The following story uses characters created by David E. Kelley.  No copyright infringement is
intended.

DISCLAIMERS:  For those who have read my previous stories, this is NOT a parody.  And
originally, I intended this to be a stand alone story.  I started with a what if, but the what if didn't
go anywhere until I decided to tack it on to the season finale.  Then, to make it easier on myself,
I thought I'd drop all the extraneous storylines  (They do it all the time, why can't I?).  But as I
wrote, things began flowing together very nicely, to the point where keeping the chapters a
reasonable length dictated some cutting and pasting, as each storyline wedged itself into my plot. 
I am ignoring the possible Ebola outbreak, because I don't know of anything else that makes
someone bleed from the eyeballs.   And while it was implied that Kronk has his own place now,
it worked better to keep him at Danny's.  At least I've seen what it looks like.  Hang onto your
hats.....

                         CONFRONTATIONS

CHAPTER 1

        Camille drove out of the parking garage really looking forward to her dinner with Dennis
Hancock, and glad to get away from that blaring car alarm.  It had taken her some time to break
through his racial barrier, but she knew it would be worth the trouble.  Puddle, 8 o'clock, she
kept telling herself.   She planned what she would wear as she sat at the red light at the corner.  
She could still hear the car alarm, and it made her smile vaguely.  How much did people pay for
those things, and did they do any good?  It was more often than not someone walking too close;
certainly not hard to do in a parking garage.  She looked in her rearview mirror, and could just
barely see the red blinking reflection on the cement walls.  She thought about it.  What good is a
car alarm if everyone ignores them?  Sure, it's probably nothing, but you never know.  And
suppose it was something, what could she do?  Tell someone, she answered herself.  Angry at
herself for not checking it out in the first place, she swung over into the outside lane, cutting off
another car and getting honked at,  to begin the trip around the block.  A couple minutes later,
she pulled into the same parking garage.
        She drove slowly, looking around for the flashing taillights that should accompany the
alarm.  She spotted them, and drove toward them.  As she neared, she realized something was
wrong, and her heart sunk into her stomach.  A dark pool of liquid was seeping from the far side
of the car. She stopped the car in the aisle and got out, and found him.         
        Dennis Hancock.
        After less than a second of complete shock, her training took over and she knelt by him and
checked his pulse.  He was still alive, thank God. "Hang on, Dennis."  She whispered, "I'll get
help."  Faster than she'd ever run in her life, she hurried to the ER.
        She grabbed the first white lab coat she found, which was Watters. He and Aaron were on
their way to a Board Meeting that would decide the fate of the hospital.  "Philip!  Come quick!" 
She panted, "Dennis has been shot!"  Philip and Aaron broke into a run behind her.
        Knowing they'd follow, she raced back to the parking garage.  "Oh dear God," she heard
Philip utter.  Philip knew there was no time to waste. He bent down to lift the man and realized
he couldn't do it alone.  "Help me, Aaron."  With Aaron on the other side, the two of them
dragged Hancock to the ER and got him onto a gurney.   Camille began handing Aaron sterile
sponges, which he stuffed into and around the wound trying to stop the blood flow.   Camille
began an IV and hooked up a blood supply.  The memories of Alan Birch's shooting flooded
back, the turmoil that took over the ER which was somehow so different when it was one of
their own.
        "How long was he there?  Who the hell did this?"  Shutt knew the questions probably had
no answers at this point, but he had to ask.
        "It couldn't have been long."  Camille really began shaking when she realized the answer to
his second question.   Hancock's sister lay in a hospital bed a few floors up, beaten within inches
of death by her husband, Andy.   Hancock had threatened to kill him.  She swallowed the lump
in her throat as scenarios ran through her mind.  Had Dennis confronted him?  Had he searched
him out, or found him by accident in the garage?   How close had she been to witnessing the
whole thing?  With his rate of blood loss, it must have been only two or three minutes before she
found him, barely enough time to get around the block and back again.  If only she had not
ignored the car alarm at first..... but she knew she couldn't afford to get into the if onlies.  
        "Camille?" Aaron's voice finally came through, and she shook herself.  He must have said
her name four times.  "You all right?"
        "Yes.  I'm fine."  She met his eyes, embarrassed.  "I'm sorry."
        "Call the OR, we're taking him up."  He watched while she nodded acknowlegement, then
pushed the gurney out.
        Watters pulled off his gloves and tossed them in a can.  He put one hand on Camille's arm. 
"You sure you're okay?"
        She took a couple of deep breaths, and nodded again.  "I better call the OR."  
        Philip stayed while she notified the people upstairs what was coming, then "I'll have to call
the police and report it.  They'll want to talk to you, too."
        Another deep breath.   "Okay."  He guided her out and toward his office.


        Diane Grad hefted the box in her arms as she came through the doorway.  She didn't even
know why she was here, except that there was no place else to go.  She headed for her lab.  She
could still get in, even if she couldn't do her research.  She snapped on the light and looked sadly
at the room.  The animal cages were empty, the equipment covered in plastic. The box dropped
from her arms onto her desktop.   It wasn't fair.   She let herself drop into her chair, let it roll
away from the desk, toward the wall.  What was she going to do now?
        "Diane?"
        She whirled.  She hadn't expected to see anyone; didn't want to see anyone.  Especially him. 
But he was there, and she suddenly felt different about it.   "Billy!"  She rose to give him a hug,
but he was not receptive. He took one step back.
        "What are you doing here?"  He asked, "You're supposed to be in Africa."
        She turned away so he couldn't see the disappointment on her face, "My passport was
denied.  Because I've been exposed to AIDS."  She told him, "And I'd already broken the lease on
my apartment, so I came here."  
        Billy looked at her quizzically.  She was lying about the passport, but he didn't call her on
it.  She'd tell him when she wanted to.  "To do what?"  He asked instead.
        "I'll talk to Philip.  I am still a doctor, you know.  Chicago Hope needs me."  She was
reaching, but there really was nothing else to do.  She forced herself to brighten, "So, I'll talk to
Philip today, and I'll look for a new apartment tomorrow.  Who needs Africa, anyway?"
        Billy Kronk melted.   "But your research--"
        "Is over."  She finished for him, her voice close to cracking.  She finally turned to face him
again.  "I could use a break from research anyway.  I'll be an ER doctor for awhile, a refreshing
change of pace. Wherever Philip needs me."  She tried, but couldn't make it sound like her heart
was in it.
        "You don't have to stay here."  He couldn't bear the thought of her staying in the empty lab,
surrounded by reminders of her research that had been ripped away.  "You can stay with me."
        Grad laughed a little, "It's not even your place.  You're still living with Danny, aren't you?"
        "Yeah," he admitted, "But Danny's out of town for the weekend, so you can at least stay that
long.  And I'll talk to Danny when he comes back. We'll work something out."  He waved an arm
to indicate the lab, "But don't stay here."  He dug in his pocket and came up with his keychain. 
Carefully, he dislodged one key and put it in her hand, folding her fingers over it. "Here.  Just be
there when my shift's over to let me in, okay?"
        Grad's eyes searched his.  He knew she didn't like being the one in need, but she was
beginning to adjust.  She accepted the key and smiled, putting it into the top of her shirt, causing
Kronk to raise an eyebrow. "Oh, by the way, could you give Gordie a bath?  He's way overdue.  I
haven't had the ---"  He was going to say time, but then her lips were on his. Then she gave in
and hugged the life out of him.  "Billy, you're the greatest," she whispered, "but I won't spread it
around." 


        Philip sat at his desk, trying to resist the urge to get a drink. Camille had gone back to the
parking garage to meet the police.  They would be taping off the area and starting their
investigation.  She'd seemed calmer, and assured him herself that she was all right.   Silently, he
prayed for Dennis.
        Suddenly, his phone rang.  Camille, he thought immediately, and picked it up, "Hello."
        "Hi, Philip.  It's Kate."  He could hear a lot of noise in the background.
        "Kate?  Where are you?"
        "I can't tell you that.  But I didn't want you to worry.  I'm all right, but I'm not coming back
to Chicago Hope."  Austin, at the airport with her daughter Sarah, watched the arrival/departure
board from the payphone.  "There's no reason to come back.  As soon as the deal goes through,
Tommy's going to fire me."
        "He told you that?"  Philip was still trying to figure out the noises.  What the hell was going
on around here?  Sutton was already gone, Camille had given notice, now Austin?
        "In exactly those words, Philip.  So you see, I have no reason to come back,"  Austin
squeezed her daughter, who stood by patient and silent, close to her, "and every reason not to."
        "Well, maybe you'd like to know something."  Philip had recognized some of the
background noise now, and a scenario was forming in his mind. "Dennis Hancock has been shot
and I need you here."  He hung up.  If she wanted details she'd have to come and get them.  


        At the airport, Austin stared at the receiver in her hand, "Damn." She hung up the phone. 
Hancock shot?  It must be a chest wound if he needs me, she thought.  He probably already
called Geiger, though.  And besides, she'd already chosen family over her job.  Keeping Sarah
with her was more important.    On the other hand, Philip had been instrumental in getting her
named Chief of Surgery.  Is this how she was going to show her appreciation? It wasn't fair. 
Circumstances always seemed to be working against her. Sometimes she felt like God himself
was against her, which would shock her holistic father to his grave.  She thought about him,
sitting reluctantly but willingly in a convalescent home so she could save her daughter.  He
wouldn't have to know that she wasn't gone yet.  She would still go, she decided, just not today. 
She pulled Sarah back through the airport the way they had come.  Her sitter was expecting her
anyway.

        
        No sooner had he hung up his phone, then it rang again.  "Hello."
        "Is this Dr. Philip Watters?" asked an unfamiliar voice.
        "Yes."
        "This is Police Chief Raymond.  I'm calling to inform you of an escape."
        "An escape?  What are you talking about?"
        "Two days ago, the man who shot Alan Birch escaped from the Illinois State Pennitentiary. 
We have reason to believe he's going to return to the Chicago area, "Philip listened, stunned,
"specifically, we're concerned about Dr. Diane Grad.  He appears to have a vendetta against her."
        "Diane Grad?"  The phone receiver was heavy in his hand, "She's on her way to Africa."
        "That's a very good thing for her, Dr. Watters." The police chief continued, "I'd still
recommend you alert your security forces."  Watters was silent for a long time, until the chief
prompted, "Dr. Watters?"         
        "Yes, I'm here.  I'll take the proper precautions.  Thank you for calling."  He hung up.  His
mouth had gone dry.   Is that who had shot Dennis?  Was he going to just keep killing until he
got them all?  He rubbed his face, then shot out of his seat.  "My God, the Board Meeting!"
        

                            CHAPTER 2

        "I don't effing believe it."  Aaron stared at the X-rays of Hancock's head.  The bullet had
completely missed his brain. Unfortunately, it had lodged uncomfortably close to the very top of
the spinal chord.   "Well, this won't take as long as I thought,"  He told his crew.  Repair the
damage and sew him up.  The bullet would have to stay. He turned to give the X-ray a little more
backlight from the overhead lamps, trying to judge the bullet's proximity, leery of risking further
damage. It's my call, he thought.  If he came in the other way, maybe......he shook his head. 
"Okay people, let's get to work."  He gave the X-ray to a nurse to put away, and realized how
Geiger had felt.         
        When Alan Birch had been shot, it was Geiger who did the surgery. Geiger and Austin,
while he and Camille watched from the observation room. He glanced up; saw Philip watching
from above, gave him a thumb's up. Hancock was damned lucky, he thought.  He knew he was
good, but a brain shot in seven places is an entirely different matter.   Geiger had had an amazing
amount of damage to repair.   Seven bullets.  Thinking back, it was a miracle they'd even gotten
him conscious again.  No matter what Jeffrey said, about it not being an impossible procedure,
and despite the outcome, he had to admire what Geiger'd accomplished that day.   One bullet,
that wasn't coming out and hadn't touched his brain.  This was easy compared to that.


