"Nocturne"
Written by Andie and MoJo, 1999

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are property of 1013, Fox and Chris Carter.  All other characters are property of Andie.
Rating: Nc-17 for Chapter Four.  No one under seventeen, please.
MoJo's Notes:  This story falls into my "Weekend Series" of MSR fanfic, following "Modern Alchemy."  But can be read independantly.  It follows Andie's original story, "Resurrection."  One day, Andie and I decided to write a story round-robin style. We hope you enjoy.  Mulder and Scully written by MoJo, Peter and Jessie written by Andie.



Chapter One:

Mulder

Chicago, IL
6:12 p.m.

"In local news, authorities are still baffled by a series of kidnapping in downtown Chicago. Sheryl Miller, of Oak Park, remembers nothing of her seven-day abduction. As you may recall, a taxicab driver found Miller wandering the streets three nights ago. Doctors say she was unharmed, except for a henna marking on her left wrist. Miller is the fifth victim kidnapped over the last three months. If you have any information in this case, please contact Area 5 Police. Turning to weather, here's Jerry Taft with your 5 day forecast."

"Mulder, are you ready?"

"Hmmm?" I turned my head away from the television and hit the mute button.

"Are you ready?" Scully said, annunciating each word. She emerged from the bathroom and my heart stopped.

She was wearing a simple dress that clung to her shapely form, held up only by two thin straps and falling just above her knees. Her red hair softly framed her face in waves. I almost fell off the bed trying to stand up.

"I know you're not concealing a weapon under that," I said suggestively. I couldn't help but stare at her from top to bottom. She was so beautiful.

"Maybe I am," she replied, slipping her toes into tall pumps. Not like the shorter, sensible ones she wears at work. These define the line of her calves. "Never know when I might have to shoot you again."

"Doesn't bother me," I said, turning off the television. "I like my women dangerous."

Scully rummaged through her suitcase, pulling out a small bag of jewelry. She headed back to the bathroom. Already, I could see she was less tense. She needed a break, to get away from work for a while. She's most comfortable in strange cities, where no one knows who we are. And I just wanted to get away from D.C. to spend time with her all to myself.

I walked over to the window, and gazed out at Lake Michigan. The sun had just gone down, and the lights of Navy Pier were starting to come up. Scully liked the water, being near lakes or the ocean. Maybe tomorrow we could take a cruise out on the Lake. There are so many things I want to do with her, but we never get the time. Our work consumes us whole.

"Mulder, ready to go?" she asked again. She knows how easily I get distracted in my thoughts. Of course, most of the time I'm thinking about her.

"Let's go."

Scully rolled her eyes at me and reached for her jacket. "And where are we going again?"

I came up behind her and placed my hands on her shoulders, kissing the spot just underneath her ear. She smelled like vanilla and spice. "I didn't say."

"Is this whole trip going to be a mystery?" she asked, dodging another kiss as she turned around to face me. "First, you don't tell me we're going to Chicago. Or where we're staying. Or for how long. You tell me to get dressed up and you don't even say where you are taking me."

I could see a smile tugging at her lips. She wasn't really annoyed. But she was trying to keep her composure. We'd arrived only this morning in Chicago. I booked us a suite at the Sheraton, the nicest one they had available. Only the best for her.

"Would it have been as much fun if I told you?" I teased her. Half the time, I didn't even know what city we were in. After a while, they all look the same. Except this one.

I reached down, buttoning her jacket for her slowly, lingering way too long around her breasts. Our close proximity was affecting both of us. She was holding her breath as my fingers worked on her coat. As if in anticipation. When I finished, I tilted her chin up and kissed her softly, whispering against her lips.

"Trader Vic's."

Scully gazed up at me and exhaled. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "Trader Vic's?"

I backed away from her, reaching for my suit coat hanging in the closet. I smiled widely at her and started to sing softly. "I saw Lon Chaney Jr. walking with the Queen."

