Millicent Carter stood in the VIP transit lounge waiting for her
son's plane to land. Since Robert's "revelation" and the shock of
seeing her grandson's face on television yesterday morning, she had
not slept. At just after three in the morning, she was even more
confused than she'd been fifteen hours ago.
How could her husband of almost sixty years believe her to be so
stupid? If her grandson was gay, well... she would have preferred
he'd not been, but she could accept that he had no control over this
matter. Indeed, if he had, he probably wouldn't be gay. She hadn't
been blind either. She'd noticed John's almost desperate attempts to
please his family and gain their approval. As she watched the ground
crews scurrying on the runways beneath her, she shook her head.
Maybe she *was* stupid. Considering her admittedly old-fashioned
belief that husbands and wives should present a united front; she'd
said nothing to openly contradict Robert when he kept insisting that
being a doctor was wrong for Johnny. When she and her grandson got
together, it was as if they were strangers. She knew more about the
private lives of her servants than she did about her own flesh and
blood.
After Robert had left her breakfast room, she'd called Roland. His
silence when she told him about John's disappearance thundered over
the phone line. Before she could ask him to come home, she heard him
ordering his personal assistant to have the company jet prepared for
take-off in forty minutes. He'd given her his ETA then hung up.
How could Robert expect her to believe that John would run off to
Europe without telling his friends where he'd gone? The idea was
preposterous. His co-workers were his *real* family. When he was
lying in the hospital after being attacked, she couldn't get into his
room without tripping over members of the ER staff. Although, she'd
only visited him twice, both times, Dr. Kovac had been leaving his
room as she came in... and both times he'd obviously been crying.
Sighing, she realized she'd been stupid *and* blind. When she looked
up, she saw the jet had landed. Tossing aside the magazine she'd
never bothered to open, she walked over to the arrival gate.
Roland Carter was tall and dark; a more substantial version of his
second son, John. He hugged his mother briefly as they headed for the
exit. Millicent's driver opened the door to the waiting limo. It
wasn't until the car had entered the expressway, that either of them
spoke. "What exactly has been going on?" Roland asked, his anger
barely under control.
Millicent explained in detail beginning with the last time she'd seen
John. By the time the driver let them out in front of the house,
Roland was silent again, his lips white. In the light of the porte-
cochere, Millicent gasped. She'd never seen her son this furious.
Catching hold of his arm, she led him towards a small stone bench.
"Mother whatever you're going to say, make it fast, then I'm going
inside and pounding his face in."
"You'll do no such thing Roland; not if you want to see John again."
"Are you taking his side *again*?!"
"Of course not. But if you go in there breathing fire, you'll never
manage to get any information out of him. Calm down. Think. If you
appear to agree with the action I think he's taken, he will probably
confide in you. However, if you're yelling and screaming, he'll just
stand there and let you make a fool of yourself and you won't find
out what's happened to John. He's involved in this; I'm certain of
it." Millicent stood up. "Throw some cold water on your face and
think of your son. He needs you to be intelligent more than he needs
your foolishness. Once you find out what we need to know, you have my
permission to shoot Robert George Buchanan Carter for the mad dog he
truly is."
Mother and son entered the house. Roland dumped his briefcase and
went upstairs. His father was awake, standing in his study, his back
to the room, looking out of the window. He'd probably seen their car
arrive. "Mother's upset about John's little affair. It's too bad his
lover wanted publicity..." Roland said casually as he poured himself
a drink. Yeah, it was too bad for Robert Carter.
"You seem to share my views on this matter." Robert could never be
sure of his son's feelings. Secretly relieved that he'd be spared a
scene, he let his own emotions get the better of him. "John can cool
his heels for awhile. Eventually he'll come to his senses. He has a
responsibility to the family and I won't permit him to link our name
with this flagrant perversity." The older man expostulated.
"Where is he?" Roland said as lightly as he could through clenched
teeth.
