"You're the one who chose to live in Europe, Barb, not me."
He raised his head and tried to look around at her.

"That doesn't mean I like not seeing you."

John shrugged his shoulders, "Get off of me."

Barbara disengaged herself from him and sat down at his side.
Their parents had already warned her about John's moodiness,
so she was prepared to put up with him.

"I wanted to come to see you back in November, but Dad told
me that you didn't want me to come." She still felt hurt
whenever she remembered how she had heard John in the background
while she was on the phone with her dad. John had made it
plain that she wasn't wanted or needed.

"There was no need for you to be here."

"I thought you might have needed the support."

"I didn't need anybody there then, and I don't need anybody
now. Just drop the subject," he growled.

"I don't understand why you're angry with me. I'm concerned
about you. I was concerned about you then and I'm still
concerned about you now."

"There's nothing for you to be concerned about. All of my
injuries are healed and I'm fine."

"What about your emotional injuries, Johnny? You can't just
push something like this under the rug. There are issues you
need to deal with."

"I told you to drop the subject." He stood and put on his
coat, then headed down the steps. "Since no one will listen
to me, I'm going for a walk where I won't be bothered."

"John, wait. I'll got with you."

He stopped and turned to look at her. "I don't want your
company. I don't want any company period. Just leave me
alone."

Barbara rushed down the steps, "I'll be quiet and you won't
even know I'm there."

"Damn you, Barbara! Why won't you listen to me?" John was
now furious, not only with his sister, but with everyone else
in his life. "My life and my feelings are none of your damn
business. I am fine. I am not going out into the woods to
kill myself, so there is no reason for you to go where you
aren't wanted. Can you manage to understand that simple
concept? I do not want you to come with me. Go back inside
and leave me the Hell alone." His hands tightly clenched,
John turned on his heels and walked away. He hoped that
Barbara would go back in and not try to stop him because he
knew that if she touched him, he would hit her.

Barbara watched him walk away, then she wiped the tears from
her eyes and went back into the house. Even though she had
been warned, she was not really prepared for his angry outburst.
Never before had she felt afraid of her brother, but she had
been afraid today. She didn't like feeling that way about John.

While Barbara was hanging up her coat in the foyer closet,
her parents came out to join her.

"Did John come back in with you?" Roland asked.

Barbara shook her head, "He wanted to go for a walk."

"Alone?" he asked.

"That's what he said," Barbara bleakly answered.

Jenny forced a small smile, "I guess it's a good thing that
dinner won't be ready for another hour. A long walk should
give him a good appetite."

"John never needs any help stimulating his appetite." Even
as Barbara said that, she thought of how thin he looked and
she realized that John wasn't eating as much as he should.
That certainly explained her mother's worry.

"John and I were talking and all of a sudden, he became angry
with me. By the time he walked off, he was furious."

"And I'll bet you that when he returns, he will act as if
nothing happened," Roland said.

"Daddy, maybe I shouldn't say this, but for a minute or two
out there, I was afraid of him. I really thought that he
was going to hit me."

Robert Carter came into the foyer as Barbara said the last
part. "Roland, just how much longer are you going to allow
this to continue?"

"Father, it's not been that long since John was attacked and
a person cannot be expected to recover this quickly."

"He's been seeing that Dr. McIntyre since before he was
attacked and every week since then. I think he should be
further along with his recovery."

"That's your opinion, Father."

"Don't disregard my views, Roland. John needs better help
than what he's getting. I've taken the liberty of contacting
some of the more reputable psychiatrists in the Chicago area.
They are all willing to take John on as a patient. I suggest
that we make an appointment for him."

Roland made himself count to ten before he even tried to
reply to his father. Jenny, however, wasn't as courteous.
She turned on Robert in full fury.

"You have absolutely no right to interfere with John's life
or his therapy. As Roland pointed out, a person cannot be
expected to immediately snap back from a severe trauma, and
it's unfair for you to expect that from John. The best thing
you can do for John is to treat him normally and do your best
to ignore his outbursts and attempts to push you away. If I
ever hear again that you have been calling around Chicago,
discussing John with anyone, then I swear I will take it out
of your hide."

Millicent had come to the doorway of the living room,
concerned over the arguing that was going on in the foyer.
"It is Christmas Day and I will not tolerate arguments today.
Is that clear?" She looked from Jenny to her husband.

"I apologize for raising my voice, Millicent, but I will not
stand by while Robert tries to run John's life. Excuse me."
Jenny returned to the living room, followed by Roland and Barbara.

Millicent gave her husband a cool stare. "What have you
done now?"