Scully raised an eyebrow at me and folded her arms. She was giving me that "Mulder, you're crazy" look. She should patent it.

I shrugged into the coat and continued singing hoping she'd recognize the tune. "I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's. His hair was perfect."

Scully twisted her lips hard, trying not to smirk.

"Werewolves of London, again," I continued, resting my hand at the small of her back and leading her out the door. "I've always wanted to see Trader Vic's, look for the werewolf."

"Been there and done that, Mulder," she said, closing the door to our suite. "You'll have to try harder, G-man."

"Try harder," I repeated, pulling her body against mine. God she smelled good. "I'll remember that later."

Scully's cheeks flushed red, betraying her cool exterior. "So will I."

There was a sense of freedom in knowing we are just two strangers in this town. I hope Scully was feeling this too. She can let the walls come down, at least while we are here. That's what she's trying to do now. After months of controlling her emotions, she's trying to let them go around me. Live a little. Live it up.

****

Peter

Chicago, IL
6:12 p.m.

I'd like to say I woke up with the rising sun. But that's not the case. For one thing, the sun was setting when I woke up. For another, it was the sound of piano music that woke me.

I lay there for several moments, simply listening. It was easy to recognize the music. Beethoven. Fur Elise. And the person playing it had a wonderful technique that brought out even the slightest nuance of the song.

I smiled to myself as I sat up. I didn't want to disturb her and I tried to be as quiet as possible as I padded into the studio area.

I stood there for several moments, watching her as she played. She was still dressed in her favorite flannel pajamas and I couldn't help smiling. She looked so lovely, so innocent. Automatically, my thumb ran over the band on my left ring finger. Even after nine months, it still astonished me that we were married, that she wanted to be married to me. That we were joined together in body, mind, heart, and soul.

She suddenly turned to me and smiled, the Beethoven piece still ringing through the air as she continued to play.

"You know," she said, with mirth in her voice. "It's impolite to stare."

I raised my hands in surrender. "Mea culpa, my love."

She giggled. "You're so sexy when you speak Latin." Her eyes roamed over me, as potent as a caress. "And you have this wonderful ability to turn stripy boxer shorts into something erotic."

I shook my head and laughed as I stepped over to the piano and sat down next to her on the bench. "And as always, Jessie, you are a tease."

Her playing stopped as she kissed me. "Admit it," she grinned. "You enjoy it."

"I most certainly will not admit it," I said with mock indignance. "You'll hold it over me for the rest of my days. And we both know that's a long time."

We laughed again and for a moment I gazed into her eyes. Pale green tranquility peered back at me and I reached up and brushed a few locks of her auburn hair out of her face.

"What?" she whispered.

I shook my head, unable to express the wonder I felt at how much this woman loved me, how much she had given up for me. Instead, I kissed her passionately. I felt her arms slip around me, holding me tightly as she returned the kiss. When we finally parted, I smiled at her and kissed the tip of her nose.

"Would you like some tea?" I smiled.

She laughed again. "I'd love some tea."

Reluctantly letting her go, I stood up and headed for the kitchen. As I stepped away, Fur Elise started up again.

As I dropped the kettle onto the stove, I reached over and turned on the small, battered radio that sat on the counter, hoping to catch some news. The announcer's voice droned on as I open one of the cabinets to search for the tin of Earl Grey tea.

"In local news, authorities are still baffled by a series of kidnapping in downtown Chicago. Sheryl Miller, of Oak Park remembers nothing of her seven-day abduction. As you may recall, a taxicab driver found Miller wandering the streets three nights ago. Doctors say she was unharmed, except for a henna marking on her left wrist. Area 5 Police are still investigating."

I frowned slightly. That was the fifth kidnapping in three months and to be honest, I was a bit worried. Not for myself, but for Jessie. It wasn't like me to take an alarmist position, but I was getting to the point where I didn't want to leave her alone. Especially considering all the kidnappings happened at night. Besides, something about the whole situation was niggling at me. There was something ever so slightly familiar about it all.

