Behind The Mask, Part Four
By Cathy Roberts
huntersglenn@yahoo.com

An "E.R." story, rated PG-13. Contains spoilers for Season Six. Last episode seen was "May Day".

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

Thanks to Melissa for her editing assistance. I'd be lost without her. As for the medical stuff, the surgery is something I made up. I have no idea if it can even be done, but I'm tired of having Carter be in pain. I'd also like to thank the folks at ERFFCC for their input and suggestions.

Previously: Robert Romano received a telephone call from a rehab clinic in Atlanta asking him to fly down to speak with

John Carter, one of the patients. Later, Peter Benton and Carter's grandparents arrived and Benton was surprised to see Romano at the clinic. The clinic staff wants Carter to have an operation to eliminate most, if not all, of his back pain, but Carter refuses. Benton and Carter's grandparents are there to take Carter out for a birthday celebration and it is revealed that Doctor Anspaugh was prescribing painkillers to Carter.



"I ended up here because I'm weak. I told you that already. It was my choice to take too much of the pain medication. My choice to take narcotics from work and use them to dull the pain when my prescribed meds just didn't work any longer. We all make our choices and we all must live with the results of those choices. That's why I'm here."

Peter shook his head. "You know what I meant."

John was quiet for a long time and Peter remained quiet as well, knowing he could wait him out. Finally, John seemed to have either decided to speak once again or else had found the words he was looking for.

"Not long after I was able to lose the crutches, I was having a rough day at work. Hell, every day at work was rough, but this one was even more so. There had been a lot of stabbing patients that day. All reminders of what had happened. Aside from them, there were simply a lot of traumas. I was on my feet a lot, moving around too much. I was in a lot of pain. And my regular doctor had already told me that he wasn't going to be writing out any more prescriptions for the Demerol. I took my last pill that day, shortly after lunch. By four I was in agony. I slipped away to the roof, where no one could see me in pain.

Doctor Anspaugh came up there while I was there. He was so quiet that I never heard him until he was right beside me, and I didn't have time to mask the pain. He saw it and asked about it. I told him that I had overdone things that day, but that I would just have to live with it because my doctor wouldn't call in another prescription for me. He offered to do that. He said that there was no reason for a person to needlessly suffer. Not in this day and age when there were so many different drugs available."

John looked off across the pond, not really seeing what was on the other side. Instead he was seeing Donald Anspaugh's concerned face, his gentle eyes as he offered to help.

"It was a standard prescription with one refill. Thirty tablets of Demerol to be taken every six hours or as needed. And I needed. I went through both prescriptions too fast. I knew that Doctor Anspaugh wouldn't be willing to write another prescription that soon, but I still had days when it hurt to bend. When it hurt to even walk. I had a trauma where we didn't use all of the Fentanyl on the patient. As the trauma room cleared out, I couldn't take my eyes from the syringe and what it held. I thought that I could get by with a little. Take advantage of the unused drugs around work until I could get away with asking him for a new prescription. God, I was so scared that someone would walk in on me as I was taking the syringe from the tray. I practically ran to the men's room and locked myself in a stall. I sat there for a long time, alternating between telling myself that I couldn't do it and that I needed to do it. Finally, I simply did it. It was amazing how easy it ended up being. Two weeks later, I told Doctor Anspaugh that I was out of the Demerol, but still having some pain. He gave me another prescription. I would only take one pill a day from the bottle. The rest of the time, I used what I found at work. Hell, after Doctor Romano took away your and Cleo's prescription writing privileges I even thought about writing some fake ones, saying they were for your patients. But, I didn't cross thatline. I crossed every other line though." John looked down at the ground, not sure of what he would see in Benton's eyes if he looked over at him. Would there be pity? Disgust? Maybe even understanding? John hoped for the latter, but he didn't think he would find it. He still didn't understand it himself.

"So, you're saying that Anspaugh only wrote out two prescriptions for you?" Peter couldn't quite keep the disbelief out of his voice.

John nodded. "It's the truth. I know I was doing a lot of lying there at the end, to myself and everyone else, but this is the truth. He did write out a prescription for sleeping pills, but I only used them for about a week. They worked. I did sleep. And then I found that I didn't want to. Taking pills to go to sleep doesn't stop the nightmares, and the images I found in the dream world were a lot worse than what I was mulling over while awake."

"You should have gone to talk with someone, Carter. Anyone. It wasn't healthy for you to hold all of that inside you."

John glanced over at Peter, a small smile on his face. "Look who's giving out advice about talking things over. If I recall correctly, talking about Dennis' death was the last thing you wanted to do."

Peter nodded. "That's true. And I paid for it. It wasn't the right thing for me to do at the time. I guess you could say that I'm a lot wiser now. But, you went for counseling back then. Surely you knew that it would help this time, too."