"I was only trying to help my grandson. I don't see why that
should be a problem. The psychiatrist from his hospital is
obviously unable to help John, so I took upon myself to find
one who can."

"Dear, I believe that Jenny is correct. You need to stop
trying to run his life."

"I am not attempting to run his life." Robert sounded truly
offended. "I only want John to be happy. If John needs help
to deal with his problems then he should have the best help
available and, in my opinion, his doctor does not meet that
standard."

"Robert, John is twenty-eight years old. I think he's old
enough to decide that for himself." Millicent tempered her
criticism by reaching for her husband's hand. "Let's rejoin
the others."



Out in the woods, John walked aimlessly, hoping that the
physical exertion would eliminate his anger. It was quiet
and peaceful out there, a quality he usually found relaxing.
Not this time though. He knew that sooner or later he would
have to return to the house and he didn't want to do that.
He could still remember the confused look on Barbara's face
as he yelled at her and he didn't want to face her now. He
was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he never saw the
protruding tree root that tripped him, sending him sprawling
in the snow. He sat up, feeling disgusted as he brushed the
snow off of his coat.

"Perfect, just perfect. I can't even take a fucking walk
without doing something stupid."

A splash of red upon the snow to his right caught his eye. A
thousand images flashed through his head, ending with one of
blood splattered against a white table. He shook his head,
"No. I will not think about that. Not now. Not here." He
took a few deep breaths, trying to slow down his rapid heartbeat
and reorient himself. When he once more felt calm, he thought
that an injured animal might be nearby. He got to his feet and
began to look for other signs of blood. He soon found more
droplets, which lead away from where he had fallen. He followed
the short trail, walking slowly and carefully so he wouldn't
further frighten the injured creature. Then he saw it up ahead:
a red fox with something in its mouth. He yelled and ran
toward the fox, startling it and causing it to drop it's prey
before it ran away. John dropped to his knees beside the
small animal. It was a rabbit. Blood matted it's white fur
and its sides were heaving, showing him that it was still alive.

"How could you be so stupid as to get caught?" John angrily
asked as he examined the creature. It's ears twitched, but
it made no other movements. It was painfully obvious to John
that the rabbit was dying and there wasn't anything he could
do to help it. Except to put it out of its misery. He firmly
placed his hand over the animal's mouth and nose, cutting off
its air. In less than a minute, the little body was stilled.
John felt over the rabbit's body, but wasn't able to detect a
pulse anywhere.

"You stupid creature. Didn't you know that you were safe
in your nest? Why didn't you stay there? Now, you're dead
because you put yourself in danger's way. You stupid, stupid
bunny." John wiped away his tears, not caring that there was
blood on his hands. "Well, I'll be dammed if I let that fox
get you now."

He looked around until he found a sturdy stick with a pointy
end, and, after clearing away the snow, he stabbed at the
ground to loosen the dirt. Using the stick and his hands, he
managed to dig a grave for the animal. He kept digging until
he had passed the point he felt would be deep enough to keep
out any predators. He pulled his winter scarf and hat out of
his pockets and laid them on the ground. He gently put the
rabbit in the hat, then wrapped it round with the scarf before
burying it. Once the grave was filled, he gathered snow and
spread it over the dirt, tamping it down and then adding more.
He hoped it would be enough to keep other animals from picking
up the scent and digging up the rabbit. John looked up at the
sky, wondering how it could be such a sunny day when dumb
innocent creatures were being killed. He shook his head as he
thought about the continual waste of life he witnessed on a
daily basis. Too many stupid people letting the predators of
the world get their way, just as the rabbit had allowed the fox
to gain the upper hand. John rubbed his cold hands on his
pants, not noticing that they were cracked and bleeding from
the cold temperature and digging barehanded in the frozen
earth. He knew there was no way he could go back to the house
now. He began to walk in the direction of the road, hoping
that he could hitch a ride back home. He mentally kicked
himself for not bringing his cell phone with him. If he had
it, he could have called a cab and met it out on the main
highway. Another stupid mistake to add to his already long
list.

It didn't take him long to reach the edge of his grandparent's
property. He climbed the wire fence that separated it from the
highway, then stepped out onto the shoulder to see if any cars
were coming. John stared bleakly at the empty road. He should
have known that traffic would be light and practically non-existent
on Christmas Day. He could either start walking back toward
Chicago, go back to the house, or just give up totally. The
latter choice was beginning to look better and better to him.
His life was going nowhere fast and his feelings of helplessness
were increasing every day. He reached into his pocket and
pulled out the card containing the remaining morphine pills from
when he had dislocated his shoulder. He had found them when he
had packed to move from the apartment and he had kept them in
his coat pocket ever since. He liked to be able to touch them,
to know that he could take them at any time and put an end to
the joke his life had become. He did not like the way he had
felt toward his sister earlier and he was scared that he might
soon find himself treating Kerry that way. Barbara had genuinely
been afraid of him and he knew she had a right to fear him.
Just as that poor rabbit should have feared him as much as it had
feared the fox. In the end, it had not been the fox that took
its life, but him. Oh, he knew that he had been wrong to kill
the rabbit, he should have just let it die on its own. But, it
seemed that putting it out of its misery was the compassionate
thing to do. Maybe it was time he showed the same compassion
to himself and those around him.