I shook the feeling off as I poured the hot water and tealeaves into the strainer, watching as the tea flowed through into the mug below. Milk and sugar were quickly added and a minute later, I was carrying the mug back out into the studio area.

"Voila, madam," I smiled as I handed her the mug and settled down next to her again.

She smiled at me. "Thank you," she said softly as she took a sip of the tea.

"And now, tell me. Just how long have you been up?"

She sighed, staring into the mug. "Since four." Her eyes lifted up to me. "I'm just not used to this new sleep schedule."

I smiled and shook my head. "Don't worry about it, my love. It took me nearly a year to get used to it."

"Oh, that's a big comfort," she grinned.

I laughed and then watched her for a moment, trying to think of a way to keep her with me tonight. I smiled as an idea came to mind.

"Would you come with me to the gallery tonight?" I asked.

She looked up, startled. "Why?"

"Well, my show is going to open soon and we're in the last stages of setting it up. I'd like to get your opinion of it."

She blinked. "I thought that was Jeremiah's job. After all, he owns the gallery."

He shook his head. "He hasn't been around the last few days. His staff thinks he may have run off on another one of his art buying excursions."

She smiled and took another sip of her tea. "Sounds like him."

"Eccentric is his middle name," I smiled.

"I thought it was James."

I laughed. "So you'll come with me?"

"Of course."

I felt a wave of relief roll through me as I leaned forward and kissed her.

"Come on." I grinned at her. "I'll help you get dressed."

She smiled at me. "And you call me a tease."

****

Scully

9:50 p.m.

Chicago was a beautiful town. Maybe because for once I wasn't chasing a flukeman or liver eating mutant. I equated cities with cases. And this time, we were here for no other reason than to be together. Mulder knew I loved the water. And Lake Michigan was absolutely breathtaking.

Especially at 1,000 feet in the air.

The city sparkled beneath us, a million lights of all different colors as we stared at it from the observatory deck of the John Hancock Center.

Mulder was playing with one of those binoculars on a stand, shoving a dollar into it to make it work.

"Hey Scully, I think I've got something," he said, reaching for my hand. He pulled me in front of him, so I could peer through them.

"Check that out," he said. He had it pointed out by the Shedd Aquarium and Adler Planetarium. His hands were on my hips, his body pressed against my back.

"Nice," I said, referring to the feel of his hips pressing into mine.

"This better?" he asked, pretending to adjust the binoculars with one hand. But instead his fingers crept to my stomach, just beneath my breasts. I felt my temperature rise.

"Hmmm, much," I replied, leaning into his touch. There were a few people left on the deck, the observatory would be closing soon. Some soft music played in the background, Chicago jazz.

"I'd love to make love right here," Mulder whispered in my left ear. "Above the city."

Illicit thoughts roamed through my mind. There would be time for that later.

"You know what I want to do?" I asked, turning in his arms.

"With all these people around?" Mulder replied, holding me tighter.

"I want to go on a night cruise on the water. I can see boats on the lake from here," I said, motioning below.

"How about we go back to hotel and cruise in that big bathtub?" he asked, pressing his hips into mine.

My face flushed. It was nice to feel like a normal couple for once.

"C'mon Mulder," I said, elbowing him. "I'm here to see the city, too."

He smiled. He could never deny me anything.

****

We were walking down Michigan Avenue, away from the Hancock Center. They called it the Magnificent Mile and I knew why. Mulder was holding my hand as he stopped to look at the Water Tower. There was a small courtyard, with trees and benches surrounding it. It was amazing how busy Chicago still was. Even though it was past ten, the city streets were filled with people walking. I could feel an element of danger to it as well. Shadows and darkness amid the lights and sparkle.

