Healing Wolves
Part Twelve - The Return
By Scott J. Welles
scottjwelles@yahoo.com

ER and all related characters are the property of Warner Bros., Amblin Entertainment, and ConstantC productions, used here without permission. This story has been written entirely for entertainment value. No copyright infringement is intended, and no form of profit is being made on this work. Any errors in continuity, characterization, or common sense may be blamed entirely on me. Sorry. If this hasn't given you eyestrain already, read on.



Someone in the area must have heard the gunshots and called the cops, because the first patrol cars arrived soon afterwards. They found the four of us, all wet and bloody, probably looking pretty awful all around. One of the cops, a career patrolman with a face as weathered as an old catcher's mitt, recognized Kerry Weaver and Jeannie Boulet immediately. Jeannie greeted him by name, calling him "Al". His nametag read GRABARSKY. I gave him my .38 and let him frisk me, and we laid out the situation for him. His partner called for an ambulance.

Kerry said she wanted to go straight to County General, even though Jeannie said that Mercy Hospital was closer. I thought about it. She wasn't really hurt. More than anything, what she needed most right now was a familiar environment. On the other hand, the cops couldn't just let us walk away from the crime scene. They've got rules about that sort of thing. I said as much.

Grabarsky looked at Kerry Weaver, who was sitting on the ground with her back against the garage wall, looking small and pathetic and miserable, and said, "How about I drive you to County? Technically, you'd still be in police custody."

I liked the offer, but felt obligated to say, "Lieutenant Wasserstein wouldn't be happy about that. You could take some heat over it."

"Steve Wasserstein?" he said, with a sour look.

I nodded.

He said, "Screw 'im. Let him Lo-Jack me if he wants."

Jeannie volunteered to stay with Gary Bledsoe until he reached Mercy, then drive my Buick back. I left her the keys and got into the rear of Grabarsky's unit with Kerry. He gave us a blanket from the trunk and we huddled for warmth.

We were quiet on the drive, except when Kerry asked Grabarsky to turn on the radio. He searched the dial for something soothing, maybe a classical station, maybe some soft jazz, but she asked for some rock and roll instead. Anything fast and loud and energetic. We rode back to County, accompanied by Melissa Etheridge and Eric Clapton and the Bangles and Sheryl Crow. You see this happen sometimes. People who have been through traumatic experiences surround themselves with passionate, living sounds to banish the silences.

When we pulled into the ambulance bay, Kerry looked so drained that I just scooped her up and carried her inside. She didn't object. The first person we encountered was Carol Hathaway, who looked like she was just on her way home for the night. When she saw us, she said, "Oh my God, KERRY!!" loud enough to be heard from Radiology to Wrigley Field, and within moments, we were surrounded by doctors and nurses and staff, oh my, all clamoring like we were the Second Coming. Kerry Weaver seemed to shrink from the sudden onslaught of attention.

Mark Greene shoved his way through the crowd, hollering at everyone to break it up and get back to work. When he had shooed everyone away, Kerry squeezed his hand and said, "Thank you, Mark."

"They're just glad to see you alive and well," he said, "So am I. I can't tell you how much."

She gave him a heartfelt smile, deeply touched.

The moment was interrupted as John Carter arrived, bringing a gurney. "Welcome back, Dr. Weaver," he said, beaming, "I've got the royal carriage waiting for you." He gestured to the gurney with a flourish.

"Oh, no, Carter, that's really not necessary," she said, "I'm perfectly all right."

"Uh-uh, new hospital policy," Carter told her, "All employees will submit themselves for twenty-four hours mandatory observation following any form of kidnapping or hostage situation. Gotta follow the rules, after all." Carter was having way too much fun with this.

"I'm afraid I'd have to insist, Kerry," Mark Greene said.

Kerry muttered, "Oh, gawd..." but allowed herself to be lifted onto the gurney. She lay back with a sigh as Carter rolled her away.

Carol Hathaway leaned close to Mark Greene and said, "I don't remember that being enforced after my hostage situation."

"You were suspended at the time," Greene told her.

"Ahh. Gotcha."