The only problem that John could foresee was that the pills
might not be enough. He looked down at the packet. It had
originally held twelve pills that contained 100 mg each of
sustained release of morphine sulfate. He had only taken one
pill, so that left him with eleven. Not enough to kill him
quickly. What if he were found too soon? He had resuscitated
his fair share of pill overdoses. Some had recovered all right
and some had been brain dead. Others were merely brain damaged,
like Chase. God, Chase. John had all but given up on Chase
and now look at him. Talking in sentences for Heaven's sake.
And John had been busy telling Chase's father how wrong it had
been for him to revive Chase in the first place. He was clearly
a danger to his own family. He had worked with Chase, but no
matter how hard he tried, he just had not been able to help him.
Not with getting past his addiction and not with his recovery.

The sound of an oncoming car caught his attention, but since
it was headed away from Chicago, he didn't attempt to flag it
down. The car was just a little past him when two bottles came
sailing out of the passenger window, arcing through the air and
shattering upon their impact with the rocky shoulder. The
broken shards of glass glittered brightly in the sun. At first,
John cursed their reckless disregard, but then he thought
that maybe this was a sign as to what he should do.
He shoved the pills back in his pocket, then calmly walked
over and selected the sharpest piece of glass he could find.
This also went into his pocket. Still squatting on his feet,
John looked down the road toward Chicago and thought about
walking toward the city until he found a secluded spot where
he could end his miserable excuse for a life. No, he
reasoned, traffic will pick up as I get closer to the city.
Besides, if his family drove out to look for him, they would
head for Chicago first. He didn't want them finding him. He
stood and walked away from his family and Chicago.

One of the Doyle family Christmas traditions included driving
out of the city and looking at the Christmas decorations on
the houses in the more prestigious areas along the lake. This
Christmas, Maggie and Patrick, her father, were the only two
Doyles who wanted to make the long drive. This was more than
okay with them as they enjoyed spending time together. They
were driving through the most boring area, as the houses here
were near the lake and could not be seen from the road.

"Maggie, can you pull over?" her father asked, craning his
head to gaze back at something they had passed.

"Sure. What's wrong?" Maggie asked as she pulled onto the
shoulder of the road.

"I thought I saw a someone sitting back there by the trees."

"Dad, I don't think there would be anyone out here. The rich
folk are all inside their houses choking down their meals."

"It won't hurt to look." He got out of the car and walked
back. As a cop patrolling the streets of Chicago, he had
learned long ago to trust his instincts. As he neared the
spot where he had spotted the person, he was gratified to
know that retirement had not hindered his instincts one bit.
He waved back to Maggie, beckoning for her to join him. He
saw her get out of the car, then he knelt down by the man
who was quietly sitting there with his back against a tree.

"Are you okay?"

The man mutely nodded.

Maggie knelt down beside him and he heard her sharp intake
of breath.

"John? What are you doing out here?"

The young man looked up at Maggie, his eyes full of sadness, "I
want to go home. Can you take me home, Maggie?" he pleaded
with her.

"Sure. I'll take you anywhere you want to go. Are you hurt?
There's blood on your face and hands."

John looked down at his hands, numbly noting the dirt, scratches
and blood. "I'm fine. The blood isn't mine. There was an
animal...a rabbit. I buried it. I killed it." John buried
his face in his hands, trying to fight back his tears. "Just
take me home. Please?"

"I said I would. Come on." Maggie helped John to his feet,
then got him into the back seat.

After she closed the door, her father asked, "Maggie, are you
sure he's okay?"

"He doesn't appear to be injured, Dad. I'm going to see if
I can talk him into going to the hospital though. I don't
like the idea of leaving him alone at home in the state he's in."

"I agree. Let's go."

They got in and Maggie headed back into Chicago. Her father
passed back several wet naps to John, who, after staring at
them blankly for a few minutes, finally began to use them on
his hands and face.

"Isn't Dr. Weaver working today?" Maggie asked, eyeing him
through the rear view mirror.

"Yeah."

"I have to be to work by six, so why don't I just drop my
Dad off and drive to the hospital? That way, you can catch
a ride home with Dr. Weaver."