I heard a pit-pat-pit-pat and turned around, disengaging from Mulder. It was a horse drawn carriage. I smiled at the rhythmic sound of hooves on the cobblestones. Necessary transportation of an age long ago, now it seemed romantic. Connecting to the past.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, grasping. I turned, expecting to see Mulder. But instead, it was tall man with brown hair and pale eyes.

Just in time to catch him as he collapsed into my arms.

He was heavy, a dead weight as I clung to him, trying to ease him down. People gasped around me.

"Mulder!" I called out. I removed my jacket and made a pillow for his head. I loosened his shirt. He looked dazed, pale, and almost anemic. He was a white male, in his late thirties. I carefully opened his eyes. They were dilated. He was gasping for air.

"Scully, what happened?" Mulder said, hands on knees bending over.

"Call an ambulance," I instructed. "He's in shock."

A crowd was gathering around us. Mulder flipped out his cell and started dialing. I yelled for people to get back to give him some air.

I laid my hands on his forehead, his face. It was cold. Very cold. But he was sweating profusely.

"Does he have ID?" Mulder asked, ear leaning into the phone.

I patted him down, not feeling a wallet. I shook my head.

"Ambulance should be here in about ten minutes," Mulder said.

"Can someone give me their coat?" I asked. A man shook out of his trench and gave it to me. I covered him up, hoping to keep him warm and still.

He was still for a moment. I brushed his thick hair away from his temples. Suddenly, he snapped to life, eyes shooting open. He grabbed my hand in a fit of energy.

"Jessica?" he cried out, squinting at me. His hand released mine, long fingers reaching to touch the ends of my hair. "Jessica? Is that you . . .?"

"It's okay," I said, wondering who Jessica was. His eyes fluttered close and he was unconscious again. I laid his hand down across his chest.

"Wait," Mulder said, stepping over the man and leaning down. "What's that?"

He picked up the man's wrist and turned it over. Mulder pushed back the sleeve to reveal some kind of brown mark on the inside of his left wrist. At first, I thought it was a cross, but it wasn't. It was inverted and had an oval shape at the top.

I looked up and across, into Mulder's eyes. Something was seriously wrong.

****

Cook County General
11:00 p.m.

"I need you to fill out this form," the nurse said to me in the emergency room, handing me a clipboard.

They shuffled the man into an examination room. I was right; he had lost a lot of blood. They were treating him for shock.

Mulder was staring at him through the window of the room.

"How can I fill this out? I don't even know who he is," I said, holding the pen above the paper. The woman shrugged at me. I slapped it down on the desk and joined Mulder.

"How's he doing?" I asked, leaning my chin on his shoulder.

"Still seems pretty dazed," Mulder said.

"They're wanting me to fill out paper work. Was there anything at all in his pockets that give a name, a phone number, an address?" I inquired.

"No," Mulder replied, reaching in his pocket. "Just this."

It was a gallery flyer. For some artist named Peter Aylebourne. Under the name, there was a phone number scribbled.

"Wonder if this guy knows who he is," I said, staring down at the paper.

"We need to call the police," Mulder said, turning to me.

"Why?" I asked, staring up at him. "Don't you think that's premature? Let's find out who is he first."

"No, Scully. Did you see that marking on his wrist?" Mulder asked, motioning to his own.

"Just a tattoo," I shrugged, folding my arms.

He shook his head. "Earlier, when you were getting ready, there was something in the news about a series of kidnapping here in Chicago. Victims disappear for days, only to be found later. Dazed and confused with a henna tattoo on the wrist. The left wrist. Just like our friend here."

I took a deep breath, staring back at the man. What was that Chinese proverb about saving someone's life and being responsible for them? I felt responsible to this man, to at least find out who he was.

"Let me call this number," I said, digging Mulder's cell phone out of his pocket. He grinned wickedly as my fingers accidentally brushed something else.

"It's not just a cell phone in my pocket," he whispered, winking at me. "Give it to me when you're done. I'm calling the police."

I rolled my eyes and walked away down the corridor, dialing the number. I hoped whoever this "Peter Aylebourne" was he was awake at this late hour. The phone rang three times.