"It's a nice facility. But I don't think it's in our best interests
if I tell you where. Millie's got a soft heart and I'd rather not
have her worming the location out of you with constant requests to
bring her queer grandson home. It's better if she continues to think
he's run off to the Continent. The media will get tired of the story
sooner or later. In a way, that Polack or whatever he is, did us a
favor. At least, he can't try blackmail... it's too late, everyone
knows. Dammit! How could John be such a fool?! That boy has been
nothing but one disappointment after another. His brother was worth
ten times as much to this family."
"Bobby is dead..." Roland managed to get out.
"Too bad it isn't the other way 'round. We wouldn't be in this
situation. Bobby would have never..." Too late, Robert remembered who
he was speaking to.
Forgetting his mother's advice, Roland put down his drink, spilling
half of it. Walking over to his father, he punched him in the face,
knocking him to the floor. Roland grabbed the lapels of his father's
robe then dragged him to his feet. "Listen, old man. I'm only going
to say this once. If my son isn't home by tonight, *I'm* going to the
media and I'm sure they'll love it when I accuse you of kidnapping on
coast-to-coast television! How dare you!" Roland shoved his father
into a chair.
"I wouldn't give a damn if John was screwing all of the Chicago
Bears! He's the only son I have left! However, if I thought Bobby
would walk through that door in the next five minutes, do you really
think I'd care who *he* was sleeping with?! Did you think I'd be in
agreement with this?!" Roland raised his fist again.
To his credit, Robert Carter kept his head. "You're certainly filled
with family feeling all of a sudden." He observed drily, working his
jaw. "'The only son you have left'. What a lovely sentiment. I guess
you were too overcome with paternal emotion to fly home when your
precious little boy managed to get himself stabbed." Robert pulled
himself into a more dignified position. "Don't get on your liberal
high horse with me! Deep down, you're just as revolted as I am by
John's 'lifestyle'."
Roland was silent. When he finally spoke, his voice shook. "I didn't
come home when John was stabbed because Laura tried to kill herself
after *you* told her John had been attacked. You know how fragile she
is. I stupidly assumed that you and Mother would be there for John
until it was safe for me to leave Laura. She very nearly succeeded
that time. I didn't tell you because I thought you would tell John.
He had enough to worry about." Roland calmed himself somewhat. He
still needed to know where his son was.
"I know I haven't been a model father to my children and I accept
full responsibility for my failures, but I'll be damned if I let *my*
guilt allow you to hurt Johnny. Now, why don't you take the next
three minutes to think about my offer: John's release or your
arrest." Roland crossed to the desk and picked up the telephone.
"Operator? I want to be connected to Dr. Luka Kovac. I believe he's
at this address. Yes, it's an emergency---life or death." Roland
looked pointedly at his watch while waiting for the connection to be
made. "Dr. Kovac? My name is Roland Carter, I'd like to talk to you
about John..." From across the room, Robert heard the sound of Luka
hanging up. Roland glared while his father laughed nastily.
"You certainly convinced *him* of your sincere concern."
"Have you made up your mind?" Roland asked. The three minutes were up.
"I'm not about to tell you. If you have your way, that boy will ruin
everything we've worked so hard for. I will not countenance homo
degenerates in this family. I now see his lack of back- and
wristbones comes from you." Robert Carter folded his arms looking
smug.
"Shut up, Father." Roland glanced around the room. They were on the
fourth floor. There was only one window and one door. Robert looked
surprised as Roland jerked the phone line out of the wall and
unclipped the other end from the base of the instrument. "If you
think being imprisoned is so beneficial, let's see how it improves
*your* state of mind." Roland bound his father's wrists then tied him
to one of the columns supporting an array of rare books and prints.
Taking off his tie, he stuffed it into his father's mouth. "Don't
worry, as much as I'd like to see you choke to death on your own
venomous saliva, I'll have Mother check on you from time to time."
Robert couldn't conceal his relief.