John shrugged. He really wanted to go straight home, but
he would take what he could get.

"So, that would be all right with you?" Maggie asked.

"It's fine," he numbly replied.

"Okay." Maggie headed to her parent's house.



Back at the Carter mansion, people were getting increasingly
worried about John. Dinner had come and gone and there was
still no sign of him. Roland finally put on his coat and
headed for the door.

"Not so fast, Rolly. Wait for me," Branch said as he pulled
on his coat.

"And us." Robert and Charles were also putting on their coats,
as were Barbara and K. C.

"All of you don't need to come," Roland said.

"We want to come. We all care about John, Roland," his father
answered for them all.

Roland nodded and they all went out to look for John. Luckily
for them, not many people had been out walking in the woods
that morning and they were able to spot John's footprints in
the snow. Roland's became even more concerned for his son
when the group found a trail of blood that ended in a small
cleared area. There was even more blood here, and the ground
had been trampled over.

"Oh, God, no," Roland murmured.

"Roland, I don't think the blood is John's. Look, there are
footprints leading away from here." Branch pointed them out
to his brother.

"It seems as if he's headed for the highway. Why would John...
Hell, I should know better by now than to ask a stupid question
like that. Come on."

With Roland in the lead, they followed the trail to the highway,
finding where John climbed over the fence. The shoulder of the
road was relatively snow free, so they were unable to determine
which way John had gone.

"Maybe he went back to his house, Daddy," Barbara suggested.

"How? I doubt if he would walk all the way back to Chicago."

"He could have hitched a ride," Robert said.

"Maybe. We had better get back to the house. I know that
Jenny's as worried as I am."

The family quickly walked back to the house. Along the way
Roland's mind was teeming with horrible scenarios regarding
what had happened to his son. He hoped that he was physically
all right, but he had no guarantee of that. Maybe they would
get back to the house and find out that John had called to tell
them where he was. How could he just walk away on Christmas
Day of all days? How could he just walk away, period?



Maggie eased her car into a parking space. "We're here."

"Would you mind if I stayed out here for a little while? I'm
not quite ready to go inside yet." John said.

"No. I'll let Dr. Weaver know that you're out here. It's
getting colder, so you shouldn't stay out here too long."

"I won't. Thank you, Maggie."

"It was no problem, John." Maggie got out and went to the
elevator. As she waited for the doors to open, she looked
back at her car. John had laid his head back against the
seat, his eyes closed. Maggie knew that once she told Weaver
that John was there, that she would see to it that he
came inside the hospital. The doors opened and Maggie got
into the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor.

In the car, John considered his good luck. His original
plan had been to sit in the woods, take the pills and cut
his wrists. If he laid down on the ground, no one would see
him there. But, Maggie and her father had spotted him before
he could do that. At first he had been dismayed at his
apparent bad luck. What were the odds that someone he knew
would be driving out that way? But, then, he realized that
this was even better. Maggie kept her gun in her car. Or,
at least she used to. John climbed over the seat and tried
to open the glove compartment, but it was locked. It just
might be in there, but he decided to search the rest of the
car first. His choice was the correct one, he said to
himself as he reached under the passenger seat and found
the gun. The metal felt warm in his hand and he felt
calmer than he had in a long time. This was the right
thing to do, but he knew it would be wrong to take his
own life in Maggie's car. Deciding to leave nothing to
chance, he took the eleven remaining morphine pills, forcing
them down his throat since he had no water to wash them down
with. Then he got out of the car and began to walk away. He
had not gone far when he remembered that Maggie had told him
ages ago that she never kept her gun loaded. He checked the
gun, discovering that it was, indeed, empty of bullets. They
must be in the glove compartment, he thought. Still tightly
clutching the gun, he turned to go back to the car to get
the bullets. He hated the idea of breaking into the glove
compartment, but he saw no other way to get what he wanted.
He had his hand on the door handle when a security truck
screeched to a stop in front of him. The doors flew open
and he found himself looking into the very scared eyes of a
young security guard.

"Please step away from the vehicle," the guard ordered.

John knew that the man had not seen the gun, and as he backed
away from the door, he raised his arm. The guard paled, then
said something to his partner. Both men immediately drew
their own guns.

"Put down the weapon. No one needs to get hurt here," the
other guard said. "Just stay calm and everything will be
all right."



The first people Maggie had run into when she entered the E.R.
had been Mark Greene and Peter Benton. She had explained to
them how and when she had found John and told them that he
was still in her car. Since she was early for her shift, she
volunteered to take them to the car. When they exited the
elevator at the top level of the parking garage, neither of
them was prepared for what they saw. A security truck sat
idling in front of them and both of the security guards were
standing outside of it, their guns pointed at John, who was
standing near her car, a gun in his hand. Her gun in his hand.