        Philip knocked, then opened the door to the conference room.  The other board members,
except for Aaron, were already there.  They sat across from Tommy Wilmette, Austin's
ex-husband, who had formed an investor's group in an attempt to buy the hospital.  He was here
to present his bid.  The chairman looked up in irritation at Philip's late arrival.  "Philip, it's about
time you got here."
        "I'm sorry."  He was reluctant to explain his tardiness with Wilmette in the room.  He'd
probably call the incident a breach of hospital security.  "Something came up."  He took his seat. 
"Aaron Shutt won't be coming.  He's in surgery."
        "Mr. Wilmette has already presented his offer, and we were debating some minor
disagreements, but it looks like a good bid."  The chairman was just happy to have a bid. 
Tommy Wilmette was not a popular man, but the hospital was in constant financial need, and he
would be happy to be rid of the headache.  They were nearly out of options.
        "I'm sorry to hear that."  That Philip was against the takeover was not a secret.  Philip
decided to play the hold card that Kate had just given him.  "Mr. Wilmette, is it true that if we
accept your bid, you intend to fire your ex-wife, Dr. Kate Austin?"  That should start something,
he thought.  Just days ago, this same board appointed her Chief of Surgery.  
        All the board members turned their attention to Mr. Wilmette, who shifted in his seat
uncomfortably.  This delighted Philip no end, but you couldn't tell to look at him.  "Her records
show gross negligence and incompetence.  She doesn't belong in any hospital."  
        "So, you've looked at her records?"  The chairman asked.
        "Yes.  It's a legal right."
        "And what other records have you examined in your research for this bid?"
        Wilmette's eyes wandered everywhere except the gaze of the chairman. "Hospital financial
records, of course ---"
        The chairman cut him off, "Have you examined the records of anyone else on staff?"
        "Uh,"  Wilmette stammered, at a loss for words for the first time since Philip had met him,
"no, Sir."
        "So you specifically singled out the records of Dr. Austin because she is your ex-wife?"
        Wilmette saw where this was going.  "It has nothing to do with that. It was a legitimate
examination."
        "Are you aware the Dr. Austin was recently appointed Chief of Surgery?"
        "Undeservedly, yes."
        The chairman paused, accepted by look the confidence of the other members of the board,
and said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Wilmette, but I believe you have ulterior motives in this takeover bid
that are not entirely professional.  We will have to discuss these motives before we can accept or
reject your bid.   You are dismissed from this meeting.  We will contact you sometime next
week."
        Wilmette did not rise immediately, "There's something about Kate Austin you ought to
know."
        "I don't believe you understand.  You are dismissed from this meeting."  He made it clear
that he would accept no further discussion, and finally Tommy Wilmette left the room.  The
board members all let out a breath.  "The problem is, if we don't have a counterbid, I doubt we
have a choice."  The chairman told the rest of them, hoping for a suggestion from somebody. 
"Do we?"
        At that moment, there was a quick knock on the door and his secretary popped her head in,
"Excuse me sir.  A call on line two.  He wouldn't give his name."
        "Thank you, Donna."  She closed the door again, and the chairman picked up the reciever of
the phone at his elbow.  "Hello."  He listened for at least two full minutes.  The expression on his
face remained unchanged. Philip and the other board members watched curiously.  Then, "Thank
you." He said, and hung up the phone,  "Gentleman, we have a counterbid."
        
        
        Three hours after Aaron examined the X-ray, Hancock was wheeled into recovery and
Aaron pulled off his gloves and hat,  going to the scrub room. "Excuse me," an orderly stopped
him as she left the OR, "I'm supposed to tell you that Dr. Watters called an emergency staff
meeting.  He asked me to wait until the surgery was over.  They're waiting for you."
        "Thanks."  He scrubbed quickly, then headed for the conference room. He supposed it was
the easiest way to let everyone know about Hancock.  He'd be called on to report, and that would
be it.         
        Watters was waiting in the staff conference room, pacing.   How can so much happen in,
what was it, three hours?  He wasn't facing the door when he heard it open, but turned to see
Kate Austin rushing in angrily.  "You lied to me."
        "No, I didn't."  But he knew what she meant.  "I never said it was a chest wound."
        "But you never said it wasn't!  You manipulating bastard."  She leaned on the table with
both hands, elbows locked.  "You knew I'd come back."
        "I wasn't about to let my Chief of Surgery do something stupid."
        Kate straightened up, crossing her arms in front of her,  "How did you know?"
        "I know airport sounds when I hear them, Kate."  Now he leaned toward her, one arm on the
table, and spoke softly,  "I don't know where you were planning to take her, but it would only
give Tommy exactly what he wants.  Full custody.  It's kidnapping."
        "He's going to take her to Boston.  He has custody; THAT won't be kidnapping.  If I lose
her, Philip...."  Her eyes were watering.
        "And you think running off half-cocked is going to solve the problem?  Stop leading with
your heart, Kate."  The door opened again, and before he even saw who it was he added, "Now
sit down, and shut up.  I'm trying to run a staff meeting here."
        Kronk and Camille entered, and sat.   Camille had been crying, he could tell, but she
appeared to be in control now.  Kronk pulled his chair backwards and straddled it, crossing his
arms over the back.   "What's up, Philip?"
        "Aaron's on his way."
        When Aaron entered,  Watters sat at the head of the table, and around him were Austin,
Kronk, and Camille.  They all looked at him expectantly as he took an open seat.  "What's the
word, Aaron?"  Philip asked.         
         Aaron didn't want to appear too optimistic, though inside he was nearly certain of a full
recovery.  "The bullet missed the brain." Everyone released a breath.  "But that's not to say there
won't be any damage.  It lodged too near his spinal chord to remove safely, so it's still there. He's
been given drugs to combat swelling and maintain blood flow to the brain.   He should be
coming to sometime tomorrow.  We'll know more then."
        "Thank you, Aaron.  Good work."  Watters, however, made no move to adjourn the
meeting.  "I'm sure you're all wondering how the board meeting came out.  Aaron, it's a shame
you missed it.  The decision," and he finally had cause to smile, if only for this one sentence,
"has been postponed."  He glanced at Kate, but wasn't sure if she would know that she had given
him the tool for this success, "It seems Tommy Wilmette's motives have come into question." 
Smiles all around the table.  Maybe he should have saved the good news for last, but as it was he
needed the emotional break before continuing.
        "And there's something else all of you should know."  He made sure he had their attention
before he continued, "I received a call from Police Chief Raymond that the man who shot Alan
Birch has escaped from prison."
        There was an audible gasp from everyone.  Camille cupped her hands over her mouth.  "Oh
my God."
        Watters continued, "They believe he'll be coming back here.... to look for Dr. Grad." 
Kronk's head rose.  "As all of you know, she's continuing her research in Africa, however we
should all be prepared.  I've alerted our Security, and our local police force has been informed.  I
want no one, male or female, outside alone after dark.  If any of you have registered weapons,
please begin carrying them."  He really hated to say that, but he couldn't risk not saying it.  
        "Philip?"  Austin spoke up, almost timidly, "Is it possible that he's the one that shot
Dennis?"
        "I'm working under that possibility, yes."  He looked down for a moment, then up at
Camille.  "But there is at least one other suspect in that case.  Camille?"
        Camille looked as if she was wondering why they were all staring at her, but knew what
Watters wanted.  "Dennis's sister is in the hospital. She was badly beaten by her husband. 
Dennis threatened to kill him."  It hurt her to say it.  But could anyone blame Dennis?
        "I know this is a lot to absorb, everyone.  But we also have jobs to do.   Keep the escapee as
confidential information.  I'll inform Dr. Nyland, should the situation still exist when he returns. 
Thank you all for your attention."  
        The meeting was adjourned.  "Camille."  Watters said as the rest filed out.  Camille stayed
behind, but standing at the door.  Watters approached.  "Camille, there's one more person to
inform, who couldn't come to this meeting."
        "I'll talk to Elizabeth."  Hancock's sister would need to know. 
        "You want me to be there?" Philip offered.
        Camille considered.  "It's all right.  Aaron just made that job a lot easier."


         "Not while I'm driving."  Danny Nyland lifted Valerie's hand from his leg for the upteenth
time and ignored her pout.  "You want to get us in an accident?"  He looked at her out of the
corner of his eye.  "Is *that* what happened to Jack?"
        "No!"  She said, obviously offended.
        "Sorry.  Didn't mean anything."  He loved driving the freeway.  You go with the flow
instead of watching speed limits, and the flow was always too fast.  He wished he had a
convertible.  "So, what *did* happen with Jack?"
        "I told you, I don't love him anymore."
        "Did you ever love him?"  Valerie's antics in the car had gotten him to thinking.  He'd tried
to start up a conversation, but it always came back to that.  It was the only thing on her mind.  It
was on his mind, too, but so were a lot of other things.  Although he knew his co-workers back at
Chicago Hope would have trouble believing that.  So he wasn't the socialite. Could he help it if
nurses were the only people who'd talk to him?  Well, there was Billy, but sometimes he felt like
Billy was .... well.... disapproving of him.  He was so GOOD.  But at least Billy and he could talk
about things.  Somehow, he could never find a woman who could handle more than one train of
thought.   
        "Why do you ask that?"  Valerie slumped in her seat, like a small child who'd been told to
be quiet.
        "I'm trying to understand you.  That's all."  He kept his eyes on the road, "I get the feeling
you don't really care about him."  After all, he was mostly paralyzed, fighting for his life, and she
had wanted to come to Sturgeon Bay with him.  "If you ever loved him, it shouldn't be so easy to
just ....."
        "Who said it was easy?"  Valerie lied.  Until Danny brought him up, she hadn't even been
thinking about Jack.  She was beginning to feel decidedly UNeasy about this conversation.
        Danny had been thinking about Jack.  And the look that would be on Watters' face when he
heard about the conduct suit Jack would slap him with. He was thinking with horror that she had
lied to him all along.  "Don't patronize me."  He slapped the steering wheel with the palm of one
hand, "Damn it!  I can't do this."
        She sat next to him, thick, black hair framing her china doll face, and looked at him with a
touch of anger.
        "Then why are we here?"
        "Val, I thought it was right,"  he said defensively, as he maneuvered to an exit, "but it
doesn't feel right anymore.  You're engaged to Jack."
        She noticed he was planning to turn around,  "But I don't love him! You knew that
yesterday."  
        "Then you have to tell him that."  That was probably what was making him feel like this. 
She had lied to Jack about them, saying she was going away to visit a friend, because she knew
if Jack found out that Danny would be in serious trouble.  He could lose his job.  Danny knew
she'd done it to protect him, but it wasn't right.  "If this is going to work at all, we have to face
Jack first."   And if you can't be honest with your fiance, he added to himself, how do I know
you'll be honest with me?  He almost apologized, but knew she wouldn't accept it.  "I --- " He
started.
        "Don't."  She'd apparently heard it all before.  She pushed away from him and sat as close to
the door as she could, "I thought you were different." 
        "Different? How many others have there been?"  
        "A few," she replied without meeting his eyes, "You get what you want, then drop me like
...."  She feined tears.  
        "Jack isn't dropping you.  He wants you back."  A lightbulb went off, "So it is just his
condition!"  If he hadn't been driving he would have slapped her, or himself.  How could he be so
stupid?  "You just want sex. And he won't be able to give it to you, and that's why you came with
me."
        "That's ridiculous."  She said through misty eyes.  "I loved him. Once.  But it's gone."
        Danny swung the car into the giant curve of the exit ramp, "Val, you just don't see, do you? 
Jack's .... devoted to you.  Or he wouldn't have made those threats against me.  He loves you."
        "You said you loved me."
        "No.  He loves you."  He stressed the verb.  I lusted after you, he thought.  "I wanted you. 
Jack loves you.  There's a difference."  As the car cleared the exit ramp, he pulled over onto the
shoulder and stopped the car.
        Valerie blinked at him, not comprehending.  For her, feelings had nothing to do with it. 
She wanted sex, which Jack could no longer give her. His medications would soon render him
impotent.   "What changed?"  she asked,   "Last night, you were willing to lose your job for me."
        He sighed, not sure of how to explain it.  It did sound shallow.  "I have to go back."
        "And tell Jack?"
        "I don't know.  He knows we're together though.  I'm sure of it." It was hard to think it all
through.  "I could tell him nothing happened."
        She bit her bottom lip, then leaned in close to him, smiling a little, "It's too late for that,
Danny.  He'll never believe you.  He'll get you fired anyway.  Wouldn't you rather let the crime
fit the punishment?" She whispered it hoarsely into his right ear.
        Danny held a breath, pressing his teeth together.  "No.  Whatever happens now, happens. 
But I have to go back."  He restarted the car.
        He didn't see the venom in her eyes.