"I never knew it worked the first time." John replied, his voice low. Then he sighed and asked, "So, what's been going on at the hospital? Has anyone noticed that I'm gone?"

Peter nodded. "Everyone misses you. A few people have been asking about where you went on vacation. Not that they were told you were on vacation. Kerry simply said you had taken a leave of absence. Abby Lockhart sends her best wishes, and Chen wants you to stay here until you're completely well. Kerry's main concern was keeping Romano from finding out where you were, but that's a moot point now."

"Yeah. He apologized to me. Can you believe that? I thought he was going to fire me and he apologized instead." John shook his head. "I thought he...well, let's just say that I think

I've misjudged him."

"I think we all have. I certainly don't want to be in Kerry's shoes when Romano returns to Chicago. He's not happy that he was kept in the dark."

"So, who knows? I mean, who really knows? Not just the people who were there that night, but others."

"I'm pretty sure that Haleh knows. She hasn't come right out and said anything, but from the few remarks she's made to me, I'm pretty sure she knows."

"I'd bet that all the nurses know. They hear more than we think." John said with another smile.

Peter laughed. "Yeah, they do, don't they. I'm sure that Malucci has no clue."

"What else is new?"

Peter shrugged. "Elizabeth knows. That's about it." Peter hadn't even told Cleo what was going on, not that she was asking. She had taken his earlier disappearance in stride, not prying into his private life. One part of his mind was glad about that, happy that Cleo wasn't so clingy that she needed to know his whereabouts at all times. Another part though felt hurt that she didn't care.

"What about Doctor Kovac?"

"I have no idea and I really don't care if he knows or not,"

Peter icily replied. He and Luka Kovac were still on hostile terms with each other.

"Well, I care. He is one of my supervisors."

"The people who matter know. That's all you should care about. And the fact that they will be there to help you when you get back. And speaking of your back..."

"We weren't," John snapped.

"We were earlier. It wouldn't hurt you to have the exam, Carter. Just let the man take a look at things."

"I told Doctor Romano that I would think about it."

"Seriously think about it, all right?"

John nodded. "I will seriously think about it. Happy?"

"If that's the best response I'm going to get from you, then I don't have a choice, do I?"

"No."

"Then I'm happy."

John laughed, then looked back out over the pond to watch the sun go down. This was his favorite place to sit and think. Or to sit and not think. In the mornings, he would go to the other side of the pond and watch the sun come up and in the evening sit right where he was, watching it go back down. Another day over and done. He still felt guilty that he was alive to see each day, but he was working on that with Doctor Davis. He was hoping to reach the point where he only felt guilty every other day as opposed to every day. He certainly couldn't hope for more than that.

Peter watched John, wondering what was going on in his head. A part of him was amazed that John hadn't broken apart years ago. He had been through a lot in the six years that Peter had known him. Yet each and every time that Peter thought John would break, he didn't. He would bend, then stand tall and go on. And Peter had assumed that was the case this time. Had assumed it so strongly that he had missed all the signs that John wasn't doing that at all. He felt guilty about that. The past three weeks had found Peter taking advantage of Carl DeRaad's open door policy. Peter was looking for a way to come to terms with his own guilt over letting John Carter down, but so far he wasn't having any success.

The two men sat in silence for a long time and it was completely dark when they headed for the dorms where the in-patients were housed. They were almost there when they heard someone calling their names from the direction of the main building. They waited for Robert to catch up to them.

"I have some good news. They gave their approval for tomorrow," Robert told Peter.

"That's great," Peter smiled back at him.

"On one condition though. Doctor Davis will also be there."

"Where?" John asked.

"Out for your birthday. Your grandparents and I want to take you out for lunch or dinner."  Peter told him.

"Oh. I thought you just came down here to visit."

"Don't worry about having extra people along. Chelsey and I will try to be as inconspicuous as possible." Robert said, trying his best to be reassuring.

"Hey, if that's what it takes to get out of this place for a few hours, then I won't complain. I really need to get inside now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Right. Good night, Carter." Peter clapped him on the shoulder.

"Night," Robert called after him.

Robert and Peter waited until John was inside the building before they walked to the parking lot.

"How did your dinner go?" Peter asked.

"Not too badly. We went over John's medical files and they filled me in as best they could on his treatment here. Chelsey was the only holdout about letting him leave the grounds tomorrow, even for a few hours.  Hank and Doctor Maxwell were all for it. They think that going out with friends and family will be good for John."

"But she doesn't agree?" For some reason, Peter wasn't surprised that Romano was now on a first name basis with the female member of Carter's medical team.

