Rating: T for violence/language.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM. I do own the ones I created.
Author's notes: Very special thanks to everyone who reviewed my last story 'Trance'. This story does appear elsewhere on the internet, so some of you may have read it before. The story is complete and I will endeavour to load chapters frequently. Please review. Feedback makes it all worthwhile.
Skeletons
By
Helen Louise
"My name's Bill Burton and I'm looking for Jesse Travis."
"I'm Jesse Travis." The doctor in question turned at the mention of his name and found himself confronted by a middle-aged man in a tailored suit, who looked vaguely familiar. "How can I help you?"
"You can start by telling me what the hell happened to my brother," Bill snarled, with sudden aggression.
Jesse took a half step back, trying to figure out who the man was and why he was so angry. His first instinct was that it was an irate relative – he'd faced hostility in his chosen career before. Patients died; it was a sad fact of life. But there were always those who would insist on apportioning blame for any fatality – and often, the doctor was the easiest target.
"I'm sorry," Jesse answered, trying to hold onto his professionalism and diffuse the situation. "Perhaps if you told me your brother's name…"
"Wayne Burton. And don't pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about." He stabbed his finger into the young doctor's chest for emphasis. "The way I hear it, you were one of the last people to see him alive."
"Wayne…" Shock robbed Jesse of his breath and his vision tunnelled until all he could see was the man in front of him. "Uncle Wayne… That was almost twenty years ago."
His eyes unfocussed as a sudden, powerful memory assailed him. Lying on his back, with damp grass soaking through his clothing; a man towering over him, looking impossibly tall to his young eyes; pain.
With a gasp, Jesse forced his attention back to the present. This wasn't Wayne Burton standing before him and he wasn't in Elgin any more. And he was no longer twelve years old and helpless. He forced a note of calm authority into his voice: "I think it might be better if we go somewhere more private."
Jesse took the man into the doctors' lounge. Wayne Burton belonged to a part of his life that he'd thought to be closed forever – an infinitely painful part of his life – and he didn't want those memories stirred up in public. He had no idea as to how he might react. Offering friendliness in an attempt to keep Bill's hostility at bay, he got them both a coffee.
"I don't understand," he said, softly. "Your brother's been dead for close to twenty years. Why are you here now?"
"I can tell from your expression and your tone that you remember Wayne now," Bill answered, his own expression giving nothing away. "The last time I spoke to him was two years before he was killed. Nobody in my family has had any contact with him since. He disowned himself completely."
"So why now?"
"My mother died last month." Genuine emotion flared in the man's eyes, but it wasn't grief. It looked disturbingly like greed. "And my father changed his will. He left half of his estate to Wayne and half to me – provided that I find some way to resolve the feud. Otherwise the whole lot goes to charity."
"But Uncle… But Wayne is dead." Jesse silently cursed his childish slip. "Surely there must be some proviso…"
"Yes, Wayne is dead," Bill snapped. "And I should get all of the money. But that's not good enough for my father. He wants details and I don't have them. All I know is that when I was trying to track my brother down, I heard some disturbing things."
Jesse swallowed dryly, but didn't respond. He wasn't at all surprised by the statement; it had been a disturbing time.
"Like the fact that my brother was murdered and that nobody was ever even arrested, much less punished for his death." He leaned forwards intensely. "You wanna tell me why that is, doc?"
Getting to his feet – needing to put some distance between himself and this reminder of his past – Jesse again allowed his mind to return to Elgin. He'd been all of twelve years old and his father had just walked out of his life. He had barely recovered from the shock of that when the first of his 'uncles' had moved into his mother's bedroom. Wayne Burton was by no means the only one, but he was the most memorable – for all the wrong reasons.
"It was a long time ago," he whispered.
"I tried to track your mom down first," Bill said, causing Jesse's head to snap up in alarm. "Another Doctor Travis – funny that. But it seems like she spends a lot of time in Europe. Must pay well this doctor business."