                            CHAPTER 3

        Kronk stood outside his own door for awhile before knocking, not sure how much to tell
Diane.  Alan's death and the circumstances that caused it weighed heavily on her, he knew. 
She'd been there.  She'd seen the guy put seven bullets into Alan.  Then, later, the shooter had
become a patient when his gang had been taken in with gunfire.  Diane had attacked him
physically, and emotionally, telling him he should die.  Hancock had tried to contain her, and
finally had to use security to keep her away from the shooter.  The trial, though short,  had been
even worse.  But he'd been put away, or so they thought.  He gritted his teeth and knocked.  
        When Diane finally came to the door, she was in one of his shirts, her hair was still damp
from a wash, and she held a bowl of ice cream protectively in one hand.  Gordie, a large, hairy
dog of mysterious breed, followed the bowl she carried.  He'd also been bathed and brushed. 
Kronk closed the door behind him and locked it.  She went back to the couch, where she'd been
watching something on TV, and sat with her legs folded underneath her.   He went around the
room pulling down all the window shades and checking the window locks.  She watched him
curiously.  Finally, he grabbed the remote and turned off the TV.  "What the-- I was watching
that!"  But she didn't reach for the remote.
        "Diane."  That was all he could get out.
        "What?"  She set down the bowl on the coffee table, and turned to sit sideways on the
couch.  She noted the serious look on his face, and said, "Talk to me, Billy."
        "He escaped."
        "Who?"  And then it came to her.  The look on his face told her everything.  "Oh, God, no. 
When?"
        "About two days ago.  Philip had a staff meeting today and told us."
        "You didn't tell him I was here, did you?"  Unnoticed, Gordie was finishing off the ice
cream in big sloppy laps, the table being just the right height for him.
        "No.  He thinks you're on your way to Africa.  The fewer people that know you're here, the
better.  I was going to tell him, but not now."  He took her hand, "And that's why you can't leave
this apartment.  You understand?  When I leave, you have to lock everything, keep the shades
down, and stay quiet."
        Her mind was racing.  He could see it in her eyes as they moved rapidly back and forth. 
"He's after me?"
        "They think so."  She inched closer to him, and he put one arm around her shoulders, "and
there's something else."
        "Something else?"  She braced herself.  The good news usually came first.  If this was the
good news.....
        "Dennis was shot last night."
        Her head fell against him, "Oh, God!" She collected herself, but didn't lift her head, "Is he
dead?"  she asked quietly.
        "No."  And he filled her in on Dennis's condition.
        "Who did it?  The shooter?"  He didn't have a name.  Not to her.  It would humanize him. 
He'd always be the shooter.   It made him sound like a marble.  A thing.  Inanimate.
        "We don't know."
        They sat there together, on the couch, as the dim light faded into darkness, until Diane fell
into a heavy sleep.  Kronk carefully lifted her, and carried her to the bedroom.  As he put her
under the covers, she stirred briefly, but didn't waken.  He thought about crawling into the other
side of the double bed, but Gordie was already there.  He decided that the couch would be
comfortable enough.  In the darkness, he got a change of clothes for the morning and took his
alarm clock into the living room.  
        For awhile, he lay on the couch in the dark, thinking.  But he couldn't sleep.  He curled to
one side and stared at the doorway into the bedroom.  
        

        Diane knew it was a dream.  She'd had this dream before.  But it had been real, once.  The
shooting.  She and Alan walking down the steps from the el platform, turning, then backing
away, but she could hear no sound. The street sounds that must have been there, the sounds of
their footsteps, were absent.  She backed up further than Alan, only seeing Alan out of the corner
of her eye for her eyes were centered on the gun.  And the shooter. Alan put his hands up, palms
out, defenseless.  Then she heard the bullets. Like cannon fire, seeming to go on forever.  Alan's
body jerking back and forth, pushed back against a pole by the force of the bullets.  Then the
dream changed.  The bullets continued, Alan's body kept jerking, remaining upright somehow,
and began to morph.  Suddenly it was Hancock.  As he jerked toward her, she saw his eyes. 
They were screaming at her to do something. Then Hancock morphed into Camille, then Kate,
and Philip, and then......Billy!  "Noooooooooooooooooooooo!"  She screamed, and sat up in bed. 
She kept screaming, still seeing Billy's bullet ridden body spasming uncontrollably.  It reached
for her.  It touched her.
        She jumped out of bed, finally awake, to see that it was Billy touching her.  He was there,
on top of the bed that Gordie had vacated at the sound of her screams,  the slimmest light of
dawn sneaking in under the shade to illuminate his face.  "It's me, Diane."
        She was shaking, and out of breath.  The adrenaline was still pumping, but she made the
conscience effort to get control.  Billy, moving slowly, crawled across the bed to stand near her. 
Equally slowly, he raised his arms to hold her.  She did not pull away.        


        Camille held Elizabeth's hand.  "He'll be okay?" Elizabeth whispered.  She stared ahead of
her, not really seeing anything.
        "Dr. Shutt thinks so." 
        "He really did it."  Elizabeth was stunned.
        "Who did what?"
        Elizabeth swallowed hard, finally turned her eyes on Camille, "Andy. It was him."
        Camille couldn't tell her about the other suspect.  She lowered her eyes, "We don't know
that.  But Dennis will be able to tell us when he wakes up."
        There was a discreet knock on the door, and Camille turned to see Watters, "Excuse me, I'm
sorry to interrupt.  Camille, the police have a few more questions for you."
        "Coming."  She started to leave, but Elizabeth wouldn't let go of her hand.  Camille turned a
questioning look on her.
        "Tell them to come in here."  Elizabeth said, with a tortuous look on her face.  "I've decided
to press charges."


        Billy checked his watch reluctantly.  He lay next to Diane, who was sleeping restlessly
beside him.  His shift started in less than hour.  He didn't want to leave her alone, not after the
night he had just passed with her.  She had slept on and off, restless, like now, occasionally
waking with a start, trembling.  Her breathing quickened as he debated with himself. Damn.  He
really had no choice.  Gordie was here, he thought.  It wasn't like she was really alone.   He
reached over, and gently shook her shoulder. She opened her eyes and looked at him, fear
melting into a peaceful smile. "I have to go to work."
        Her smile disappeared.  But she knew he had responsibilities.  And he knew that she knew. 
It was all communicated in a look.  Then he rose from the bed and went to wash up.  She waited,
listening to the running water,  the sounds of another living being, and thought about how quiet
the large apartment would be when he left.   She threw the covers off, and, still wearing his shirt,
padded barefoot to the bathroom.
        "I'm going with you."
        He saw her approach in the mirror.  "No, you're not."
        "Billy, I can't stay here alone."  She didn't even want to think about it.
        Billy turned, his chin and cheeks half covered with shaving cream. "Diane, we discussed
this.  Chicago Hope is the first place he'll look for you.  Just keep the place locked up, the shades
down, you'll be fine." While he spoke, he put down the razor and held her at arm's length. 
"Nobody but me knows you're here."  He spoke each word separately, hoping they would calm
her fears. "And you've got Gordie."  She looked like she was about to object again, then, with a
shuddering sigh that twisted everything in his chest, she nodded acceptance.


        Danny didn't even bother going back to his apartment.  He dropped off Valerie at her place,
having not exchanged a word with her since they turned around, then returned to Chicago Hope. 
While he was psyched up, he would talk to Jack.  Get it over with.  He carried his usual change
of clothes in a bag as he approached Camille's desk.  She looked up from where she was
shuffling papers.  "Danny!  I thought you'd be gone all weekend."
        "Came back early."  He muttered.
        "Well, you're just in time.  Staff meeting."  She said, "And we're late."  She came around the
desk and took him by the arm.  "Let me fill you in."
        Moments later Camille hurried into the conference room, and Danny Nyland staggered in
and sat down.  Dennis had been shot, probably just after he left, too.  And the scum that shot
Birch might be back in town.  This was too much.  
        Aaron Shutt sat slouched in a chair, looking depressed.  Camille sat next to him.  "Aaron,
any news?"
        "No."  It disturbed him.  Hancock should have regained consciousness by now.  He was
stable, but going nowhere.  He had tests to look at, but here he was in yet another meeting.
        "So why are we having another one?"  Kronk was asking Austin. Watters had yet to be seen,
so speculation was running rampant.  "Maybe they caught the guy."
        "No, I don't think so."  Kate replied, when Watters walked in.  He looked very somber. 
Moreso even than the day Alan died.  
        "Thank you all for coming.  I'm sorry for the interruption in your schedules."  He walked to
the head of the table, but did not sit down.  He paused, considering his words.  The rest of them
waited silently.  "I've been making some phone calls.  It seems that Diane Grad did not board her
flight to Africa."
        He paused to let the implication of that sentence sink in.  
        Billy cleared his throat.  "Philip?"  Kronk knew he had to say something now.  How was he
to know that Watters would think of checking the manifests?  "She's okay."
        "What?"  Everyone in the room said it simultaneously and turned their attention to Billy.
        He squirmed slightly.  "She came in late last night.  Her passport was denied because of the
Bam Bam bite, she said."
        "Where is she?"  This time only Watters said it.
        "She's safe at my --- Danny's apartment."  He looked at the tabletop to avoid everyone's
curious gaze.  
        "Alone?"  Danny stood up, "You left her at my place, alone?"  
        "It's all locked, and Gordie's there."  He explained, but Danny had already run out the door.
        "Why didn't you tell us yesterday?"  Philip ignored Danny's exit.  
        "Hey,"  Billy went on the defensive, "I thought the fewer people who knew where she was
the better.  She's safe."
        Watters, understanding somewhat Billy's protectiveness, put a hand on his shoulder.  "And
WE'RE trustworthy.  AND, this guy is a drug dealer, not KGB.  There's no spies, no listening
devices, no hidden cameras.  Don't get carried away."
        Camille spoke up, "I think you did right, Billy." 
        But Philip's mind was already racing again.  He was hoping he wouldn't have this worry. 
She was supposed to be safely out of the country. Now she was here.  And she was a target.


                            CHAPTER 4

       Diane sat on the floor in the darkened room, afraid to move.  The door and all the windows
were locked.   The shades were drawn.  She didn't want to risk turning on the TV or radio.  So
she sat there, Indian style, listening, absent-mindedly petting Gordie.  Suddenly, the doorknob
rattled. A muffled voice seemed to curse.  Gordie began to bark.  "Yeah, Gordie." She
encouraged, "Get 'im!"  Her eyes went to the knob and she held her breath.  It rattled again.  Her
hair whirled as she scanned the room for a hiding place.  The furniture was sparse.  Everything
was open.  She rose quickly to her stocking feet and raced into the bedroom, quickly, but softly
closing the door behind her.  Damn, that was stupid, she thought.  All that was in here was a
closet and a bathroom, two of the most popular hiding places in all of the movies she'd seen.  
        She heard the door open, and ducked into the closet.  To hell with cliche, she thought. 
Sometimes, it worked.   She heard the click of Gordie's nails on the hardwood floor, but he had
stopped barking.  Was that dog friendly, or what? she thought.  The closet door was louvered,
and she crouched to see through it.  She heard the muffled voice in the living room. Was he
calling her name?  She sank to a sitting position, pushing back against the clothes.  Her heart
pounded.  How did he find her?  Did he follow Billy?  Had she been seen coming in?  
        Then she heard the bedroom door open, and a familiar voice called out clearly now,
"Diane?"
        She burst from the closet, "Danny?  Oh, God, it's good to see you!"
        He held her, recognized her trembling.  "Sorry if I scared you.  The key got stuck.  They
told me everything at the hospital.  Are you all right?"
        She nodded, "Just jumpy."  She calmed herself down.  The feeling of relative safety finally
returning.  
        "That stupid Kronk.  He shouldn't have left you alone."  He sat her down on the bed.  
        "I thought I'd be okay," she lied.  "He said it would be stupid for me to come to the
hospital."
        "He's right about that.  But he should have stayed here with you." He put his bag on the bed
and began to unpack it, "I'm already covered for the rest of the weekend.  Is it all right if I stay?"
        She smiled at him, "Sure.  If you pick up your socks."
        "I always pick up my socks."  He said pointedly, "It's Billy you'll have to clean up after. 
Frankly, I'm glad you're here because I'm tired of doing it.  If Billy hadn't finagled that 'stay as
long as you want to' out of me....."


        Once again, Watters stopped Camille on the way out of the conference room.  "Camille,
where is it?"
        "Where is what?"
        "The resignation.  In writing."  He explained.  Previously, she had come to his office
complaining about how little respect she and her nurses got, and gave verbal notice.  She had
promised to have a written notice in the morning.  
        Camille couldn't be sure if he was asking to give her an out, or if he really wanted the thing. 
She had had every intention of quitting.   But she was embarrassed that she hadn't come through
on her word.  She didn't want Philip to think she'd backed down on her position, but now quitting
just didn't seem possible.  "I've been rather busy."  She joked.  "You'll have to take a raincheck
on that."  Then she walked out ahead of him. There.  That seemed appropriate.  When this was
over, she could still come up with it if need be.