"Hello?" came a woman's voice.

"Hello," I said. "I'm looking for a Peter Aylebourne?"

"I'm Jessie, his wife," she said. "Let me get him for you."

Jessie. Jessica? The woman he was calling for?

"Hullo, this is Peter," said a man with a British accent.

"Peter Aylebourne? Hi. My name is..." I stopped. Mulder and I were under assumed names in Chicago, not wanting anyone to trace our whereabouts. And Mulder used our names from that case in Arcadia here. The ones I hated. "...Laura Petrie and tonight, I found a man wandering the street."

"Yes," he said, wanting me to continue. His voice sounded rich and melodic.

"He collapsed and we rushed him to the hospital. He's very anemic and in shock. He had no ID, only your gallery flyer in his pocket."

"Describe him to me."

"He's very tall, I'd say six feet five. Dark brown hair, light blue eyes," I said.

The man gasped. "Jeremiah! We'll be right there. What hospital?"

"Cook County General," I said, glancing back at Mulder.

"We'll be right there," he said, his voice both panicked and relieved.

I snapped the phone shut and walk back to Mulder. "He knows him. He's on his way."

"Good," Mulder said, sitting down in a chair and taking the phone from me.

I motioned to the door. "After you call the police, I guess we can go."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, punching 911. "Hi, I'd like to report on a missing person. What's his name?"

"Jeremiah," I answered, sighing. "We're done playing Good Samaritan, Mulder."

"Don't you want to find out who these people are?" he asked me, then to the phone. "Yes, I'll hold."

I took a few steps away from Mulder, wishing he'd let this go. I walked back down a bit to the entrance doors. Mulder had a sixth sense for trouble. But I was hoping he'd leave this with local authorities. I glanced back at him, as he talked on the phone. Lost in my thoughts.

Suddenly, a man flew through the emergency door, running full speed to the desk. A woman followed him; her purse accidentally smacked me as it flew on her arm.

"Sorry," she said, stopping for a second. She skidded across the floor, joining him at the desk.

I started walking back to Mulder. It looked like he was wrapping up the call.

"A man was brought in tonight. With no ID. I have to see him," the man said, breathless from running. His voice was rough from inhaling.

"Who are you?" the nurse asked.

"We're his...family," the woman said, trying to catch her breath.

"His name is Jeremiah. Jeremiah Adderley," the man said, calming down enough for me to detect the accent in his voice. It was him. Peter Aylebourne. How did they get here so fast?

"Please," the woman, who must be Jessica, pleaded. "Can we see him?"

The nurse started rattling off policy and procedures, of needing some positive ID and insurance.

"Is he through there?" Aylebourne said, motioning at the room by Mulder. He dashed in that direction. His wife looked at the nurse, raising her hands up in frustration before following him.

I was almost to Mulder by now, but Aylebourne raced to the door, pressing his fingertips against the glass.

"Jeremiah! Dear God," he said, closing his eyes. His hand reached for the doorknob.

"Hold on a sec. Who are you?" Mulder said, stopping him by grabbing his wrist.

"He's Peter Aylebourne," I said, pulling Mulder's arm away.

"The name on the flyer," Mulder said, withdrawing his hand. "Your friend is in pretty bad shape."

"Did you find him?" Aylebourne said, looking at Mulder then me.

"I did," I said. "He's going to be all right."

"Thank you," he said politely, reaching out to shake my hand. He covered mine in both of his. His touch was warm. "Thank you so much."

"Where has he been the last few days?" Mulder asked, putting his hands on his hips.

"We thought he was on an art buying excursion," Jessica said. She hugged her husband from behind, laying her cheek on his shoulder as she gazed at us. She had red hair, long and wavy. With pale features and the clearest green eyes I'd ever seen. Jeremiah must have mistaken my hair for hers. "Thank you for finding him."

