Title: "Alternate Universe: Murder By Remote"
Author: Jana Tropper
Email: Moo11225@aol.com
Rating: G
Summary: What would happen if Steve had gotten trapped in the
room instead of Mark?
Feedback: Much appreciated!!
Disclaimer: Diagnosis Murder is the property of CBS and Viacom.
No Profit is being made with this story.
"No problem, Steve. I'll just go get the cell phone from my
car. It'll just take a minute," Mark assured his son.
Steve watched his father leave and pulled out the fortune cookie.
He smiled as he unwrapped it and cracked it in half. He slid the
small white sheet of paper out and read his fortune aloud to
nobody.
"Never forget to tell your loved ones how much you care
about them," he said aloud, then smiled. Well, wasn't that
cute? As he bit into the cookie, he remembered being seven years
old and telling his dad he wanted to type the fortunes for a
Chinese restaurant. His father had told him he could do anything
he wanted to as long as it made Steve happy. His grin faded as he
finished the cookie. He hadn't told his dad he loved him lately.
But then, he wasn't much of an openly affectionate guy. Finally,
he decided he'd tell Dr. Mark Sloan his son loved him as soon as
he got back.
Steve sat back on his puce couch and sighed. Boy, was he tired.
Just as his eyes closed, he heard a whoosh and turned to see the
windows had closed.
"Computers," he muttered. Just seconds later, the door
slammed shut. He stood quickly and glanced around. Slowly, a
whirring began and a thick slab of metal slid down in front of
the windows, the door and the fireplace. "What the
hell..."
Mark paced frantically outside Steve's new residence. He'd gone
out to the car to get his phone and was locked out when he tried
to get back in. Panicking, he called Jesse back and found out
about the pattern. He then called Captain O'Reilly and explained
the situation. Now, there were six black and whites and a
S.W.A.T. team present with and a battering ram and blowtorches on
the way.
Mark paused pacing as he saw a familiar green convertible drive
into the driveway. A police officer stopped the two figures that
emerged and Mark quickly pulled them through.
"Is Steve trapped in there?" Amanda asked, worriedly.
"Jesse said the phone cut off."
Mark nodded and quickly explained that he had received the
phone call from Jesse and dropped the phone. He tried to get back
into the house to warn Steve, but the house had locked him out.
Locatelli, Luka, whatever his name was, had locked his son away
in a room that was losing more and more oxygen as each moment
ticked by. His watch was getting agonizingly heavy; for he had
looked at it hundreds of times.
"Jesse, you're always hanging down at that cyber cafe' with
the computer geeks. Can't you get one of them to come down and
figure something out?" Amanda suggested. Jesse looked
offended.
"They aren't 'geeks,' Amanda. They helped save your life, if
I remember..." he began defensively.
"All right, all right. Look, Jesse, can you please go down
there and see if they can help us?" Mark begged. Jesse
nodded and headed for his car.
"Mark, is there anything I can do?" Amanda asked
gently. Mark shook his head.
"All we can do is wait."
Steve paced back and forth in the small room. They had to have
figured out he was trapped in here by now. His lungs felt a
little strange when a sudden realization hit him. He was losing
air. He hadn't even thought about it until now. He'd been so
peeved at the malfunctioning of the computer system that he
hadn't given it a second thought.
He didn't have much time left and he knew that. His breaths
became shorter and farther in between. He remembered the fortune
he had read in the cookie and took a pen from on of the boxes. On
the cardboard flap, he wrote a message for his father. Using the
tip of the pen as a tack, he poked the pen through the small
fortune and into the cardboard.
Gasping for breath, he sat down on the puce sofa. Standing had
become difficult. He closed his eyes slowly, convinced he'd never
see the light of day again.
Amanda could no longer watch Mark pace and finally set a hand on
his shoulder. She gently led him to a nearby police car and sat
him on the hood.
"Pacing isn't going to help Steve," Amanda told him.
"We have to remain clear-headed about this." Mark
nodded, but still wrung his hands nervously. He was so lost in
thought that he didn't even hear Jesse come up behind him.
"They aren't there and no one there knows where they're
at," Jesse said. "Mark, I'm sorry."
"What else can we do? We just can't give up now!" Mark
replied desperately. "Who else can help us?" Suddenly,
it dawned on all of them. "Purdy."
Ten minutes later, Cheryl Prescott, Steve's partner, had a
pissed-off Purdy being led up to the house. This time, she didn't
dare let him have another shot at her and didn't uncuff him until
there was a laptop in front of him.
"Go away and let me work," Purdy said grumpily, turning
on the computer. After a few seconds, he whistled. "For a
cheat, Locatelli was a hell of a programmer."
"Tell me you're better," Jesse requested. Purdy looked
at him as if he was insane.
"Of course, I am, kid. Let me work." Amanda, Mark,
Jesse and half of the LAPD's police force waited in tense
anticipation. Finally, Purdy turned and looked at them.
"I'm in. Let me just..." he trailed off as an error
message popped up. For a moment, he was flustered. Finally, he
typed in a few passwords and grinned. A few more commands later,
a faint whirring could be heard in the house. "Well, I have
air going in there now. It'll take me another minute to get the
doors and windows open."
Inside, Steve Sloan lay motionless across his couch, chest
perfectly still. The small pieces of silver plastic that hung
from the air vent began to flutter, but the detective remained
still. The slabs of metal lifted off from over the windows and
the panes of glass opened. Gradually, his chest rose and fell. He
slowly regained consciousness and cracked open an eye groggily.
He saw the windows open and greedily breathed the precious
oxygen. He tried to sit up, but he was too weak. He was able to
sit up enough to see the bushes just outside the window and
sunlight streaming into the small room. Oxygen. Plants. Sunlight.
All things he'd taken for granted up until today. As he began to
lose consciousness again, he heard the sounds of pounding and
then an opening door. His father's worried voice drifted into his
thoughts as he lost consciousness again.
"When are you guys letting me out of here?" Steve asked
impatiently, sitting up in his hospital bed. Jesse gently pushed
him back down.
"Not until I let you out. Steve, your lungs were deprived of
oxygen for far longer than they should have been. We're keeping
you overnight and there will be no argument," the young
doctor said firmly. Steve opened his mouth to protest, but
snapped it shut as he saw his father enter the room.
"Hey, Dad," he said brightly. He watched as his father
pulled something out from behind him and handed it to him. It was
the flap from the cardboard that he had written on in what he
thought was to be his final minutes. The detective smiled in
slight embarrassment. "Uh... so you found that..." Mark
smiled and nodded.
"Don't worry, Steve. I always knew."
