A Rush of Blood to the Head

Square One

Peter had just finished up what felt like his thirteenth hernia that month. He traipsed out of the surgical room, exhausted but feeling accomplished, with Angela Hicks following close behind.

"Nice work in there," Hicks said.

"Thanks," he replied as he signed a couple of charts another doctor handed to him. "I'll be glad to have Carter back, though. We're getting swamped already."

"Well, we do have a fresh batch of eager med-students coming soon."

Peter nodded. "Good. We need all the help we can get."

"Doctor Benton, this came for you," The desk clerk gave him a written note.

He mumbled something unconsciously. "Now what?" Peter studied the message. Seconds later, his eyes went from narrowed to widened.

"What is it?" Hicks asked. She was uncertain if she wanted to know.

"Carter... He got out."

"What?" she practically squawked.

"Now he's at Gant's father's place."

"Why there, of all places?" She didn't exactly expect an answer. It wasn't like he knew any more than she did.

"Who knows, but he's not doing well," Peter did all he could to not throw something at the wall. His frustration bubbled at his face, blood coursing through his veins. Why couldn't he just listen for once? he asked himself. "Page Doctor Greene," he told the assistant.

"He's not here."

"What about Weaver?"

She nixed that suggestion. "She stepped out, too."

Hicks leaned over Peter's shoulder, trying to get a better look at the message. "Is he hurt?"

Where the hell is everyone? "Whatever. I'll page him myself."

****************

Mark and Doug scoured hotels near the airport. They had no luck in finding John at any of them; no reservations were made.

They had lunch — if nougaty, peanutty chocolate bars could be considered as lunch — and headed back to their car. Mark's pager went off out of the blue.

Doug stared down at his friend's waist. "Um, you're beeping."

"Yep," He checked the number on the display.

"I didn't know you brought that."

"Just in case. It's Benton again. Nine-one-one."

Doug jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "I think I saw a payphone back there."

"Okay. I'll be back. Don't eat my Snickers."

"Why would I? I have my own."

Mark scoffed and got out of the car, moseying to the phone booth.

Doug watched him a moment before leaning over and grabbing what little Mark left of his chocolate. He did have the decency of breaking off what he'd bitten off, at least.

Following the tink of a quarter going into the coin slot of the payphone, Mark picked up the receiver and dialled the OR. "Yeah, I'm returning Benton's page. Well, get him! It was an emergency, wasn't it? No, don't–!" Mark groaned and muttered, "Put me on hold."

It only took a minute for Peter to pick up. "Mark? You still there?"

"Yeah, I am. What's going on?"