Jesse felt a surge of relief that – for the time being at least – his mom was being kept out of this. Whatever 'this' was.
"I still don't understand what you want from me," he confessed.
"My brother was shacked up with your mom when he died." Bill grabbed hold of Jesse's shoulder and whirled him round to face him. "I don't care what else he might have been, I don't care that I didn't speak to him for almost twenty years. He was my brother – and I want answers. My father wants answers."
"Hey!"
A startled shout from the doorway interrupted the potentially ugly scene and Jesse looked up with undisguised relief as Steve Sloan stepped into the room. The look that he aimed at Bill Burton was nothing short of murderous.
"Everything okay, Jess?" The detective's tone was heavy with suspicion.
"Yeah, Steve." Released from Bill's grasp, Jesse smoothed down his white coat. "Yeah, everything's fine. This is Bill Burton. He's…" A ghost – or the relative of a ghost. Jesse paused, wondering how he could introduce the man.
"Doctor Travis knew my brother." Bill offered the explanation, and then his eyes fell to the badge attached to the newcomer's belt: "You're a cop," he said, stating the obvious.
"Lieutenant Steve Sloan. Homicide." Steve didn't proffer his hand to be shaken and his eyes were still narrowed.
"Homicide, huh?" Bill ignored the thinly disguised hostility. "You got many unsolved murders lying around here, Lieutenant?"
"There's always one or two think they can slip through the net," Steve answered, guardedly. "We don't stop looking."
"I guess you wouldn't in a city the size of LA – what with all those resources." His eyes returned to Jesse. "But I guess it's different in a small town like Elgin. Lucky for you, hey doc?"
Bill took that opportunity to make his exit and it coincided with Mark Sloan's arrival in the doctors' lounge. Mark's eyes followed the stranger through the door and then he turned to greet the occupants.
"Steve, Jesse. Do you..?" He trailed off as he picked up on the somewhat strained atmosphere. "Is everything alright?"
"I don't know, dad." His son answered, his eyes fixed on the youngest man in the room. "I was just about to find out. Is everything alright, Jesse?"
"Yeah." Jesse forced a smile. "Yeah, everything's just fine."
Father and son exchanged a glance – both recognising the lie for what it was. As Mark headed over to the coffee pot, Steve began his careful interrogation.
"So, who was that guy?" he asked, his tone deceptively conversational.
"I told you. His name's Bill Burton and I…" He fell back on the explanation that Bill had used. "I used to know his brother." Jesse's tone was guarded and he glanced frequently towards the door, as though weighing up his chances of escape.
"His brother?"
"Wayne," the young doctor whispered, his eyes again losing their focus. "Wayne Burton. He was a… friend of my mom's."
Neither of the other men missed the hesitation and another look was exchanged behind the oblivious doctor's back.
"I don't remember you mentioning him before," Steve prompted.
"He doesn't belong here." The words were spoken softly, almost to himself.
"Jess…" Steve had his next question already formed in his mind, but was cut off as his father held up a warning hand.
"What do you mean, Jesse?" The older Sloan took over the questioning. "What do you mean 'he doesn't belong here'? Where does he belong?"
"It was a long time ago," Jesse murmured, with unmistakable tears in his voice. "It was such a long time ago. I don't remember. I don't want to remember."
"Jesse!" Mark's tone had gone from inquisitive to concerned and, as Jesse's eyes refused to regain their focus, he grabbed hold of his arm. "Jesse, son, sit down." He guided him towards the table. "It's okay, Jess."
The soothing tones got through to Jesse and he blinked rapidly, giving himself a mental shake.
"Um, sorry," he mumbled, ducking his head so as not to see their worried gazes. "I guess I kinda got lost for a minute there."
Mark could see that his son was itching to ask more questions, but he silenced him with a simple shake of his head. Jesse was still looking shaken and he knew that any further explanation would have to wait. He pushed the young man's coffee mug closer to him.
"Drink this, Jesse. It'll do you good."