        Kronk entered the intensive care cubicle where Hancock still lay. He'd never get over how
different people looked in here.  It was so much more noticeable when it was someone you
knew.  Kronk checked the EEG strip, and was pleased with the result.   He sensed someone
behind him, and noticed Camille come in.  "Any change?"  she asked.
        "No."
        She sighed, "Well, that's better than a change for the worse."  She approached the bed
slowly and looked at him.  His head was heavily bandaged. There were tubes coming out of his
arms, but he was breathing on his own. "Could I....have some time alone with him, Billy?"
        He looked at her, "Are you and him....?"  Camille gave him that 'none of your business' look
and he let his words hang in the air.  "Yokay." He stepped out.
        Camille went up to Hancock's bedside, fighting tears.  "Dennis, don't you dare die."  she
said.  She took his limp hand in both of hers, "When you asked me out yesterday, I was nervous
as a schoolgirl.  I know we haven't been out, but I feel like I've known you a long time.  And now
I'm.... scared.  I lost Aaron.  I lost Alan.  I lost Alicia, to Geiger of all people.  I don't think I
could stand to lose anyone else."  She pulled over a chair and sat down, still holding his hand. 
She looked at the hand with the IV needle stuck in the back of it, and it hurt her.  Looking at his
bandaged head hurt her.  She didn't know where to look.  "Dennis, think of all those people in
your clinic, and in your home health care program.  They need you too.  It's not just me.  You
know no one else will do for them what you do for them.  That's one of the things I .... love about
you.  You care. Really care."  She shook her head, feeling like she was rambling, "Not that the
rest of them don't care, but .... I don't know.  They care, but it's still a job.  They go home at the
end of their shifts.  You never seem to go home.  I suppose that would make me a second
banana, but I think I could live with that.  If you'll just get better."  She put his hand back on the
bed, as if she were merely checking the IV, and bit her bottom lip.  "Get better."  she repeated.
        When she left the ICU,  she noticed Elizabeth standing outside the observation window. 
She saw her slowly sink into the wheelchair behind her. "Elizabeth?"  Camille asked, "What are
you doing here?"
        She was still looking through the window, "I had to see him."  After a moment, she turned
her head, "Am I doing the right thing?"
        Camille stepped behind the wheelchair and kicked the brake, "Elizabeth, whether Andy did
this or not, you're doing the right thing." She wheeled the woman back to her room and helped
her into bed.  
        "Thank you, Camille."  Elizabeth said, as Camille fluffed her pillow.            
         Camille smiled gently at Elizabeth.  Then a thought came to her. "Elizabeth, you were
going to stay with Dennis when you're released.  Since that's out at the moment, would you care
to stay with me?"
        "I'd love that."


        He was watching, but he hadn't seen her.  He wished he had his old gang to back him up. 
One of them had been killed, either by cops or rival gangs he wasn't sure, while he'd been in the
prison.   The rest must be around somewhere.  If he got really lucky, he wouldn't need them, but
possible contacts were in the back of his mind as he sucked on his joint, crouching behind the
building across the street from Chicago Hope.  She'd pay the piper, just like her boyfriend had. 
He fingered his shoulder where the bullet had gone in, where she had pressed it causing him
agony.  Well, he wasn't injured and on some gurney this time.  He was upright and armed, and
ready to blow her away.  Die, huh?  That's what you think, bitch, he thought.  He threw the joint
on the ground and stepped on it.  If she wasn't coming to the hospital, he'd have to find out where
she was.  As much as he wanted to blow away everybody in that place, he knew that if she wasn't
there, it was pointless.  He'd only have one crack at her, because as soon as he did it, they'd have
him again.  But it would be worth spending the rest of his life there if he succeeded.  Looking in
all directions, he trotted across the middle of the street.  He tucked his gun in his pants and
wrapped his long coat around himself.  Normally, he'd have a machine gun, but it was a bit too
conspicuous for the task.  The pistol would have to do. Six bullets would do her, no problem. 
He slipped inside the hospital doors.
        He didn't want to look lost or a nurse would ask questions, so he walked with purpose to an
elevator and pushed the up button.  If he just walked around like he knew where he was going,
and kept his ears open, maybe he'd hear something of value.  And the doctors were pretty much
the only people who talked on these elevators, so he'd be taking a lot of elevator rides.  And if he
didn't get lucky, it would probably help to learn the layout of the hospital.


        "And you don't even know who made the counterbid?"  Aaron asked Philip as they walked
together toward the ICU to check on Dennis.
        "Nope.  Frankly, I don't care if it's Mickey Mouse."  He pushed the door open and they
entered the room.  "But the Board might not accept it anonymously."
        Aaron went to the EEG and looked at the lengthy strip.   He looked at Dennis.  "I'm
ordering another CAT scan."  He got out his penlight and checked Hancock's eyes.  "Damn it,
Dennis, don't do this.  There's nothing wrong."  He put a hand on one shoulder and shook gently,
"Dennis!"  He called loudly, "Hey, C'mon, buddy!  Time to get up!"
        Philip tried to think of suggestions, but he knew Aaron would have thought of them already. 
 He watched Aaron sadly, knowing that sometimes nothing was wrong, and people died anyway. 
"Aaron."  Philip said quietly, "Give him time.  It's only been a day."  
        Aaron paged through the chart he carried.  Maybe he missed something.  He wrote the order
for the new CAT scan, then hung the chart on the end of the bed and went to the window to look
out.  "Well, I know how Geiger felt."  He admitted, and regretted it as soon as he'd said it.  What
a ridiculous notion.  Geiger lost his patient; he must have felt even worse than this.  "I'm sorry.  I
shouldn't have said that."
        Philip stepped a bit closer, but kept some distance.  "Some people just need more time to
heal.  You're impatient because he's a friend."
        Aaron turned, "But it wasn't brain surgery, Philip.  It was just regular, normal, sew some
blood vessels surgery.  The trauma was actually minimal."  He turned back again, not even
seeing what was outside the window.   "Philip, do you ever feel like.... I don't know, like God is
out to get you?"  He wasn't sure what to expect from Philip, a devout Catholic.
        "The Devil."  He said.  "The Devil's been out to get me for years."
        "Maybe they're the same thing."  Aaron sounded and felt tired.  
        "Aaron,"  Philip wasn't even sure what he was going to say, "let's go get a drink.  My
office?"
        "Yeah, sure."  He said reluctantly.  The two exited the ICU and headed toward the elevator.  
The elevator was crowded, but they inched on and faced forward.  Aaron reached around the
man next to him to press the button, "Excuse me."  The man smiled politely.  
        Neither one of them saw the figure in the long coat at the back of the elevator, who kept his
head down, but noticed the white lab coats.  When they got off the elevator, he pushed his way
through.  He walked slowly, several steps behind them, until they went through another door.  As
he passed, he noticed the name on the door.  Philip Watters, Chief of Staff. He nodded to
himself, then walked on to the next group of elevators.


                            CHAPTER 5

        "What'll you have?"  Philip asked.
        "My usual."  Aaron answered.  He was wondering if there'd been something he'd missed.  It
obviously wasn't a bleeder, or Dennis would be in very serious condition by now, but maybe
there was something.  On the other hand, maybe Philip was right and he was just feeling
impatient for Dennis to be all right.  He accepted his drink from Philip and flopped into the large
leather chair, while Philip took his seat behind his desk.  Aaron stared into the glass as if he
expected to see something floating in it.   Then he put the glass on Philip's desk and leaned his
head back to stare at the ceiling.  

        
        The shooter rode the elevator up one flight.  He carefully navigated to find the room that
would be directly above that office.  But there was a patient in there, laughing loudly at
something on the TV.  He walked passed.


        Philip put his feet up, sipped his drink, then lowered the glass into his lap where his free
hand helped hold it.  "Any ideas on who might have made the counterbid?"
        Aaron tilted his head.  "If you're thinking Jack Calverton or his family, I doubt it."
        "You know that Kate approached him?"
        "I didn't."  He said, angrily, "I specifically told her not to."
        "No, you said YOU wouldn't ask."  
        "Whatever.  She knew I didn't want him involved."  He paused, then, "Okay, so what did he
say?"
        "He said he'd speak to his family,"  Philip replied, "if I fired Dr. Nyland."
        "I see."  Aaron reached for his drink and took a couple of large swallows.  "Did you?"
        Philip made a wry face, "Of course not.  Kate wanted me to, though." He put his feet down
and sat up straight. "As far as I'm concerned, personally, what Danny's doing is his business.  But
I can't encourage it, either."  He stared at his hands for a bit, "I might just have to terminate him
unless I want Tommy Wilmette in charge of this hospital."
        "Was the counterbid competitive?  Couldn't we just accept it?"
        "I have my opinion.  I'm not sure what the board will decide.  Some of them might opt for
the sure thing over the mystery bid."  Philip didn't really want to think about it, "If it's not
Calverton, I'd better keep my options open."
        "Philip?"
        "Yeah?"
        "Remind me I never want to be Chief of Staff."


        The shooter rode another elevator down two floors and walked to the room directly below
the office.   The door was unmarked.  Glancing both ways first, he tried the knob.  The door was
locked.  Calmly, he walked on back to the elevators.


        Philip and Aaron had both finished their drinks.   As much as he would have liked to get
really smashed, Philip knew he couldn't do that. And if Aaron wanted another, Philip would
make sure he didn't get one.  "You know, Philip,"  Aaron was saying, then he paused, changed
his thought, "I don't know.  Everything's.....wrong."  He searched for the words he wanted to say,
"How did things get to be such a mess?  Is it just because Jeffrey left?  ..... Because Alan's not
here to keep control?"  He was mostly thinking aloud, but he knew Philip would understand.
        "I know what you mean.  Things are happening too fast these last few days.  And none of
them are good."  Then he forced a half smile, "But Dennis will recover.  That'll be good."
        Aaron was feeling better.  The alcohol was working.  "Yes."  He said with affirmation. 
"Did they figure out who shot him, yet?"
        "They've taken his brother-in-law in for questioning.  But the evidence is inconclusive.  At
least, that's what the police told me."  But it was that other suspect that had him more worried. 
Dennis' brother-in-law would most likely just shoot Dennis.  If the shooter was here, though,
there was no telling what would happen next.   He wondered if anyone else was starting to feel
the paranoia, that he might be waiting and watching in the shadows, but voicing the thought only
made it more real.  He tried not to think about it.   He couldn't afford to get as jumpy as a fool on
April 1st. "Want to get some air?"  He asked Aaron.
        "Sure."  He looked at the two glasses on the desk.  "Let's go clear our heads before the next
disaster strikes."
        Philip held the door for Aaron as the two adjourned to the terrace, the cool evening air
greeting them.


        The shooter rode the elevator one floor up and again walked toward the office.  He was
startled when the door opened before he got there and a woman came out.    He ducked around
the corner of an intersection and waited.  He heard her footprints coming closer, and swiftly bent
over to drink from a water fountain.  He kept his lips in the stream of water as she walked
passed.  Then he wiped his mouth on one sleeve, and returned to the office, watching the
hallways and measuring his risks.  If he went in, there was only one way out.  In any case, it
didn't look like luck was with him today.  It was harder than he thought to overhear a
conversation in this place.  He knew he couldn't hang around or he'd be noticed, so he sauntered
back to the elevators.   He just didn't have the time to stalk.  The police would be looking for
him.  He had to act soon.  He began constructing a plan.  


        It was dusk, and the air was comfortably cool.   The two went to their usual spots and sat
facing each other on the wood and cast iron benches next to the steaming vent.  Philip pulled a
cigar out of his pocket and lit up.  He offered one to Aaron, who turned it down.  Aaron thought
it ironic that Philip came out here to get some air, then did that.   Aaron took a deep breath of the
early evening air, noticing how soothing it felt. Out here, there was no hustle and bustle.  No
pages.  Just friends talking. Or not talking.  Just enjoying the quiet.   They sat there for several
minutes, not saying a word.  Then Philip spoke, "About Danny."
        "What about Danny?"  Aaron asked.  "He's compromising the recovery of my patient by
giving him the additional stress of a threat to his relationship with his fiance.  I warned him to
keep away from her."
        "So did I."  Philip said, "I got the impression he wasn't going to listen."
        "That's just like Nyland, all right.  Somebody oughta--"
        Philip interrupted him, "You'll do nothing."
        "Philip!"  Aaron objected, "They ARE engaged.  He has no right to ---"
        Again, Philip cut him short, "I said, you'll do nothing."  He didn't raise his voice to get over
Aaron's.  He didn't have to.  
        Then Aaron got the picture.  As if to keep it confidential, he moved to sit next to Philip on
his bench.  "You are planning to fire him."
        Philip neither affirmed it nor denied it.  "I talked to Calverton. I explained that if I did such
a thing, I would be no better than the man we're fighting.  You don't fire people for doing their
jobs extraordinarily well."
        "And he said?"
        "He wanted to know more about Danny.  What kind of guy he was." Philip lowered his
eyes, "I think he's beginning to realize that whatever he had with her is over.  And just wants to
make sure she's properly cared for."
        "And you said?"
        Philip chuckled, "I told him the truth."

        
        The shooter continued to walk the hallways and ride the elevators seemingly at random.  He
had to really learn his way around.  What was here that he could use?  He noticed the security
guards at various points, kept a count of how many friends he'd have to accumulate quickly.  He
stopped and studied a "You are Here" sign for awhile, and read the floor directories.