Carter seemed to be taking Kerry Weaver along the scenic route, because they kept stopping for people who wanted to meet her and greet her. She acknowledged them all sort of vaguely, as she was fading in and out. Shock and sensory overload were setting in.

I watched Jerry Markovic lean over her gurney. "Don't worry, Dr. Weaver," he said, as if to a child with hearing problems, "You're safe at County General. We're going to take good care of you."

Kerry looked up, theatrically. Her eyes were blank and unfocused, like someone in a feverish delirium. "Jerry...?" she whimpered, raising a feeble hand. It was a performance worthy of Ferris Bueller.

Jerry leaned closer. "Yes, Dr. Weav--"

She grabbed him by his necktie and pulled him nose-to-nose. "I may not be in charge of your scheduling right now," she grated, "but I still know exactly how to remove your internal organs, so don't patronize me, okay?" She let him go, and he staggered back, white as a sheet.

Kerry snapped, "Let's GO, Carter!" and the abashed young doctor chose a more direct route. Kerry managed to shoot me a slight wink before she disappeared from view. Couldn't let everyone think she was going soft on them.

Mark Greene examined my arm, where Gary had hit me with the pipe, and said that the bone was probably bruised, but not broken. When he was done, he said, "Danny, I don't know what to say to you..."

"That's probably for the best," I told him.

"I feel like I'd given up on her too quickly," he said. "What does that say about me?"

"Mark, don't beat yourself up over it," I told him. "You did what you could, and you dealt with it the way you had to. So did I. Let's just be glad she's okay. Okay?"

He nodded. "Okay. I've never been happier to be proven wrong." He clapped me on the shoulder and went back to the admit desk.

Maybe half an hour later, Lieutenant Steve Wasserstein arrived and started to bitch at me. "If you spotted Lonnie Bledsoe, you should have called us immediately, and then stayed out of it!" he was saying. "If Gary Bledsoe hadn't given us a statement over at Mercy, I might be looking at you for being involved in this! You know how many charges I can hit you with over this?!"

I held out my wrists and said, "Book me, Dano" like Jack Lord. He looked quite tempted.

"Chin up, lads and lasses, never fear," boomed a familiar voice, "Sergeant-Major Wintergreen is here!" Richard has a thing for iambic pentameter. He had just made one of his more dramatic entrances, wearing his bowler and London Fog overcoat, and stroking one end of his handlebar mustache. I could tell that Richard was tired. He must have dashed here as soon as he got my message. He was leaning more noticeably on his walking stick, but his eyes were clear and bright. Everyone he passed stopped to take notice of him.

Wasserstein turned his wrath on the new arrival. "So who the hell are you?" he snapped, a question which does not put anyone on Richard's good side.

He doffed his hat with characteristic panache. "Clearly, the most well-mannered individual in the vicinity," he replied. "And yourself, sir?"

I introduced Richard Wintergreen and Steve Wasserstein, and they regarded each other with equal disdain. Wasserstein was shorter than me, and Richard seemed to tower over him. "You got some business here?" Wasserstein demanded.

"Mr. Fox is in my employ," Richard replied smoothly, extending his business card. "Our firm has been contracted by Mrs. Millicent Carter, to look into the disappearance of Dr. Weaver."

I was about to say, "We have?" but Richard swatted my leg with his stick. Hard. He had foreseen my question.

I gave Wasserstein my statement, while he listened and fumed. I described the entire chain of events, starting when I first met Kerry Weaver in Los Angeles. I gave him names and places and times, omitting only Lydia Wright and her police connection and what she had told John Carter and me over the phone. I didn't know anything about anyone named Millicent, but I didn't mention that either.

When I was finished, Wasserstein glowered and said, "Awright, it sounds straight. But you two are gonna stay put until I say otherwise. You got that, or do I call security to watch you?"

"Hospital security?" Richard and I said at the same time. In my best Vaudeville straight-man voice, I said, "Say, Richard, whattya think of security around here?"

Richard gave a disdainful sniff and said, "I think it would be a good idea."

Mark Greene approached us. "What the hell is going on here?" he said. "Lieutenant, is there a good reason you're harassing these men?"