"C'mon," I said, tugging Mulder's arm. "Rob. Let's leave them alone."

Mulder started to move, but then stopped.

"Who are you again? Family? Friend?" he asked, gazing at Aylebourne.

Aylebourne turned and looked up at Mulder. "We're the only family he has."

"That doesn't answer my question," Mulder said, his voice getting harder. It was the same one he used when he was interrogating.

"It's the only answer you need," Aylebourne replied. Jessica clung tighter to him, trying to pacify the growing tension. Just like I was trying to pacify Mulder. He needed to let this go.

"Rob," I said, tugging harder. But he shook me off.

"Did you know he was found with a tattoo on his wrist?" Mulder continued, holding up his own. "A henna tattoo. I believe in the shape of an...what is that...."

Aylebourne drew himself up to his full height, worry spreading across his brow. His wife loosened her grip slightly. "What kind of mark?"

"An ankh," Mulder finished, remembering the word. "An upside-down ankh."

Aylebourne's eyes grew larger, throwing a glance back to Jeremiah and then back to Mulder. "No, are you sure?"

"You don't seem too surprised," Mulder pressed. "Why is that?"

"We didn't know he was missing," Jessica jumped in. "We didn't know anything was wrong."

"Why is that, Mr. Aylebourne?" he repeated.

"Rob, we have to go," I said again. My eyes locked with Jessica's for a second. She understood the frustration.

"Who the hell are you?" Aylebourne asked. "To question me?"

"You don't answer the questions," Mulder replied. "Kidnapping is a federal offense. If you know anything at all about this, I suggest you talk to the local authorities. They'll be here soon."

Aylebourne stared back at Mulder, anger flaring in his eyes. "You called the police?"

"Yes, right after we called you," he said. Edging closer to Aylebourne.

I could feel a confrontation building, over what, I wasn't sure.

"He did the right thing," Jessica said, her husband slipping out of her grasp.

"What do you know about this?" Mulder asked, getting in Aylebourne's face.

"I don't know anything," he replied, pushing past Mulder. "I don't know anything at all."

Aylebourne stormed out of the emergency room. I had to restrain Mulder from following.

"No," I said authoritatively. "Let it go."

"I'm sorry," Jessica said, with a pained look on her face as she watched him leave. She stared at Mulder, then me with her strange eyes, before running after her husband.

"He knows something, Scully," Mulder muttered, his jaw set tight as he watched her leave. "He knows something."

****

Jessie

Cook County General ER Waiting Room
11:23 p.m.

I found him in the waiting room, hunched over, his face buried in his hands.

"Why him?" I heard him mumble. "Why Jeremiah? He has nothing to do with this. He's an innocent."

"Peter?"

He froze at the sound of my voice, quickly falling silent.

Seeing him there in obvious anguish over whatever had happened to Jeremiah, tore at me. I stepped over to him and knelt down in front of him. Carefully, I wrapped my hands around his wrists, gently tugging his hands from his face.

The look of distress there broke my heart.

"Peter," I whispered. "What is it?"

His blue eyes stared straight into mine, filled with an ancient, intense pain. A moment later, they closed and I watched as he swallowed and tried to get his grief under control. He took a deep breath.

"Do you remember how I told you I had a long and colorful history?" he whispered.

I nodded.

"Well," he murmured. "The color of this particular history is black. And Jeremiah has been drawn straight into the middle of it."

I stared at him. "So you do know something about this."

"I have suspicions. And I can only pray to God that I'm wrong."

For some reason, fear began to creep through me. "What is it, Peter? Please tell me."

He shook his head. "Not here, Jessie. When we get home." His eyes widened in pleading. "Please trust me."

The desperate request touched me and I couldn't help myself as I reached up, laid my hands on either side of his face, and softly kissed him. "I trust you, Peter." I whispered.

The smile he gave me was filled with gratitude as he reached up and touched my face. As always, his touch was gentle. "I love you," he said softly. A moment later, his arms were surrounding me, embracing me.