        "The truth."  Aaron said.  "That he's a gigolo?"
        Philip puffed on his cigar, "But not the whole truth."  He said.  "I told him Daniel Nyland is 
a man with questionable habits, however his heart is in the right place.  I told him about Diane
Grad."
        Aaron was silent.  
        "When Nyland found out that Diane was alone in his apartment he took off like the
proverbial bat out of hell."  He knocked some ashes to the floor, "No matter what he did last
night, that says character to me."
        "So you still think Kronk was wrong.  She isn't safe there?"
         "Kronk was right."  He said.  "Diane is safe at Danny's apartment. There's no way anyone
could find her there.  But that Danny was worried enough to rush over there anyway means
either he doesn't trust his own locks, or he cares."
        "And that convinced Calverton?"
        Philip shrugged, "I embellished a little.  But he seemed to be reconsidering his opinion."  
        Aaron slapped Philip on the shoulder, "You know I promised to kiss you again?"  He
puckered up playfully.          
         Philip leaned away, thanking the stars when Kate Austin came bursting from his office that
adjoined the terrace.  "There you two are!" She yelled, breathless.  "Stop hiding up here, Dennis
is awake!"
        As she said "Dennis" they both rose to their feet.  By the time "awake" had escaped her lips,
they were inside the door.


        The shooter left the hospital, nodding politely to an armed security guard by the door.  He 
began to walk around the entire block, looking at the building from all angles.  There were more
guards, he saw, at each doorway.  But he crossed to the opposite street and walked like he had all
day.  Pretty good tactic, actually.  They'd be looking for someone running for his life.  It almost
made him laugh, but the plan he was developing was serious business.  He'd need help, but he
knew where to get it.
        By the time the guard realized who he'd seen, it was too late. "Damn."  He said, as he pulled
out his walkie talkie.  "Post One.  Suspect was spotted leaving, repeat, leaving the premises."
        A staticky voice came back, "Post Three to Post One.  Direction?"
        "South."  He almost threw the unit against the wall.  "Post One out."  Then, swearing again,
"Damn it, he was here!"  He collected himself and turned the unit back on.  "All Posts, check in."
        He listened as a chorus of "Negatives" sounded through the tinny speaker.  He walked
behind the nurses desk with an "excuse me, please" and picked up the phone to alert the police
force that proximity was confirmed.


                            CHAPTER 6

        Valerie took a deep breath before entering the hospital.  She'd thought a lot about what
Danny had said.  She still wanted Danny, but she knew the only way she would get him was to
be honest with Jack.  And hope that Jack didn't follow through on his threat.  She came to Jack's
room and hesitated again.  She forced herself to knock on the door.
        "Come in."  She heard him say.  Not "who is it", but "come in".  He wouldn't be expecting
her at all.  He expected yet another doctor or nurse, she thought.  She thought it would be easy to
tell him, but now, now that the time to say it was here, her throat went dry.  He was ill.  He
might not get worse, but he probably wouldn't get much better.  It would be months before he
could even walk on his own, if ever.  She'd agreed to marry him. Why?  It had been different
then.  He'd been healthy.  They'd been happy together.  Now.....
        "Come in!"  He repeated impatiently.
        She opened the door.  He was in his wheelchair, facing the door. She saw the shock on his
face when he saw her.  "How's your friend?"  He asked, referring to the excuse she'd given him
the day before.
        She closed the door behind her.  "He's....fine."  She went to sit on the edge of his bed and he
steered his wheelchair to face her.  "I have something to say, Jack."
        "I think I already know."  He was quiet.  The anger he'd felt before was gone.  He was tired. 
He moved his chair to the window.  "Did you ever really love me?"
        "Jack,"  she was tongue-tied.  She waited.
        He lowered his head, acknowledging  the meaning behind her silence. So be it.  "Then you
should probably know that I never loved you either." He turned the chair around, resolved in his
lie, "You're a beautiful woman, Val.  A rich man needs a beautiful woman.  You've agreed to
marry me, and you're going to."
        Valerie stood.  "You can't force me."
        His eyes were penetrating, "If you don't marry me as planned, I will ruin Dr. Nyland as
promised."  He inched closer, "and you.  You know what I can do to you.  Your family."  She
stared at him in horror.   He continued, "I know I can't give you what you need.  So I'll make a
deal.  You marry me, I'll help you get what you need.  Discreetly."  He rolled a few inches away
from her.  "Do we have a deal?"
        She ground her teeth together for a minute.  She truly hated him now.  But he was right
about every word.  His family had the power to do a lot of damage.  "Deal."  


        Hancock was smiling.  So they hadn't all been there right away, but his bed was certainly
surrounded now.   Good friends.   Philip.  Aaron. Billy.  Even Austin.  "Camille,"  Hancock took
her hand, "you saved my life."  She blushed.  
        There was a knock on the door.  A nurse opened it and announced that a police officer was
there to speak to Dr. Hancock.  Dr. Shutt allowed him in, cautioning him to keep it brief.  "Dr.
Hancock?"
        Dennis' smile vanished.  
        "Can you identify the person who shot you?"
        "Yes."
        The officer opened the door and motioned for someone else to enter. Another officer
entered with Elizabeth's husband Andy in handcuffs.  Andy stared at the floor.  "Is this the man
who shot you?"  asked the first officer.
        "Yes."  There was no need for verbosity.  
        "Thank you, sir."  The officers escorted Andy out.
        As they entered the observation room from one side, a loudly screaming black woman
pushed her way in from the other.  "I know he's here! He's my husband!  Let me through!" She
saw him, and grew silent.  "Andy."  She breathed.
        The officers weren't sure what to do.  These two people legally could not be in the same
room.  But Elizabeth wasn't crying.  She walked right up to the man in cuffs.  "Look at me,
Andy.  Look at me!"
        Andy raised his head and looked at his wife.  "I'm sorry, Baby."
        "Shut up!"  She raised a hand to slap him, but forced it back down. No, that's what he would
do.  "Did you shoot him?"           
        He didn't answer.  "Ma'am," an officer spoke up softly, "the victim just IDed this man."
        "I didn't ask you."  Her eyes never left her husband's.  Hancock's visitors sidled into the
room behind the officers and off to the sides, silent as the drama unfolded.  Her brother lay in
the next room.  He might accuse Andy of anything, he hated him so much.  She wanted to hear it
from him, from the man that she loved, was still in love with, even as he said it.
        "Yeah."
        She swallowed the huge lump in her throat, looked down at the cuffs, and the uniformed
arms holding her husband, then back at his face.   She stepped to one side to let them pass, then,
resisting the urge to jump up and stroke his face tenderly, apologizing, insisting they release him. 
She knew she couldn't do that now.  She staggered backward until she found a seat, and the
officers walked out.  Camille put an arm around Elizabeth's shoulders, feeling the trembling
underneath.  "Someone get some water."  She murmured. 
        "I'll be all right."  Elizabeth said.  "I want to see Dennis." Still accepting Camille's help, she
rose and walked into the next room. Elizabeth's tears came.  "Oh, God!"  She sat in the chair by
Hancock's side, where Camille had been moments earlier.  Gingerly, she felt the bandage around
his head.  
        Dennis put one hand on her arm, but didn't stop her touch.  "Elizabeth."
        After asking one more time if she was all right,  Camille slowly left, to give them time
alone.
        After the door closed, Elizabeth buried her face on her brother's chest and let the tears flow.


        He found most of them in their old spot by the el train, oddly enough.  They had hung
together without him, waiting for him.  They hurried him to a hide out, knowing that cops would
be looking for him.  There were too many abandoned buildings for the cops to watch.  "Okay, I
got a plan, and I'll only get one shot at it."  He told them.  "Either way, I'm going back, but after
she's dead, I don't care.  Listen up."  They huddled around him.


        "Gin."  Diane layed her cards on the coffee table.  She sat on the floor, and Danny on the
couch.  He studied her cards and swore.  She smiled, "How bad was that one?"
        "85."  He admitted, as he wrote it down.  "Who taught you this game?"
        "My Dad.  But I used to play with Jake a lot, too."  She winked at him, "Research, you
know."  She gathered the cards for her deal and began to shuffle them.  She leaned up to look at
the score pad, "Did that kill you?"
        "Yep."  He tossed the pencil at her playfully.  "How about Go Fish?"  
        She squared up the deck and set it on the table, then picked up the pencil where it had
fallen.  "I'm kinda tired of cards."  She checked her watch, "We've been playing for almost three
hours."   
        "Well, living alone, I don't have many games.  Last time I saw my Monopoly game it was
missing three tokens, two railroads, and most of the houses.  I think Gordie might have eaten
them."  
        Diane pushed herself to her feet and stretched, "I dunno.  Couldn't we turn on the
television?"
        Danny sighed, "Someone might hear it.  No one's supposed to be home."
        "We'll keep the sound really low.  Okay?"  She glanced through the listings as she spoke,
"Besides, look.   Casablanca's on."  Without waiting for permission, she went over and turned it
on.
        "Diane."  Danny scolded, but she did keep the sound low.  He looked up at it, "Hey, what'd
they colorize it for?  Damn, can't they leave well enough alone?"  He got up and turned the color
knob until the picture was black and white.  "That's better."
        Diane raised an eyebrow and looked at him over her shoulder as he settled on the couch,
"Oh, a purist.  Move over."
        For awhile, they watched the film in silence, sitting side-by-side on the couch.  Then, "Can I
ask you a question?"  Danny asked. 
        "Sure."  
        "Why did you lie to Billy?"
        She turned away from the movie.  "What do you mean?"
        Danny measured his words, "I don't think he bought the passport denial any more than I
did."
        She sighed, leaning her head on the back of the couch. "Danny.....my life as a researcher is
over."  Heck, she thought, if the shooter found her, her life would be over, period.  "Jake Luft
rescinded his invitation when he found out the lab was shut down because of  'questionable
research'."
        "I see."  Nyland understood her dilemma, "And he couldn't taint his research by having you
on his team."  She nodded.  "But why did you lie to Billy about it?"
        She shrugged, "I guess I just wasn't ready to say it out loud.  I don't know."  She paused,
trying to examine her own motivations, "Maybe....I....didn't want him to realize that Jake's
interest in me really was only business.  I think I was kind of enjoying his jealousy."  She smiled
briefly at her own perceptiveness.  "When he gets home, I'll tell him."