"Yeah, I'm just about to charge Fox with obstruction of justice, interfering with a police investigation, carrying a concealed weapon outside the state where he's licensed, and generally being a pain in the ass," Wasserstein replied.

"You've gotta be kidding," I said.

Greene said, "You can't treat him like this! Mr. Fox saved Dr. Weaver's life!"

"That remains to be seen, doc," he said. "Anyway, he's in my jurisdiction, so back off!"

"I daresay the city of Chicago sleeps soundly, knowing you're in charge," Richard muttered, and Wasserstein turned an interesting shade of High Blood Pressure Red.

It went on like that for a while. Wasserstein yelled at us, Greene yelled at Wasserstein. I made little mocking faces like Chevy Chase when Wasserstein wasn't looking. Richard stood, silent and dignified. People came and went by in the halls.

Finally, Donald Anspaugh came and took Wasserstein aside, speaking to him softly. Wasserstein's face reached new heights of apoplexy, and I thought he was going to have a stroke. Anspaugh said something else that seemed to placate him a little, and he shot a furious look at me. Greene was called away to help with a patient.

I whispered to Richard, "Who's Millicent Carter, and when did she hire us?"

"Head of the Carter Foundation, richer than Midas," he whispered back, "and she didn't."

I shot him a questioning look.

"But she'll say she did if I ask her to corroborate our story," Richard added. "She was having a spot of bother with an extortionist a year or two ago, and I dealt with the situation. Discreetly, of course. She owes me."

Aha, I thought, another question answered. "The extortionist pull a switchblade on you?"

He looked at me in mild surprise. "How did you guess?"

I smirked. "I'm a detective, remember?"

I was about to ask Richard if Millicent had a relative named John, when Anspaugh and Wasserstein came back over to us. Wasserstein was still glaring, but seemed subdued. He looked at me and said, "You know what kinda chest pains I been having since you came to town?"

"Maybe you should see a doctor," I said, trying to be helpful.

Wasserstein glared daggers at me, then threw his hands up in disgust and stormed away.

"What'd you say to him?" I asked Anspaugh.

"I suggested that he consider how it would look if the papers and the evening news announced he had arrested the hero who stopped the Bledsoe brothers and rescued a kidnap victim."

"You're sure the media would find out?"

"Oh, I think that doctors Greene and Weaver would make certain of it," he said, adding in a lower tone, "and if they didn't, I would."

I raised my eyebrows. "Downright decent of you, Dr. Anspaugh."

He gave me a stern look. "I also strongly implied that you gentlemen would be willing to forego all publicity in this matter, if he were to forego the charges. I think it would smooth things out for all concerned if the Chicago Police were credited for Dr. Weaver's rescue."

Richard said, "Sounds rather an equitable arrangement, eh, Daniel?"

I thought about it. As much as it rankled me to think of El Shmucko Grande receiving the key to the city, or whatever, it seemed a reasonable trade to get us off the hook. "Fair enough," I said.

Anspaugh shook my hand firmly. "Whatever the public thinks is irrelevant, Mr. Fox," he said. "Everyone here knows what you did. None of us will forget it."

I said thank you, and suggested he make sure that Kerry Weaver and Jeannie Boulet know about the arrangement. He said he'd take care of it and he shook Richard's hand and walked away.

I noticed Chuni Marquez and Lily Jarvik and a couple of other nurses gathered a ways away, eyeing Richard Wintergreen and whispering to each other like schoolgirls. I heard Lily say, "...Sean Connery...?" and the others shushed her and hid their giggles.

Wintergreen angled towards me. "Tell me the truth, dear boy," he said, "Do I honestly resemble that film actor person?" he said.

"Who, Pauly Shore?" I replied, "Yeah, look just like him."

He shook his head, disgusted.

We went looking for Kerry Weaver, and found her upstairs in a room with one hospital bed. She was lying in it, with an IV drip in her arm. She probably hadn't eaten very well the last few days. Someone had washed her face and arms, and she looked clean and comforted and much better.

I started to say hello, but Richard put a finger against his lips. She was asleep.