"Don't get your hopes up, Father. *She* told me to shoot you." Roland
left the room, shutting the door. Robert grunted when he heard a key
turn in the lock. Roland raced downstairs to his mother.
"Did you find out where John is?"
"Not yet, but I'm working on it. I locked that sorry sack of shit in
his study. Keep an eye on him until I get back. I've left things so
he can't have John moved someplace else."
"Where are you going?" Millicent was worried. Roland looked capable
of anything. What had happened to her family?
"To put someone's mind at rest." Roland left the house and got into
the limo. Giving the driver John's address, he leaned back closing
his eyes. Robert's accusations had hit home. He *had* been a lousy
father but that was going to change. During the drive to John's
apartment Roland had time to think. He too, would have preferred that
John not be involved in a same-sex relationship. Nevertheless, he
couldn't bring himself to criticize his son. Hell, his shitty job at
fatherhood was probably the reason John found himself in the arms of
another man. How could he blame his child for something that was not
his fault? Even if Luka answered the door wearing a dress, Roland
vowed he'd do his best to be understanding.
* * * * *
Luka knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep after hanging up on
John's father. Laurencia's news that a witness had already come
forward had been the only pleasant phone call since he'd appeared on
television. Psychics, cranks, and reporters from every publication
from the "New York Times" to the "National Enquirer" had been calling
all day. First thing in the morning, Luka was going to get a second
number added to their account and let the machine handle the old one.
Sitting in the kitchen with a mug of cold coffee before him, he
jumped to his feet startled when there was a loud knock on the door.
Picking up John's softball bat, Luka went to open it. He rubbed his
eyes with his free hand. The stress must be getting to him. The man
standing there could have been John coming back home after an absence
of twenty years.
"Dr. Kovac, I know you must hate me, but please listen to me. John's
alive and as far as I know, he's all right."
Luka dropped the bat as the room began to revolve around him. The
next thing he knew, he was sitting in the kitchen, with a wet
dishtowel over his neck. Pulling it off, he looked up. "You know this
for certain?"
"Yes. I'm extremely sorry. John's grandfather had him committed to a
private facility and lied to my mother---to all of us. He said at
first that John had quarreled with him and decided to break with his
family. When Mother saw John on the television yesterday, Father lied
again. He told her you were a violent man and had abused your
partners in the past and that you were abusing my son. In other
words, he implied the 'quarrel' occurred when John was presented with
evidence about you. According to him, John is in Europe where it's
easier for gay people..."
"And she believed this?" Luka was astonished, relieved, over-joyed,
and furious. All this time, while he been going out of his mind---
wondering if John was alive or dead... Luka shook his head. "May God
forgive me, I could kill that old man."
"You'll have to get in line." Roland said bitterly.
"Where is John, can we go get him?"
"Not yet. My esteemed sire isn't talking, that's my fault. Only
Father knows where John is. My assistant is going through his office
now looking for the location of the facility. Those places aren't
cheap. The monthly fees are substantial. Father can't hide the fact
of that much money being paid out. In about a few hours or so, we
should be able to go and get my son."
"If he's still alive." Luka said flatly, he lived so long with
despair, it was difficult to sustain hope again.
"What do you mean? I know my father has acted like a total piece of
shit, but I'd doubt if even *he* would murder his own flesh and
blood."
"Suicide." Luka said quietly. "John has been treated for depression
ever since he was stabbed. Between our being separated and the fact
that he must know his own family locked him up like some kind of wild
animal, he might ..."
"Oh my God." Roland groaned. "Where's your phone?"
"In the living room." Luka replied as Roland ran out of the room.
Just as he reached for the receiver, the phone rang. He answered it.
"Luka?" It was a woman's voice.
"Hold on a moment, I'll get him." Putting his hand over the
mouthpiece, Roland called to Luka and handed him the phone.
"Luka, who was that?" It was Laurencia.
"John's father."
"Can you trust him?"
"Yes." Somehow, Luka knew this to be a fact.