Robert shook his head, remembering how determined Chelsey had looked when she said that John shouldn't go. She wouldn't go into any details with him about her reasons why. She simply said that it was too soon for John to be out, especially on a day
that would be emotionally charged for him. He was still feeling guilty about surviving the stabbing and celebrating a birthday would only serve to shift his focus on that even more. Hank and Maxwell argued with her, and Robert even said he would go along with

John to watch over him. Finally she had agreed, but only after stating that she would also be there. As they left the restaurant and went their own ways, Robert found himself wishing that he had been as adamant about protecting John Carter as Chelsey seemed to be. Maybe he wouldn't be here if he had. If anyone of them had.



Even though he felt as if he had a bodyguard, John was enjoying the lunch with Peter and his grandparents. Romano and Chelsey Davis were seated three tables away, so it wasn't too obvious that they were there to watch over him. Hell, he was feeling thankful that they let him out of the clinic period.

The ringing of his grandfather's cell phone caught his attention and he found himself listening intently as Matthew answered, tuning out the conversation that his Gamma was having with Peter.

"Hello?  Roland, it's good to hear from you. Yes, he's doing fine and looking well. Did you want to speak with him?" Matthew's smile faltered, then he nodded slightly. "I see. He's right here. No, we're in a restaurant."

John felt his stomach flip as he understood all too well what was happening. His father was calling, but not for him. He apparently didn't deserve to get a "Happy Birthday" greeting from his own parents. How fitting, he thought.

"Excuse me.  I need to go to the men's room."  John placed his napkin on the table, then walked away.

"No, we'll definitely talk about it when your mother and I return to Chicago. Just make sure that you're still there, Roland." With that, Matthew snapped the phone shut, then replaced it in his pocket. "He wants to know what's going on with John, but he doesn't have the decency to speak with his own son," he snapped.

"He had good teachers, dear," Millicent said.

Peter suddenly felt as if he were intruding. "Excuse me, but I think I'll go check on John." He headed to the men's room, but found it empty. Stepping back into the hallway, Peter noted that a person could leave the restaurant unnoticed by the patrons if they left from this hallway. He shook his head, then walked to the hostess stand to see if John had left. Once he had his answer, he darted out to the street, looking both ways but not seeing any sign of John.

"Damnitt." Peter rushed back inside, going directly to Romano's table.

"John's gone," he told them.

"What?" Romano looked shocked. He had just watched John walk toward the restrooms a few minutes earlier. "He couldn't have left."

"Well, he has. The hostess saw him leave. I went outside, but I didn't see him."

"Why on earth would he suddenly leave? He looked as if he were enjoying himself," Chelsey said.

"He was until his father called and wouldn't speak with him."

"Oh," was all she could say.

Robert wasn't quite as reluctant to reveal his opinion of Roland Carter. "Bastard." He got to his feet, tossing his napkin on his seat. "We have got to find him."

"Agreed. Why don't you come with me and Peter can make sure Mr. and Mrs. Carter get back to their hotel?"

"I'd prefer to be out there looking for him," Peter protested.

"I know, but someone needs to keep his grandparents calm, and you're the best person for that job. You can call me on my cell phone once you've dropped them off, then you can meet us." Chelsey handed him her business card. "I need to call Hank."

Peter slowly returned to the table, where Millicent and Matthew looked at him expectantly.

"What's wrong? Where's John?" Matthew asked.

"I wish I knew," Peter replied. "Doctor Romano and Doctor Davis are going outside to look for him. They suggested that I take the two of you back to your hotel."

"I'd rather be out there trying to find my grandson, Peter."

Millicent's tone left no room for Peter to argue.

"I agree. The more of us out there looking, the better the chances are that we'll find him before...well, it makes it more likely that we'll find him." Matthew said as he got to his feet.

Peter nodded. In his heart he had the same fears as Matthew Carter. That they had to find John before he did something stupid. Chelsey was alone when she walked over to their table.

"I spoke with Hank. He's willing to let us have three hours to find John. After that, he calls the police."

"Where did Robert go?" Peter asked.

"He went outside to look around," she replied.

"We're going to help you look. Let's pay the bill and get out of here." Matthew headed for the cashier.

"Does anyone have the slightest idea where John might go? He doesn't know anyone here," Millicent said.

"Yes, he does. Dennis Gant was from Atlanta," Peter said. He remembered how Dennis Gant, Sr. had flown to Chicago to take Dennis' body home for burial.

Chelsey nodded. "John was talking about Dennis this morning. Do you think his parents still live here?"

"I hope so. We need a phone book."

"Just call information," Millicent suggested.

"I didn't think of that. Thanks." Peter was busy getting a telephone number for Dennis Gant, Sr. when Matthew returned to tell them that he had paid for all the lunches and that he was ready to go outside to look.

Millicent told her husband to wait until Peter had made his phone call. She could tell that Peter had gotten a number for the Gant residence. She now found herself praying that someone was home and that they had heard from John.