I hugged him tightly. "I love you," I whispered back to him.

We held on to each other and I let myself absorb the warmth of his body as I laid my head against his shoulder. As I did, my eyes fell on the nurses' station where Peter and I had frantically inquired about Jeremiah. Standing there, watching us, was Mrs. Petrie. The moment my eyes locked with hers, she blushed and turned away, darting off to find her husband.

Gently disengaging myself from Peter, I softly kissed his forehead. "I'm going to go talk to one of the doctors and see if I can't find out anything."

He nodded.

As I stood up and stepped over to the nurses' station, I glanced back at him. He still sat hunched over, his elbows propped on his knees, his hands folded against his mouth as if praying. Knowing Peter's deep faith, it wouldn't have surprised me if he was.

I turned back to the nurses' station and found a small woman peering expectantly at me.

"Jeremiah Adderley?" I asked.

Immediately, she was holding out a clipboard to me. "I need you to fill this out for him."

Taking the clipboard, I peered at the form and found a sticker at the top showing Jeremiah's name, address, birth date, and insurance information. I blinked in surprise. The only time a hospital would be able to generate one of those was if the patient had visited the emergency room before. I'd made enough ER visits during my first marriage to know that for a fact.

The form asked me for things like allergies, changes in insurance information, pre-existing medical conditions. Knowing Jeremiah was a healthy man and that he could easily pay his hospital bills out of his own pocket, I quickly filled the form out and handed it back to the nurse.

"How is he?" I asked patiently.

With her precious form filled out, the nurse was suddenly a lot more amiable. "He's resting comfortably and the doctor thinks it might be good idea if he spent a few days in the hospital. He'll want to speak with you."

I nodded. "Can we see him?"

"Go right on in. He's in trauma room number three." She pointed off to my left.

I turned back to tell Peter that we could see him if we wanted, but when I turned to him I found his chair to be empty. I sighed and shook my head. Leave it to Peter to take matters into his own hands.

Stepping down the hall to the trauma room, I happened to glance back and spotted the Petrie's at the other end, carefully watching me. Particularly Mr. Petrie. His hazel eyes peered at me with an intensity that made me shiver. I sighed. I didn't want to think about him and his accusations. All that mattered was getting Jeremiah well. I pushed the door open and stepped into the trauma room.

The sight of Jeremiah so pale and ill made my heart drop into my shoes. His eyes were clasped shut and his face wore a troubled expression. Peter was sitting in rickety chair off to one side, peering at him, his blue eyes filled with worry. He looked up at me as I stepped in.

"What did they say?" he said softly.

"The doctor is coming in to talk to us," I answered. "They want him to spend a few days in the hospital."

"Why?"

"I imagine the doctor will tell us."

As if in response to my words, the door opened and a tall, slender, slightly balding young man stepped into the room. He wore the traditional green hospital scrubs and peered at us through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

"I'm Dr. Greene," he said simply. "Are you the patient's family?"

"We're the closest thing he has to a family," answered Peter. "His blood relatives are in England. Bristol, to be exact."

Dr. Greene nodded, then turned his attention to the clipboard in his hands. After several quick moments of study, he spoke.

"Mr. Adderley is suffering from both anemia and hypovolemia."

I blinked in sheer surprise. "Hypovolemia? Massive blood loss?"

Dr. Greene turned a startled expression to me. "In laymen's terms, yes." He shrugged. "The mystery is that we can't find any sort of wounds that would account for such a high volume loss."

I glanced at Peter and found his face had gone just as pale as Jeremiah's.

Dr. Greene continued. "We'd like to admit him to the hospital for a few days. Just to make sure he's stable and the condition is not reoccurring."

"That would probably be a good idea," I answered.

Dr. Greene handed me the clipboard. "I'll need you to sign here to admit him."

Taking the clipboard, I scribbled my signature on the line he indicated. Then I handed it back to him.