"The FBI has located where John is being held. Get dressed. My car is
on its way. They're going to let us tag along as a favor. See you in
15 minutes." She hung up.
Roland wasn't prepared for the transformation as Luka's expression
became suffused with joy. He looked ten years younger. Suddenly,
John's falling in love with this man made sense. "They've found
him.", was all Roland said.
Beaming, Luka nodded as he grabbed his keys. "A car is coming to pick
us up."
Laurencia Carlton sighed as her car raced towards Luka and John's
apartment. The Fibbies had come through as usual. A simple matter of
a court order, a team of agents combing through Robert Carter's
personal finances and there it was. Wealth as such, no longer awed
her but she whistled in disbelief when her friendly Fed' told her
John's prison was charging the old man 125 thousand dollars a month---
a million dollars plus per year.
The car pulled up behind Roland's illegally parked limo. Luka and
Roland were waiting on the sidewalk. "Come on!" Laurencia called
through the open window. "They're holding a helicopter for us."
Roland and Luka quickly got in and the car sped off again.
After the introductions were made, they rode in silence to Midway.
Two FBI agents in typical dark blue suits were waiting beside a
military helicopter. They boarded, were strapped in by the flight
crew; members of the Air National Guard, as the senior agent gave the
pilot instructions. They lifted off immediately.
The noise from the engines was incredible. Luka closed his eyes and
prayed that they weren't too late. Roland Carter glanced over at him
and noticed his lips moving. Curious, he continued to watch as Luka
crossed himself and began praying the rosary. It was small, made of
stainless steel. The design had been developed for religious who
worked in hospitals. John had given it to Luka for his birthday,
explaining that it was easy to disinfect and could be with Luka
always.
The "rest home" was located in upstate Michigan. Finally, as the sun
rose behind them, the helicopter began to descend. Roland looked out
of the small window and saw luxurious grounds dotted with small
gardens. As they came closer, he could see figures on the lawns
dressed in white uniforms.
* * * * *
John came out onto the terrace early. He hadn't slept well, again.
Lighting a cigarette, he heard the sound of a helicopter in the
distance. He didn't think much of it. With the exception of
small 'copters used by the senior staff, nothing flew within miles of
this place. He got up and walked onto the lawn. Any thoughts of his
trying to escape had been quashed when he saw what had been done to
Cyril. As he wandered aimlessly, always in sight of an orderly or a
camera, John resigned himself to the fact that he would probably
remain in this first circle of Hell for the rest of his life.
The noise from the 'copter grew louder. John frowned, it didn't sound
like one of those belonging to his jailers. Looking up, he saw a
large olive drab helicopter flying low and still descending. All
thoughts of playing it safe disappeared as John frantically tried to
figure out some way to signal the craft. Spying a small pile of dead
leaves left by one of the grounds-keepers, John pulled out his
lighter. Just as he bent to set the dead foliage alight, he was
grabbed by two beefy orderlies.
"A limp-wristed pyromaniac. Looks like we're going to have to teach
him a lesson." One of them said in a nasty tone.
"Yeah, didn't your folks teach you about playing with matches?" The
other man deftly removed John's lighter from his fingers, twisting
his arm as he did so. "Now, are you going to put up a fight? If so,
you should know we are looking forward to beating the shit out of
you."
"Fuck off." John no longer cared. He might as well get this over with.
"My. You have a foul mouth, Doc." The first orderly slapped John's
face while his partner took hold of John's arms. "This will teach you
some respect..." The second man pulled what looked like a black jack
out of his pocket. John didn't feel any blows. The orderlies had
stopped what they were doing. They'd never disciplined anyone who was
grinning before. As John's look of joy deepened, they loosed their
hold. The three men watched as the helicopter descended to the lawn.
Copyright Footer', 'This site is not affiliated in any way with "ER", its writers or production company, or NBC, and makes no profit from the show. The ERROS skin is by Brihana. The script is eFiction version 3.4.2© Tammy Keefer, http://efiction.org\r\n