                            CHAPTER 7

        This time, Aaron and Philip drank with something to celebrate. Hancock would completely
recover and the criminal had been brought to justice.  Holding his glass, Philip pointed a finger
at Aaron, "Oh yeah, there's something else."  He was starting to smile bigger, "The anonymous
bidder identified himself."
        "You gonna tell me?"  Aaron asked.
        "Jack Calverton.  Senior."  He stressed the last word.  "Apparently, Junior over there asked
Daddy to make it anonymous just to hold the bidding open.  I would assume his disagreement
with a certain member of our staff has been resolved, and therefore he could make the bid
official.  The board accepted it."
        "Yahoo!"  Aaron joked, and raised his glass to clink with Philip's. They both drank.  "That's
the best news I've heard in weeks."
        At that moment, the sound of gunfire was heard.  Both of them dropped their glasses, and
ran from the office.  In the hallway, Philip halted and held out a hand to stop Aaron.  "Wait."  He
listened.  There was more gunfire, some distant, some closer.  "Dear God."  He broke into a run
again and ran down the stairwell to the ground floor, Aaron right behind him, both lab coats
flying behind them like capes.  People were screaming on the ground floor.   Camille was
standing just inside the doorway, and in front of her was a large black man with a large black
automatic rifle. Billy Kronk stood angrily at the nurses station with a clipboard in his hand. The
security guard on duty lay between the two sets of doors, which were both smeared with his
blood.  Camille turned when she heard them coming, and they both halted a dozen feet away,
staring at the gunman. Philip already knew that a similar scene was being played out at every
hospital entrance.
        "What do you want?"  He asked the gunman.
        "Diane Grad."  He said.
        Then Philip knew.  The gang was back.  All of them, not just the shooter.  "She's not here." 
He said, glad it could be said honestly.
        "Then go get her."
        Philip didn't hesitate.  "I won't."  He said.  
        The gunman shot several rounds into the ceiling, causing more screams to erupt.  People in
the reception area were cowering behind the furniture.  Some were small children, held close by
their parents.  Philip glanced around at them, conscious of their terror.  "Let these people go
first."
        "They are not important."  He stepped forward enough to clear the doorway, holding the
gun directly on Philip.  "Get everyone out except the patients."
        "Thank you."  He motioned for the people in the lobby to leave, which they did hurriedly,
looking behind them as they left, stepping delicately around the dead guard.  Then he motioned
for Aaron, Camille, and Kronk to step closer.   "Let's get this evacuation organized."  He said
pointedly, then he lowered his voice, "Aaron, I want you to call the police. Tell them we have a
hostage situation and to send as many cars as they can, but to come in silent and dark."  Aaron
nodded and went to a phone, dialing nervously to see if the gunman would have any objections. 
"Billy, get your ass home and make sure she doesn't listen to TV or radio.  There's bound to be
coverage."  Kronk nodded and, sidling passed the gunman, left the building.  "Camille,"  Philip
continued, "call all the nurse's stations and tell them to evacuate the staff.  Make sure no one's on
speaker phone or intercom."
        "But the patients --" Camille objected.
        "My job is to make sure no more lives are put at risk than absolutely necessary, and that
means getting the staff out.   The patients will be fine if we don't create a panic.  If any of them
ask, tell them it's only a drill."  This time, Camille nodded and also went over to a phone and
began dialing.  He turned to the gunman, "I'll leave after my staff is safe."  The gunman nodded
approval.
        Slowly, hospital personnel began filtering toward the exits, and were allowed to leave
unmolested.   Kate Austin finally found Watters standing at the front reception desk, observing
the exodus.  "Philip, what's going on?"  She asked, eyeing the gunman.
        "The shooter's here."  He said.  "And fairly benevalent."  He added. "All staff will be
leaving the premesis safely."
        "Philip, that's ridiculous."  She was about to say more, but Philip stopped her.
        "It's our safest option right now."  He insisted.  "The more people out of harm's way the
better."
        She seemed to accept his judgement, "What can I do?"
        He'd already thought of that, "Keep the panic level down."  He told her sotto voce. 
"Rumors are going to spread; consider it your job to combat them.  Under no circumstances is
anyone to try to contact Dr. Grad. Now get out, Kate."
        She tried to stare him down, obviously wanting badly not to desert her post, but she lost,
and filed out with the rest.  Camille came out from the desk and approached Philip, "Philip, the
staff is evacuated."
        "Okay, let's go."  He took her by the arm.
        She pulled away, "You're not serious?  I'm staying."
        "No, you're not.  And neither am I."  He again took her by the arm tightly, and led her from
the building.   His stomach tightened as he walked past the gunman, who turned to face the outer
doors now.   
        As Watters and Camille stepped into the now crowded street, several black and whites
could be seen coming .  People hurried across to the opposite sidewalk, but still hung together,
asking questions, and watching the building they had just left.   The police cars pulled in
strategically all around the building.  At each exit, an armed gunman saw them approach, and
smiled.  From hidden areas, more gunmen emerged and entered the building.
        

        Diane yawned.  It had been a long day.  Danny was already dozing on the couch next to her. 
She'd been dozing, too, but woke to find an unfamiliar, bad movie playing on the television.  She
looked around for the remote, saw it on the other side of Danny, who was curled up with a
pillow scrunched beneath his head.  She stretched, but couldn't reach it, then raised herself off
the couch, while balancing with one hand on the arm, she finally grasped it with the other.  She
was about to switch it off, when the scene suddenly changed.  "We interrupt this program for an
important news bulletin."  The announcer said.  Diane shrugged, and was about to turn it off
again, when she was stopped by the sight of Chicago Hope hospital surrounded by police cars.
        "Danny!"  She shook him awake quickly, "Look at this!"  She raised the volume.
        "Chicago Hope hospital has been taken over by an unknown number of armed gunmen. 
Eight security guards are dead, but the entire staff was evacuated safely."  A male reporter with a
large microphone told her.  "The patients, however, are being held hostage.  The spokesman for
the gunmen has not been contacted as yet, and demands are still to be established.  We will give
you more details as they develop.  This is Andrew Richards, for CBS News."         
        The movie returned, but neither viewer noticed.  "Ohmigod."  Diane heard herself say.  She
was shaking already.  She knew who was responsible. And what he wanted.  She had no idea
he'd go this far.  "It's him, Danny."
        "Now, wait."  Danny tried valiantly to ease her panic, "Not necessarily."
        She rose from the couch and began to pace, "Don't, Danny."  
        At that point, the door opened and Billy Kronk rushed in.  He took one look at Diane and
knew he'd arrived too late.  She rushed at him, "Billy, what happened?"
        He closed the door and locked it behind him.  He took her hands in his,  "I won't lie.  He
wants you.  He demanded you."
        She swallowed, her voice almost non-existant, "Eight men are dead." Then she bacame
decisive, "I have to go."
        Both Danny and Billy held her.  "No."  They both said.  "We won't let you."  Danny spoke
for the both of them.  "He'd kill you."
        "I know that."  She said, breaking into sobs.  "But it's all my fault.  I'm responsible for this."
        Billy shook his head as if Diane had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world, "No,
Diane, no.  He's responsible."  He took her by the shoulders and forced her to look him in the
eyes, "He is."  He repeated, stressing both words.  He waited for her to answer, wondering if she
even heard.
        She met his eyes and held them, resolute in her own convictions.   
        Danny pulled them apart, "Billy's right, Diane."  
        Grad looked at Danny, wanting to believe them both.  But she didn't feel that way at all. 
She felt guilty.  If she hadn't lost control of herself like that in the ER when he'd been shot,
screaming at him to die and pushing the bullet in further, he might not even know who she was. 
She hadn't felt guilty about it at the time.  Not at all.  But it had come back to haunt her now. 
Drug dealers held grudges a long time, and always got even.  She felt sick to her stomach, but
fought it.  "No," she whispered. "I have to go."
        "We return now to Chicago Hope", a TV announcer said, "where armed gunmen have taken
the patients hostage."  The same reporter appeared as the three turned to watch the screen, "I
have here Chief of Police George Raymond.  Chief, what can you tell us?"   He held the
microphone toward a somewhat heavyset, uniformed man with a bad toupee.
        "We've made contact with a man located in a room on the third floor. He won't give his
name, but demands that we give him Dr. Diane Grad.  I've been told that she is on her way to
Africa to do research, which we've explained to him.  The suspect has given us 24 hours to
produce her, or he begins shooting the patients."  He didn't seem very optomistic.  
        "Stop!"  Philip Watters interrupted the interview.  "I told you no details!"  He directed this
to Chief Raymond, as he swiftly placed a hand over the camera lens.
        "Sir, you can't obstruct the news crew."  The reporter could be heard saying.  "Please step
back."  
        "Like hell."  Suddenly, the picture dissolved into static.  
        The anchorman in the CBS news studio appeared, with the static reduced to a small square
over his shoulder.  He listened to his earpiece, "Ladies and Gentlemen, we appear to have lost
contact with our unit on the scene.  Please stay tuned to this station for updates."
        Then the TV itself went black as Billy found the remote and snapped it off.   He turned, not
entirely joyful at his success, to find Diane Grad slumped on the floor at Danny's feet, staring at
nothing.  Eventually, she looked up at Billy, her head loose.  She swallowed hard, took a deep
breath, and got to her feet.  "Are you driving, or am I?"  She asked.
        "Diane, that's suicide."  Danny said, still standing near her.
        She turned to face him, "You heard.  24 hours and he starts shooting.  And how many
patients will die without medical care before that? Dennis could be one of them!"  She stepped
back, to include both men, "How can you just stay here and wait?"
        All three stared at each other.  
        

                            CHAPTER 8

        Billy drove.  Diane sat in the front passenger seat, and Danny in the back.  "C'mon.  Go the
speed limit."  Diane urged him.
        "Don't tell me how to drive."
        Diane knew what he was doing, bit her lip, and let him keep doing it.  She wasn't exactly in
a hurry to die.  But she couldn't ride in silence, either.  "So, how was Dennis doing when you saw
him?"
        Billy glanced at her as he drove, "He was awake."  He looked at his watch, "Been awake a
couple of hours now."
        "Then he's still in ICU."
        "Yeah."
        Diane nodded.  He should be safe there.  But he would need medications soon.  There was
more silence, then Diane remembered that there was something she had to tell Billy.  It was
awkward and out of place, but there might not be another chance to tell him.  "Billy, I lied to you
yesterday."
        "What about?"  He was unconcerned.
        "About why I didn't go to Africa."
        Billy nodded, "I know.  The passport thing was stupid."  He was sorry as soon as he said it,
"So why didn't you go?"
        Diane looked at Danny in the back seat for moral support.  He nodded at her in assurance. 
"Jake wouldn't take me.  He found out why I lost the lab, and couldn't taint his research by
having me involved in it."
        "Ah."  Billy said.  "You know what?  I don't care.  I don't care if you want Jake, and I don't
care that you lied.  All I care about is that you're gonna get yourself killed because you feel guilty
about sticking up for the Eel."
        Diane was shocked.  That wasn't the reaction she'd been expecting, but then the situation
was different than when she'd last thought about it. She looked back at Danny again, who shook
his head this time.  He didn't know what she should say, either.  "Billy, I don't want Jake.  I want
you." She was crying now, "But I can't let people die because of what I did.  What would you do,
if you were in my shoes?"
        He kept his eyes on the road, and wouldn't even glance at her.  "Let the police handle it."
        "And what are they going to do?  Wait him out.  He gave them 24 hours.  Dennis, and a lot
of other patients, don't have that long.  But they won't think about that."  She blinked her tears
away, "We need this thing over quickly, and only I have the power to do that."


        Dennis Hancock had to pee.  There was a catheter, but Dennis was holding out, hoping a
nurse would be by shortly to remove it.   It should have been removed an hour ago, he thought. 
He pushed the call button again, wondering why there was no answer.  He listened, but heard
nothing.  Now, it was usually pretty quiet in an ICU room, of course, but Dennis sensed
something different.   He swore, and fumbled under the sheet, removing the catheter himself
with a wince and groan.  Bad angle for this procedure, he thought.  
        Using the wheeled IV rack for support he pulled himself out of bed and, slowly, his head
throbbing, maneuvered to the bathroom.  Several minutes later, he came back out again, and sat
on the bed, exhausted.  He needed a pain killer.  Looking up, he noticed the IV bag was nearly
empty as well.  He opened the drawer of the bedside table and found his watch. Noticing the
time, he knew something was wrong.  Damn, his head hurt.  
        Gathering his strength, he pulled himself up again and walked slowly out of the room,
through the observation room, and into the hallway.  He looked up and down the hallway.  The
place was deserted.  He saw the nurse's station at the far end, unattended.  What the--, he
thought.  He noticed himself getting very short of breath.  His legs were close to giving way, and
the pain in his head was becoming unbearable.  He knew if he went back to the bed, he wouldn't
be getting up again, so he kept on.  He had to get to the drug cabinet behind the nurses station, to
medicate himself.
        He found himself leaning against the wall, and accepted its support gladly.  Between the
wall and the IV rack, he pushed himself forward.  It took great concentration, and he lost track
of time, but he did reach the nurse's desk and pulled himself around it.  He collapsed into a chair,
surprised that he was still conscious.  Driving the chair with his feet, he entered the rear room,
but the drug cabinet was high.  Again he pulled himself up with the IV rack, and opened the
cabinet.  He selected the pain killer he knew Shutt had ordered for him, and grasped the bottle as
if it were gold.  He managed to open the bottle and swallowed a dose without water, then fell
again into the chair.