There was a soft knock on the door behind Dr. Greene. He turned in time to see a Chicago police officer step into the trauma room.

"Hey, Doc," he said to Dr. Greene in obvious recognition. He then turned his attention to us. "Peter and Jessica Aylebourne?"

We nodded.

"I need to talk to you both about Mr. Adderley."

"If you could take your questions outside, I'd appreciate it," Dr. Greene interjected.

"It's just few questions, Doc."

"Outside," he said firmly. "Away from the patient."

The officer nodded and we all stepped out into the waiting room. I glanced down to the end of the hall and found the Petrie's still standing there. Mrs. Petrie was somehow managing to look both frustrated and bored at the same time.

"What's your relationship to Mr. Adderley?"

"He's our friend," answered Peter.

"When did you see him last?"

"About a week ago."

"Do you have any idea where he's been the last few days?"

Peter shook his head. "His staff at his gallery said he'd gone off on one of his art buying excursions. He does that every now and then. He'll hear of an estate sale or auction or something and will take off to see if he can find any bargain priced art."

The officer glanced back at the couple who was intensely watching us being questioned. "Mr. Petrie there seems to think you're somehow involved in Mr. Adderley's abduction."

Anger briefly flashed in Peter's eyes, but his voice remained steady, his tone calm. "Mr. Petrie has known me for all of half an hour. And he's accusing me of crime? Don't you think that's jumping the gun just a bit?"

I mashed my lips together to keep from grinning as I silently cheered my husband on.

"My only concern," continued Peter. "Is for Mr. Adderley's well-being. If Mr. Petrie has a problem with that, then I'm afraid it's his problem alone. I refuse to make it mine." Peter reached over and took my hand. "I'm certain we've answered all your questions, sir. If there's nothing else, we would like to get back to caring for our friend."

The officer stared at us for a moment, then nodded. Still holding my hand, Peter led me back into the trauma room. I didn't bother to glance back to see what the Petries' reaction was.

In the trauma room, I hugged Peter. "I'm so proud of you," I whispered.

He silently hugged me back. When we parted, he stepped over to Jeremiah, he face still a mask of despair. He reached out and gently touched his left wrist, his fingers brushing over the brown marks on the pale skin. "I'm so sorry, Jeremiah." he whispered.

"Hypovolemia," I said softly.

"We both know what caused it," he said quietly.

I fell silent, remembering something that Peter had once told me about how the world we lived in was just like any other; filled with heroes and criminals, angels and devils.

Good and evil.

It looked like Jeremiah had run straight into that evil headfirst.

The door to the trauma room opened and Dr. Greene stepped in, followed by a couple of orderlies. Seeing us, he looked a bit startled. The orderlies moved to either side of Jeremiah's bed, gently pulling down both the IV bag and the blood bag that had hung from hooks on either side of him and carefully holding them aloft as they began to push his bed out the door.

"We're moving him up to his room now," said Dr. Greene.

"Can we stay with him?" Peter asked quietly.

Dr. Greene shook his head. "Visitors aren't allowed up on the hospital level at this hour." Seeing the stricken look on Peter's face, his tone became a bit gentler. "Look, there isn't much else you can do. He's pretty out of it and my best guess says he's going to be out until at least tomorrow afternoon. The best thing you can do is go home. We'll call you if his condition changes."

Peter opened his mouth as if to protest, but I reached out and touched his arm. "He's right, Peter. We can at least gather up a few things to bring him when he does wake up."

Peter stared at me a moment, then nodded. He held his hand out to Dr. Greene, who shook it. "Thank you for all your help."

I held out my own hand to him. His grip was firm and warm as he shook my hand. "Thank you," I said softly.

He nodded, then followed Jeremiah's bed out the door.

Peter stood there for a moment before he let out a resigned sigh. Then taking my hand, we stepped out of the trauma room and headed for the exit.

It only took me a moment to realize that the Petries had disappeared.

****

Continued in Chapter Two