Jesse's responding smile wasn't overly bright, but he did as Mark requested. However, it was not long before he made his excuses and exited the lounge. Mark stared thoughtfully at the door as it closed behind him.
"Do you have any idea what that was all about?" he asked.
"No, but I fully intend to find out," Steve answered, his eyes following his father's pensive gaze.
When Mark arrived home that evening, it was to find Steve already there. He was seated in the lounge with a handful of photos and files scattered across the coffee table before him and Mark just had to smile at the expression on his face. The detective was glowering at the papers, as though that alone would make them give up whatever secrets they might have contained.
"New case?" Mark asked, putting his bag down and wandering over to where his son sat.
"Old case," Steve responded. "Very old case."
Intrigued, Mark picked up a stray photograph. The face that stared back at him was shockingly familiar, even though he'd only met the woman once. It was undoubtedly Jesse's mother – a good few years younger, but her all the same.
"Steve…" There was trepidation in his voice as he stared at the picture.
"I know, dad." Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "But that guy really got to me this afternoon. So I called Elgin and got them to fax over everything they had on Wayne Burton. There wasn't much of it."
"So, does Jesse know that you've been prying into his personal life?" Mark asked, completely without rancour.
"No, but he soon will." Steve's tone was grim. "I've been over all this a thousand times and I keep reaching the same conclusion. Wayne Burton was murdered seventeen years ago – and Jesse's mom is the prime suspect."
"Oh, Steve, be careful," Mark breathed, as the full implications of that shocking revelation sank in. "Do you have any idea what this could do to Jesse?"
"I know." Steve sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose – feeling a headache threaten. Sometimes his natural curiosity – and his natural detective skills – could be a curse. And it was a curse that he'd inherited from his father.
"What happened?" Mark couldn't help but ask.
Across town – and completely unaware of events at the beach house – Jesse slept badly. Bill Burton's visit had reawakened feelings that he'd thought to be long buried. Tossing and turning in a futile attempt to get some rest, the young doctor found his thoughts drifting back down the years.
It was a familiar position for him: sprawled on his back, cowering and terrified as his 'uncle' rained blows down on him. He didn't even know what he'd done to deserve the beating this time. It didn't matter – it never mattered. Wayne Burton was a monster, preying on those who he perceived to be weaker than him. Jesse's slight stature and gentle nature made him an easy target.
"I'm sorry!" His voice was a strangled sob and the apology did little to appease the man.
Jesse raised an arm to ward off the belt that had lashed towards his face and tried to squirm out of the way. His shirt came free from his pants, exposing the flesh there and, the next time it fell, the belt connected with his bared ribs. He screamed, but even that wasn't enough to stop the torture.
"You will listen to me," Wayne murmured, almost to himself. "God help me, if you were my kid..."
The rest went unheard by the boy. All he knew was the pain - not only from the beating that he took, but also the agony of betrayal. He couldn't understand how his mom could be so blind as to what was happening.
Jesse let out a low moan, lost in a nightmare all the more terrifying because it was a memory.
"It seems that Wayne Burton was a real prince." Steve's voice was laden with sarcasm. "Pretty handy with his fists, by all accounts."
"Jesse?" Mark asked, sombrely.
"Yeah." Steve's face was tight with anger. "The cops were called out a couple of times, by a neighbour, but no complaint was ever filed against him. It must have gone on for months, dad."
"And Jesse wouldn't speak out against him – probably because he was too scared. What about his mom?"
"In the statement she made after Burton's death, she claimed that she never knew what was happening." The expression on his face eloquently portrayed exactly what he thought about that statement.
"Maybe she chose not to see it." Mark wasn't trying to defend the woman, but he did think he could go some way towards explaining her lack of action. "I'm guessing that this happened not long after the divorce?" At Steve's assenting nod, he continued: "She was a single mother in a small town. It can't have been easy for her." His son didn't look convinced, but Mark didn't give him time to dwell on it. "How did Burton die?" he asked.