        Billy pulled the car over and parked a block away.  He couldn't have gotten closer if he'd
wanted to.   As Billy, Danny, and Diane all walked toward the crowd, a police officer
approached.  "Excuse me, please stay back."  He said.
        "I'm Diane Grad."  Diane said before Billy or Danny could stop her. The officer grabbed her
by the hand and pulled her over and down behind the nearest police car.  Billy and Danny
followed.  They were not about to let her out of their sight.   
        "Ma'am, you shouldn't have come here."
        Diane freed her hand from his grasp, but didn't try to move away. "This is all my fault."  Her
eyes were moist with tears, but she refused to let them out.  
        The officer was motioning for someone else to come over.  Philip, and Chief Raymond
came running.  Watters saw what the officer was waving about, "What the hell are you doing
here?"
        Diane said nothing.  She was tired of explaining it, and didn't have the time to reply.  She
was listening to the sounds around her.  Most of it was officers conferring with each other.  She
heard the phrase "sharpshooter", but all she could think about was that she was going to die
today.  She was going to go in, and he was going to shoot her a zillion times, just like he'd shot
Alan, and she was going to die.  Everything was beginning to feel very surreal.
        Chief Raymond knelt down next to her with sympathy on his face. "Dr. Grad,  I wish you
hadn't come.  We've called a S.W.A.T. team.  They have a sharpshooter that they're going to
position on that roof over there," he pointed.  "They'll get him."
        "How many men are in there?"  She asked him, "How many guns?  How many patients can
they shoot when you shoot him?"  Why couldn't anyone see this was hopeless?  He'd been smart. 
Drastic, but very smart.   She was sure he had enough people in there to do whatever he wanted. 
The Chief just looked at her stupidly.  "You didn't think about that, did you?  It's not just him. 
He's got a lot of friends. And they're all just like him."
        "You got a better idea?"
        Great, she thought.  Now there really was no time.  If the S.W.A.T. team got their
sharpshooter in place and he fired, it would start a chain reaction of gunfire that wouldn't stop
until a lot of people were dead. "Yeah,"  she said.  "I'm going in."
        Watters had immediate objections, "No way, Diane."
        She looked down at her street clothes.  "Give me your lab coat."
        "What?"
        She raised one arm and wiggled her fingers, "C'mon, just give it to me.  He might not
believe I'm Dr. Grad without one."
        Watters removed his name badge, and handed her the lab coat.  She stood up to put it on. 
"Okay," she licked her lips, which had gone dry, "now tell him I'm coming." She looked down at
where Philip's badge had been, "You wouldn't have my badge on you, would you?"  Watters just
shook his head.
        The five men surrounding her stared at each other in disbelief.  
        "Where the hell is the megaphone?" She asked.  She saw it on the roof of a car and started
walking toward it.  All five men moved with her, standing between her and the hospital.  The
police Chief grabbed the megaphone before she could, and Grad met his gaze with a challenge. 
An unspoken "are you going to tell him or am I?"
        "Attention, suspect!"  The chief called out.
        "I hear ya!"  Came his voice.  Diane's stomach felt like stone.  She remembered it.  "You
got to pay the piper"  he'd said to Alan.  
        "We have Dr. Grad here.  She's coming in."  The announcement caused an uproar in the
milling crowd.   Members of the staff who knew her tried to push their way through toward the
megaphone, but other officers held them back.  She ignored them.
        "Send her to the front door.  My men will show her in."  He said, his success audible in his
voice.
        Diane stepped out into the street.  Watters pulled her shoulder in a last ditch effort to
change her mind, "Diane, you don't have to do this!"
        He was just making this harder.  "Philip, please!" She shouted, shaking his hand off her
shoulder, "I don't want any more blood on my hands!"  
        Then, without looking back, she walked straight to the hospital doors, and opened them.


        Hancock stayed in the chair until the pain began to subside.  As the pain faded, his head
cleared, and he felt stronger, but still weak.  He glanced up at the IV bag, now empty.  Okay, that
was next.  He went to the freezer and pulled out a full bag of plasma, then hooked it up and
tossed the old one on a table.  It should go in a hazardous waste container, he knew, but there
was not one handy and he wasn't going to carry it around. With his immediate needs taken care
of, he needed to find out what was going on.  He went back out to the nurse's desk and looked
around again.  He had to go to the main floor.  There had to be answers there.   At a much better
pace than before, he wheeled his IV to the elevator and pushed the button.    He got out on the
1st floor, and turned toward the reception area. Immediately, he ducked behind a corner.  Even
from here, he could see the red smears on the front doors, and the body lying between them. 
And the large man with the gun standing there, looking out.  And what was even worse, out on
the sidewalk, he saw Diane Grad in a lab coat, walking straight into the building.
        

                            CHAPTER 9

        Diane Grad half expected to be shot on sight.  She thought the first gunman would shoot her
down, then drag her body to an elevator and up to where the shooter was hiding, tossing her limp
body at his feet like an offering.  She watched herself place a hand on the door handle and pull it
open.  She stepped inside.  The gunman was there.  He nodded at her, and another gunman came
out from hiding.  This new gunman took her by the arm.
        "Excuse me,"  she said, "Could I ask you a favor?"  He didn't seem receptive.  "I really need
to use a bathroom."  She feigned some serious urgency.  "It'll only take a minute."
        The man sighed, and nodded.
        "There's one this way."  His hand was still on her arm, but he followed her.  She led him
down the corridor, thinking quickly.  She reached the door to her lab, reached up with her free
hand and removed the door plaque, hiding it quickly in a large pocket on the lab coat.  "This is
it." Before opening the door, she looked pointedly at her arm, "Could I have some privacy,
please?"
        He hesitated.
        "Look, I came in voluntarily.  Does it make sense that I'd try to run away?  I won't be long, I
promise."  She tried to look trustworthy, and the man finally freed her arm, and took his post at
the door.
        She opened it just wide enough to slip through, then closed it again.  She took a deep breath
and looked around.  The lab was just as she'd seen it last, but it seemed darker.  She didn't have
long, but she needed a weapon.  Something she could hide.  She removed the door plaque from
the pocket of her lab coat and set it on a soft chair just inside the door. Then she went to the
medicine cabinet where she kept the tranquilizers she had used on the animals.  Had anyone
bothered to clean it out?  It was locked, but she knew where the key was.  She went to the desk
drawer and opened it as quietly as she could, coming back to the cabinet with the key, watching
the door in case her guard would think to peek inside.  She opened the cabinet, and grabbed vials
and hypodermics and threw them in her pocket, hoping she'd have time to maybe use them.  If
she could knock him out, quietly, maybe she'd buy some more time,  time to think of something
else. But she'd already taken too much time.  She slipped out the door the same way she'd come
in.  "Thank you."  She told the gunman, and allowed him to once again take her by the arm.  "I'm
ready."


        Dennis watched Diane come in and apparently be taken by another gunman down the
corridor.  They then returned, and went to the elevators. He ducked back around the corner and
leaned his head against the wall. Geez, you get one shot in the head and you miss out on
everything, he thought.  Okay, so there are armed men in the halls; he had no idea how many. 
They had Diane.  What would they want her for?  Where were the police?  And what could he do
to help her?


        The gunman pulled her to the elevators, and pushed the up button. When the doors, opened,
he pushed her forward, but never let go.  She stood nervously, her free hand fumbling in her
pocket.  No good.  Damn, she was stupid, she thought.  She'd have to fill the hypos in plain
view...... unless......no, she couldn't do that.   She looked at the gunman, and noticed for the first
time that he couldn't have been more than 20 years old.  Just a kid.  With an automatic rifle.  He
didn't look at her, but at the doors, waiting for them to open.  Like a guard at Buckingham
Palace. Expressionless.  She wondered why he had allowed her "bathroom" break.  It seemed out
of character.  Afterall, she was about to be killed as far as he knew, or maybe he didn't know. 
Maybe all these men helping the shooter didn't even know what he was doing this for.  What
were they doing it for?
        The door opened, and she was led down another hallway and into a private room.  A
patient, a young man in his late twenties, lay in the bed, obviously terrified.  His broken leg hung
suspended above the bed.  The shooter was standing to one side of the window, looking out at
the line of police cars and the milling crowd, a pistol in his right hand.  He heard them come in
and turned, with a large smile on his face.  "Hello, Dr. Grad." He pulled off his long suede jacket
and flung it on the foot of the bed.         He turned to her escort, "You may leave.  Tell the others
their payment is hidden where they came in.  If they can find it."  The man looked at her,
wondering what he had just taken part in, and left.
        "You don't hire for intelligence, do you?"  Diane said.  She already knew what was coming. 
The shooter's smile faded, and he raised a hand as if to hit her.  She turned her head, but his hand
froze in mid-air, then slowly came down.  
        "You won't die fast, bitch."  
        "Oh, I get it.  You want me to suffer.  You want to watch me cry and beg and plead for my
life.  How original."  She told him, "If I wasn't prepared to die, I wouldn't have come in here." 
Not that I'm any less afraid of it, she thought to herself.  


        From his point of view, Diane Grad was swallowed up by Chicago Hope. Philip watched
until she disappeared from view, then turned to Kronk.  "Why did you bring her here?"
        Kronk set his jaw, "Why did you let her go in?"
        Philip was about to say more, but Billy realized his attention was grabbed by something
behind him.  He turned to see Jeffrey Geiger talking to a policeman about a hundred yards away. 
The policeman pointed in their direction and Geiger nodded in thanks and began walking,
stretching his neck until he spotted them.   "Philip!  Hey, Philip, I saw you on TV and came as
quick as I could.  Great performance."
        Watters gave him a this-is-no-time-for-jokes look.
        "What?" Geiger asked, not understanding the lack of amusement.
        "She went in."
        "Grad?  What the hell for?  Is she stupid?"  He looked at the building, looked as if he was
going to go running in after her, but saw the gunmen at the door.  
        "Billy?"  Philip prompted.  
        Kronk lowered his head and spoke quietly, "She says it's her fault."
        A why was on Philip's lips, but he figured it out before he asked. She had antagonized him. 
If she hadn't engaged in her outburst, he would not be doing this.  "Damn."  It made sense, now. 
Too much sense.  Blood on her hands, she had said.  He tensed, waiting for the sound of gunfire
to begin.
        Elsewhere in the crowd, Austin spotted Tommy Wilmette.  He was standing a little back
from the crowd, arms crossed, watching the event as a whole.  She walked over to him.  She'd
heard about the board's decision. I'm too big a person to gloat, she thought to herself over and
over.  But when the opportunity arose..... "Tommy, I heard you lost the bid."  She couldn't hide
her pleasure.
        Wilmette, for his part, did not appear disturbed.  "Yeah."  He admitted, his arms still
crossed.  "It doesn't matter.  This little fiasco is going to finish the hospital."
        "I don't think so."
        He walked closer to her, as if they were in the park,  "Who's going to want to stay here? 
Security is a joke now.   A gang of children have complete control."
        "Children with automatic weapons, who aren't too young to use them. Tommy, don't try to
make it sound like this would happen every day."
        He pressed his lips together, "Once is enough for most people."
        Austin didn't have a reply.  Instead, she asked, "What are you going to do now?  Now that
you lost your bid for power?"  She couldn't resist saying it again.  He lost.  God, she loved the
sound of that.
        He shrugged, "It frees me up to go to Boston."  He said, then, having spotted Geiger and
Watters, he walked away, leaving Kate with her mouth hanging open.
        Watters saw him coming and swore to himself.  This was the last person he wanted to talk
to.  Wilmette called a casual greeting as he neared.  Geiger eyed him suspiciously, and Shutt
turned his back on him. Danny and Billy seemed not to be paying attention.  "Hello, Mr.
Wilmette. What brings you here?"
        Wilmette chuckled and pointed at the chaotic scene around them.  "I came to watch
Camelot fall."
        "And we called Alan the Eel."  Geiger muttered under his breath, then spoke to Wilmette,
"How's it hangin'?"
        Wilmette ignored Geiger.  He spoke to Watters.  "I wanted to ask you ---" he paused, "I
know it's against protocol, but who was it?"
        Philip shook his head.  "I can't tell you, and you know it.  All you need to know is that your
bid was rejected.  Live with it."
        Wilmette exuded calm.  "Now you develop ethics."  He turned to face the hospital, "Too
late."  And like he did with Kate, he wandered off without another word.
        "Hey, what's going on?" Geiger was watching the gunman at the front door.  Now they all
turned to watch.  A second man came out and spoke to him, then retreated.  The man began
casually examining his immediate area. Then, spotting something, he lowered the gun, and knelt
down.  A police officer was waving to his men, and conversations over walkie talkies were
taking place.  When the man's attention was diverted, a single shot rang out.  More gunshots
could be heard around the outside of the building in the next several moments.  The man fell
instantly.  There was silence for a moment, then two officers approached the fallen man.  One
knelt to feel for a pulse, and shook his head to his superior.  He then looked up at the window
where they knew the shooter to be, and he saw her looking down at him.  He didn't see the
shooter.  He backed up close to the building so he couldn't be seen.  The other officer followed,
and the two carefully approached the doorway.