"Get back," one of the guards ordered. "We don't know what
he's going to do."

"We know him. He's not going to hurt anyone," Mark argued.
"Let me talk to him."

"All right, but you can't move closer to him. Talk to him
from where you are."

"Fine." Mark directed his attention to John. "John, I really
think it would be a good idea for you to put the gun down so
we can go inside and talk."

John shook his head, "No. I can't do that. I realized
today that I just can't do it anymore."

"Do what, John?"

"Go on living like this. You should go back inside. All
of you."

"I can't do that, John. I won't go back in without you."

"Then I guess we'll just have to go back in together." John
raised the gun and pointed it in Mark's direction.

As the guards screamed at John to put the gun down, Maggie
said to Peter, "It's not loaded. That's my gun and it's not
loaded. I keep the bullets locked in the glove compartment.
Shit, John knows I don't keep it loaded. Stop him."

John's hand wavered, but he kept pointing it at Mark,
ignoring the guards. He glanced over to Maggie. "I'm sorry
about this. I really am. Would you please tell that to
Kerry and my parents?"

John then swung his arm around, taking aim at the closest
guard and stepping forward. Maggie screamed out, yelling
that the gun wasn't loaded. The security men either ignored
her or never heard her because they both fired at the same
time. John dropped to his knees and looked down at his body,
seeing the growing bloodstains, and thinking that it was
strange that it didn't hurt, then he fell forward. The
three doctors were immediately at his side.

"Get a gurney up here now," Peter ordered as he and Mark
tried to stem the flow of blood from the gun shot wounds.

The older guard radioed downstairs for help while the other
one picked up the gun. He had never shot anyone in his
entire life and he was shocked to discover that the gun he
was now holding had no bullets in it.

The woman looked up at him, tears in her eyes, "John knew
it wasn't loaded."

"He's awake," Mark said.

"John? Can you hear me?" Peter asked.

John nodded, "Yes." He tried to push their hands away.
"Please leave me."

"We can't do that, John. You know we can't do that. Just
hang in there, okay? You're going to be fine," Mark said.

John shook his head. Couldn't they understand that all he
wanted was for the pain to end? As the morphine began to
take effect, he felt his irritation at their insistence on
saving him fade. A warm peace settled around him and he
smiled up at them. "It's not so bad, you know, dying.
Sometimes, it's the only answer."

"That's not true." Peter looked up at Mark, "I think he's
on something."

"I think you're right about that." Mark said. "John, what
have you taken? You need to tell me."

John shook his head and closed his eyes. If he didn't look
at Peter and Mark, then he wouldn't have to deal with them.
He just wanted them to leave him alone. Why was that so
difficult for them to understand?

Mark yelled to the guards, "Where's that gurney? We need
to get him downstairs?"

"It's coming." The senior of the two guards replied. The
police were also on their way, as was the head of security.
He took the gun from his pale and shaky partner, then made
the man sit down in the cab of the truck. It was a messy
situation and he could only pray that the man they had shot
did not die.

The elevator doors opened and Malik exited, pushing a gurney
in front of him. With his help, Mark and Peter got John
settled on there, then took him down to the E.R.

When they arrived in the E.R., Kerry was on the phone. She
had called Roland Carter's cell phone the minute she had
heard that Maggie had brought John with her to the hospital.
Kerry's face went ashen as she saw them wheel John through
the door. "Excuse me a second." She placed her hand over
the mouthpiece. "What happened? Why is John bleeding?"

"Ask Doyle." Mark said as he, Peter and Malik rushed John
into the trauma room. Maggie was approaching her now, a
shocked look still upon her face.

"Maggie? What happened?"

"John's been shot. When we got back to my car, we saw John
and two men from security in a standoff. Mark tried to talk
to him, but John told him to leave. Then he aimed the gun
at one of the guards and I guess they thought he was going to
shoot them. They shot him instead. Dr. Weaver, the gun wasn't
loaded. I never keep my gun loaded. John knows that. He's
gone with me to the shooting range before. Mark and Peter
also think that he took some type of drug. Dr. Weaver, he
was trying to kill himself up there."

"Randi, take Dr. Doyle into the lounge and get her some coffee.
Maggie, I'll be there in just a few minutes. I have John's
father on the phone and I need to tell him what's happened."

Kerry waited until Randi and Maggie had gone into the lounge,
then she wondered just how she was going to tell Roland what
Maggie had just told her. There was no easy way to do it,
that was for sure.