"His head was caved in with a shovel." Steve picked up the relevant file. "Hardly the sort of thing you could pass off as an accident. Jesse's mom claimed that there had been trespassers on their property and Burton was killed in a fight."
"Is there any chance that might be true?"
"Dad, her statement's so full of holes I could drive my truck through it. She had no alibi and there's nothing to suggest that the supposed trespassers ever existed."
"That's hardly damning evidence, Steve," Mark cautioned him, even as he felt his own unease stir.
"I just want to know why this was never investigated." The detective admitted, knowing that he could never resist a mystery. "Nobody was ever arrested, the case was never closed. It's just sat on file for all these years. It's like the cops in Elgin took Jesse's mom's word for what happened – and then just left it alone."
"Maybe that isn't such a bad idea." Another photo had caught Mark's eyes. It was a picture of a child – a sombre, unhappy looking child. But the brooding eyes were unmistakably Jesse's.
Jesse woke up to find his apartment still in darkness. The digital display on his alarm clock told him that it was almost three a.m. With a muffled groan he sat up, rubbing one hand wearily over his face. He was still exhausted, but knew that further sleep was out of the question. The beating of his nightmare had been the last one that Wayne Burton had inflicted on him and he didn't want to risk dreaming about the events that had followed. He snapped on the bedside lamp in a futile bid to chase away shadows that existed solely in his head.
The young doctor wandered into the bathroom hoping that by sticking to his routine – even if he was more than three hours early – he would be able to distract himself from the dangerous places his thoughts threatened to lead him.
"Oh God, my poor baby. I didn't know, Jesse. I swear, I didn't know."
Jesse flinched as his mother's voice sounded suddenly, shockingly in his mind. So much for routine. Events of a generation ago were being replayed as if they'd only happened yesterday.
He stared down at the corpse with terrified eyes. He had never seen a dead body before and he felt a scream bubble in his chest, rise up his throat and then emerge as little more than a whimper. Suddenly he was being held in his mother's almost suffocating embrace, his face pressed into her bosom as her tears soaked his hair.
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so, so sorry," the normally composed woman sobbed. "He's never going to hurt you again. I promise you Jesse, nobody's ever going to hurt you again."
Suddenly realising that his ribs were aching, Jesse unconsciously reached down to touch the tender area where the belt had bitten into his flesh, raising ugly welts. He could feel only smooth skin beneath his fingers and he muttered a curse, shaking his head to try and dispel the memory.
He turned on the shower and stepped under the scorching spray, allowing the noise of the water to drown out the voices that he couldn't fully silence.
"I'd love to leave it alone, dad, but I don't think I can." It was the early hours of the morning, but the father and son still pondered the case. "When I contacted Elgin, they told me that I'm not the only one who's been asking after Wayne Burton recently."
"You're thinking about the brother." Mark surmised.
"Yeah," Steve answered on a sigh. "To be honest with you, this information was hardly classified and if he finds out what a shambles the investigation was…"
"He might start trying to find the answers for himself," his father concluded, grimly. "Where was Jesse when all this happened? Did he actually witness the murder?" He hadn't taken the time to read the files, trusting his son to fill him in on the important details.
"Nobody even took a statement from him." The exasperation in Steve's voice was unsurprising. He was a good cop and expected everyone privileged enough to carry a badge to be the same. "Even if he wasn't there when Burton was killed, they should have at least talked to him."
"He was a confused and frightened child," Mark answered, striving to find reason. "Maybe they didn't see his testimony as important."
"Any testimony from a potential witness is important," Steve snapped – unable to help his reaction. "He could have had that one detail, that missing clue…"
"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that the clue might still be there – in Jesse's head. But it was seventeen years ago, Steve," Mark could hardly believe that they were sitting there so calmly, discussing putting their mutual friend through such trauma.
"There's no Statute of Limitations on murder, dad," Steve responded – but his eyes betrayed his torment.
TBC