        He circled her, teasing her with the barrel of the gun.  It touched her waist; he raised it until
it was pointed at her cheek.  She didn't flinch, but it wasn't easy.  Then she heard the gunfire. 
Almost simultaneously, she knew, as each guard began searching the entry ways for his payment
that wasn't there, the cops picked them off from a distance. They were kids, she was thinking. 
Just kids.  She closed her eyes briefly. Did that mean it was just the two of them now?  She
wasn't sure.  But it did change the odds.   And if the doors were no longer guarded, the cops
would try to close in.  If there were more guards.... she didn't want to think about that.  She
couldn't think about that.  She tried to keep her mind on this room.  She looked at the patient,
gave him an encouraging smile.  
        The shooter moved the barrel down, and shot squarely between her feet.  She jumped
reflexively, but managed not to move from the spot.   "I'm not ready to do you, yet."  He went to
the window again and looked out, keeping his gun pointed at her.  "Come here."
        She hesitated, then stepped toward the window.  She was thinking about the sharpshooter. 
If he was in place, would he mistake any movement for the shooter?  The shooter told her to
look down.  She did, and saw the police examining the body of the recently shot gunman from
the front door. The officer shook his head at other officers watching from the street.  Then the
officer looked up at the window.  She was sure he saw her.  He backed up close to the building
where she couldn't see.  Was he coming in after her? She couldn't tell. "Enough."  The shooter
pushed her away from the window.  
        She backed up near the bed, toward the head of the bed, and fluffed his pillow.  She sat in
the chair, "How long are you going to make me wait?"
        "As long as I'm enjoying myself."  He said.  "I waited a long time for this."
        "You'll never get away with it."  
        "I never intended to."  He told her.  "After you're dead they can shoot me or lock me up, I
don't care.  But I'll see you die, first."  
        She inched the chair closer to the bed, so the shooter couldn't see the pocket.  She pulled it
open as she inched, thankful that it was big enough to stay open without being held.  But the
patient saw it.  He knew she meant for him to reach in for something and he did, quickly.  He
grabbed what he could and slid it under his blanket.  She hoped he knew what to do with it.  The
shooter wouldn't be watching him as closely.
        The shooter fired at her again, hitting her in the calf.  She fell off the chair and to the floor
as pain sped through her leg.  She grasped the wound, on the inside of her left calf.  "Get away
from him."  He growled.  She crawled out into the open, leaving a streak of blood on the floor. 
The shooter looked at the blood with pleasure.  "That was fun."
        She winced, and squeezed the wound.  It had hit the bone.  It wasn't broken, but probably
cracked severely.  Blood covered her hand.  She pulled herself over to the wall, so she could lean
against it.  She was breathing hard.  "How many bullets do I get?"  She asked him.  If there were
six in the gun, there would be four left now.  
        "Oh, you're very funny."  He turned the gun around and hit her in the face with the butt.  She
cried out in pain as she heard a cheekbone crack.  Then he had the gun turned around again and
it was pointed at her head.  "Make another funny."
        She stared at him, but noticed also the man in the bed fumbling beneath the blankets, trying
to see what he was doing.  She had to distract him a little more.  But another funny didn't sound
like a good idea right now.   Then the shooter smiled a very different smile.  He lowered the gun,
and reached for her.  His hand pulled hers off of her leg, and he jammed his finger into the
wound.  She clenched her teeth tightly, but sound did escape from her against her will.  "Is this
where it hurts?"  He asked.  He jammed it again, "Here?"  Then he laughed.


                            CHAPTER 10

        Hancock slumped against the wall, completely out of strength, listening to the intermittent
gunfire, and wondering which shot had Diane's name on it.  He didn't know how long he sat
there, wishing he could slow his own breathing, when he heard footsteps approaching.  He
leaned enough to peek around the corner, only managing to fall helpless into their path.  The
footsteps grew faster, and he realized thankfully that they were police officers.  They held their
guns on him, until, after rounding the corner, they realized his predicament.  "Sir?"  One officer
spoke softly to him.  
        Dennis found he didn't have the breath to speak.  He barely had the breath to breathe.  He
was going to pass out.  He wondered if his actions had caused bleeding inside his head again. 
He fought against the urge to let himself slip into unconsciousness, and concentrated. 
"Upstairs."  He said.
        "Have you seen any gunmen besides the one that was in the doorway?" The officer asked
him, speaking distinctly.  Hancock shook his head, and passed out.  The two officers wanted to
check for an empty bed to put him in, but had orders not to disturb any patients.  They carried
him to the reception area, with the IV rack in tow, and laid him gently on a waiting room couch. 
Then they took the stairwell up.


        Watters could not stand around waiting any longer.  He approached Chief Raymond. 
"Chief, do you think it's safe enough for us to go in?"  He indicated Geiger who stood next to
him. 
        "I wouldn't just yet."  The Chief shook his head as he eyed the building.  "Let my men
secure the building."
        "What if we stay on the lower floors?"  Philip argued, "There are patients there who need
care.  Every minute can make a difference."  He knew there might be more gunmen, but the
police had already gone in. "We understand the risks.  We won't go anywhere your men haven't
been."
        The Chief was reluctant, but it seemed that the shooter was preoccupied as he hadn't
shouted out the window in some time.  He didn't seem to be watching them anymore, now that
he had her.  That's probably why he'd let his men get gunned down.  And he understood a
doctor's need to assure the safety of his patients.  He waved over another officer, "Take these two
in,"  he told him, "But don't go upstairs until the all clear." The officer nodded, and pulled out his
gun. 
         As they entered close behind the officer,  Jeffrey scanned the rooms and found Hancock in
the reception waiting room.  "Philip, in here." Then, when Philip had joined him, "What's he
doing out here?"
        "I don't know, but let's get him back to the ICU."  Philip first went out the front door to ask
for Dr. Shutt, then retrieved a gurney from the nearby ER.  Aaron arrived as they began to wheel
him down the hallway to the elevator and together they took him down to his room.  They settled
him in and checked his vital signs.  
        "He must have gotten himself out of bed."  Aaron said, pulling out his penlight and
checking his pupils.  "It looks like he just exhausted himself."  He pocketed the light.  "Anyone
for rounds, gentlemen?"

        
        Diane screamed as the shooter thrust his finger deeper into the wound on her leg.  It felt
like a hot poker had been inserted all the way up to her knee.  She pushed herself against the
wall, bringing her knees up to try to get out of his reach.  He just took a step closer, enthralled by
the idea of causing her the pain that he had felt so many months before.  "The bullet's right here,
isn't it?"  He said.  She dropped her bravado and began playing poor frightened little thing to the
hilt, seeing him revel in her fear.  She was terrified, but in the back of her mind she knew that
the patient was trying something with the tranquilizers.  If she didn't keep him entertained, he'd
be sure to notice something.  How would he deliver it, she thought?  He couldn't get out of the
bed and sneak up on him.  Details, she told herself, don't worry about details.  Keep him
distracted.  
        As her screams died down into groans, the shooter waved the gun at her face, "maybe I
should make a fresh one?"  He pointed at an arm, then at her stomach, watching her reaction to
the idea.  "Or maybe it's time to just finish you off."  And the barrel pointed at her face.  She
seemed to stop breathing.
        "Leave her alone, you bloody bastard!"  She heard the patient shout. Suddenly, the shooter
rose and shouted in pain and anger, firing the gun reflexively.  The bullet went wild, but Diane
threw her arms instinctively over her head.  He turned toward the patient in the bed, and she saw
him between her raised arms.  A hypo was stuck cleanly in the middle of his back.  He tried
unsuccessfully to reach it to pull it out.  Diane also noticed that although  the needle was in him,
nothing had been injected. The plunger was still extended.  In the split second that he turned, she
saw all this, and saw what she had to do.  Ignoring the pain in her leg and cheek, she forced
herself up, and grabbed his shoulder to steady him. "Here, let me."  She drove the plunger in.
        The shooter arched, then collapsed to the floor like lead.  She panted as she stood favoring
her good leg, looking down at him.  "Which vial did you use?"  He'd gone down awfully fast.
        "None."  He replied, "I haven't the faintest idea how to fill one of those things."  
        She bent down, wincing as more pain shot up her leg, and felt his neck.  He was dead.  She
had injected an air bubble that killed him instantly.   "He's dead."
        "Oh dear."  The patient seemed distressed, "I didn't mean to--- I was trying to get him off
you."
         After several seconds, she limped over to the bed, her left eye swelling shut rapidly.  "Are
you all right?"
        "Are you?"  He asked.  
        He has a lovely English accent, she thought.  "You're a good shot with a hypo.  Where did
you learn to throw like that?"  She lowered herself gingerly into the chair by the head of his bed.  
        "English darts."  He said.  "That's how I broke my leg."
        "Huh?"
        He grinned, "I'd just won a tourny with a bullseye, and my teammates decided to carry me
out of the building.  The blighters wound up throwing me down the stairs then falling on top of
me."  He gestured to his leg.  "I'm Hugh Donagal."  He held out his hand.
        Diane had to laugh as she offered her hand, "Diane Grad." She saw him glance at the blood
staining her hand and offered her other hand, only to see that it was also blood-stained.  They
both laughed.  "Nice to meet you." She said.
        At that moment, two police officers burst through the door, guns up. They saw the scene in
front of them and immediately lowered their guns.  One of them checked the shooter.  "He's
dead."
        The other walked over to Dr. Grad.  "Ma'am."  She nodded.  "You're safe now.  We got 'em
all."  He noticed her wounds, "You, ah, need a doctor, Ma'am?"
        She smiled at him, and tried to get up.  She didn't even remember falling down.


        When Diane opened her eyes, she had a brief instance of claustrophobia.  Watters, Geiger,
Austin, Nyland, Camille, and Aaron were all standing around her bed.   Her leg was encased in
plaster to just below the knee and the left side of her head was bandaged.  Her leg still throbbed,
and her face was still numb on one side.  She knew that would hurt like hell in a while.  "How
are you feeling?"  Watters spoke for the group.
        "Pretty damn good."  She replied.  
        Shutt asked, "You remember everything?"
        Her eyes clouded over for a minute as she ran through the events again.  "Yeah," she said
softly.  "Up until I passed out."
        Geiger pushed toward the front.  "As soon as the cops gave us the all clear we came up and
found you.  You gave us a scare, you know.  We thought he'd finished you."  
        She tried to imagine what it must have looked like, blood smeared all over the room, and
understood.  "Sorry."
        Watters stepped forward again, "You lost a lot of blood.  You need to rest."
        She sighed, "I can't argue with you."
        "There's someone who'd like to speak with you first."  She turned to see Billy pushing a
wheelchair into the room.  In the wheelchair sat Hugh Donagal, his heavily casted leg stretched
out in front of him.
        "Hugh,"  She said.  "You saved my life.  If there's anything I can do for you --"
        He winked at her, "There is one thing."
        "Anything.  Name it."
        Hugh hooked a thumb behind him at Kronk.  "Make up with this bloke and get him off my
back, will you?"  Billy raised his hands in the air to indicate he had not coached the man to say
that.  "He's been talking about you for hours, asking questions about what happened while we
were together and such."
        Diane fought the urge to smile, unsuccessfully, "I did say 'anything'."  Billy stepped
forward, and kissed her forehead.
        Then Hugh pulled out a sharpie from somewhere, "Okay, you sign my cast and I'll sign
yours.  Deal?"
        "Deal."  She chuckled, taking the pen from him.  He wheeled himself over so she could
reach his leg, and she leaned over.  She drew a simple target and wrote "Your next bullseye is
for me" and signed her name. 
         She handed him the pen and everyone shuffled around to give him room to maneuver
toward her cast.  He seemed to take a long time, and her angle was not good for viewing it, so
she didn't see.  He finished with a flourish.   "Okay," and caught Camille's eye with another
wink, "the lovely lady can take me back and put me leg in the stirrup."  With a twinkle in her
eye, Camille took charge of the wheelchair and, with Hugh chatting flirtingly with her, they left
the room.
        Watters then guided the crowd out of the room.  Billy hung back briefly and took her hand. 
"Oh for goodness sakes, tell me what he wrote." She said.  
        Billy turned his head sideways, "It's a picture, a rather good one, of .... Porky Pig?"
        "I don't get it."
        Then Billy started laughing out loud.  "Diane, it says 'Darts all folks!' "
        Diane's eyes moistened.  He was reminding her that it was over.  He wanted her to put this
behind her.  And she knew she would.  Then Billy tucked her hair behind her ear, kissed her
forehead again, and said he'd be back to see her later.  It was only then that she realized she
wasn't alone. In the next bed lay Dennis Hancock, looking none the worse for wear. Apparently,
they had upgraded his condition enough to bring him to this semi-private room.  He was awake,
but also obviously weak.  She smiled at him, "I'm glad you're okay."
        "Thanks."  He paused, then asked, "Do you feel better?"
        She motioned toward the door, indicating the visitors that had just left, "I just said that,
didn't I?"
        "No, I mean, do you feel better?"
        His expression told her what he meant.  He wasn't talking about her physical condition.  He
was asking if she felt better now that the shooter was dead.  He'd been there when she lost
control in the ER that day and had pulled her off the shooter.  The shooter had been his patient. 
While Dennis had understood how she felt, he could not condone her actions against the shooter. 
Now he wanted to know if the shooter's death had brought her closure.  "Yes, I do."  She
answered him quickly.  "It's all behind me now." The safe, secure feeling that she'd been missing
ever since Alan's death was tangible now.  Despite her injuries, she was wonderfully comfortable
in the bed.  She scrunched down, preparing to sleep.  Looking forward to a long, peaceful sleep.
        Dennis stared at the ceiling, thinking about all the men that had died that day.   The gang
members and security guards alike.  He realized he felt better, too.  Better about Alan, knowing
that his killer had finally paid the ultimate price.  But still, he was saddened that so many men
had paid it with him.  Diane seemed blissfully satisfied as her breathing took on the slow,
shallow pattern of sleep in the next bed.  He wondered if or when she would realize the scope of
these events.  And hoped she wouldn't.

                             THE END