Peter ended the call and gave her the phone. "Mr. Gant is home, but he hasn't heard from John. I didn't go into any details, but I left him with a few numbers if John should show up at his house or try to contact him. Let's get going."

They headed out into the heat of the day, hoping against hope that John would be found safe and sound.



John's fingers were tapping the side of the phone as he listened to the rings. "Please pick up. Please be home," he said softly. Finally, he heard someone answer.

"Hello?"

"Is this the Gant residence?"

"Yes, it is." The voice sounded wary. "Who's calling?"

"This is John Carter. Is this Mr. Gant?"

"Yes. How are you doing, John?" The wariness was gone from his voice and he sounded genuinely happy to be talking to him, John thought. Almost eager.

"I'm fine, all things considered. I'm here in Atlanta and I wanted to visit Dennis' grave. Can you give me directions to the cemetery where he's buried?"

"I can do better than that, I'll take you there. What hotel are you staying at?"

"I'm not at a hotel right now. To tell you the truth, Mr. Gant, I don't have very much money on me. I was lucky enough to have the change for this call."

"I see." There was a short pause. "Where are you? I'll be right there to pick you up."

"That's not necessary, Mr. Gant."

"I won't have any argument on this, John. Where are you?"

"Um, the corner of Peachtree Street and..." John looked around, trying to find a sign for the other street. "Butler Avenue."

"There's a pharmacy on the corner?"

"Yes, sir."

"I know where you're at. I'll be right there, John."

"Thank you."

John hung up, then eased back into the mouth of the alley to wait for Mr. Gant to arrive. He wasn't all that far from the restaurant and he didn't want to be dragged back to the clinic. He needed to visit Dennis' grave. Needed to tell him how sorry he was for not being there when Dennis needed him the most. Ask for his forgiveness. Wasn't that one of the things they stressed at the Narcotics Anonymous meetings? Ask for forgiveness from those you've wronged. Not that he really expected it.  But, he felt as if he had to ask.



It didn't take long for Mr. Gant to arrive, and when John got into the car, he thanked him for coming to pick him up.

"It's no problem, John. And you don't have to keep calling me, Mr. Gant. Denny will do."

John nodded, but he didn't say much as they drove to the cemetery. And Mr. Gant...Denny, didn't say much either, but

John knew that the man was watching him. At the cemetery, Denny walked him to Dennis' grave, then left him there to be alone. It wasn't until John saw Denny lean against the car to wait that he began to talk to Dennis.

"Hey, it's me. I've messed up really badly this time, but I guess you probably know that, right? I never really had the chance to explain things to you, Dennis. To explain why I couldn't come right out and back you up that night when you went to Anspaugh about Benton. Not that my reasons matter -- I should have supported you, but I was a coward and I didn't. And that's the truth. I was a coward then and I'm still a coward. Not man enough to face the pain I know I deserve." John shook his head.  "I've killed a lot of people, Dennis. A lot. And it started before I ever met you. I've killed patients, paramedics, med students. I guess you could say that I killed Chase, since he'll never really be alive again. The one person I can't seem to kill is me. The only one of the bunch that deserves to die. Maybe staying alive and knowing what I am is punishment enough. I know that dying would just be a way out of the misery. And I don't deserve that kind of respite. Maybe...maybe being like Chase, there  but not really there. Knowing what I was and what I am. Merely living from day to day, unable to put a stop to the Hell, maybe that's what I deserve. Destruction and not death. I don't know. I just don't know."

John wiped away his tears, then nodded. "Thanks for listening. You were always there for me, Dennis. But, I wasn't there for you. Especially when you needed me the most. I'm sorry, and I hope that somehow you can forgive me. God knows I can't forgive myself."

He walked back to the car.

"Where to now?" Denny asked, as he walked around to the driver's side.

"I don't know. I've never been to Atlanta before. I don't have any place to go."

"Well, you look like you could use a drink and a friendly ear. I can help you out with both. How about it?"

"That sounds great, but I'm broke."

"My treat. Get in."

John got in and put on his seat belt. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, wondering what he was going to do. He couldn't go back to the clinic. He didn't want to go back there. They kept telling him that he needed to get rid of the pain, kept wanting him to tell them all of his thoughts and feelings. He didn't want to do that. If they knew what he was thinking most of the time, then they would be sending him over to the mental hospital. And he couldn't go back to Chicago.

There was nothing there for him anymore. No job, not after running away from the clinic. No family, his grandparents would never forgive him for running out on them. And his parents... well they didn't care about him anyway. Peter Benton cared, but he would only put up with so much disappointment before turning his back on him. So, basically he was left stranded in Atlanta, in pain, no clothes except for what he had on his back, and no money. No future and no hope. Not much different than his usual day to day life. Hell, that drink that Denny had offered was beginning to sound very good.


End of Part 4