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THIEVES
IN THE TEMPLE
Story by Iona Yeager
Based on the CBS/VIACOM Series
DIAGNOSIS MURDER
Disclaimer: Diagnosis Murder, it's characters and
locations are the exclusive property of CBS and VIACOM.
This story is intended for fan fiction only. The
author is not affiliated in any way with CBS, VIACOM, or the
Diagnosis Murder staff, actors or crew.
This Story is Rated PG-13 for intense situations.
The Challenge: 95) A relative of Lynn Conklin's (Love Is Murder)
who is also a psycho goes after Steve. - Bbw517536
Steve and Amanda's secret wedding and honeymoon ends in tragedy
when Amanda disappears.
-1-
She moved
the wooden rocker close to the window so she could see the silver
blue car when it pulled into the drive. Cradling the hand
made blanket as if it were her child, she rocked back and forth.
Keeping time with the rocking of the chair she hummed a
silly old lullaby while massaging the scars on her wrist.
The scars were old now, months maybe years old. She
didn't recall when, but one day she stopped struggling against
her binds and her arms began to heal. Still, the scars
remained like a thin shiny bracelet of skin, reminding her that
she must remain careful, even of her most private thoughts.
Her sense of time faded long ago like her anger and grief.
Only the fear remained, like the aftertaste of a bitter
pill: the fear and the love for her child. Things
were different once she had the child. She lived for a long
while in the dark place, the room without windows and the eternal
wire covered light bulb. She could barely recall her early
days in the room and that one moment she had stood free outside
in the midst of snow cover trees seemed a dream. The
Keepers, their white harlequin masks askew, dragged her back to
the dark place and promised her that if she ran again, if she
fought them again her child would die in her womb. If she
would not struggle, they promised no more secret cocktails with
medicines that might harm her baby. She became obedient and
quiet, as she had learned to when she was a small child living
with too many children in the foster home. The
Keepers served plain cuisine in fine China on a silver tray.
The same meal three times a day: milk, an acidic pulp
filled orange juice, and warm water, in fine crystal. The
bright, hand-crafted plate with it's pattern of lilacs held
exactly a half cup of frozen peas and carrots with a cup of
boiled and shredded chicken piled next to neatly quartered
whole grain bread. A tiny paper cup on the edge of the tray
contained a large dark reddish pill, she recognized as a vitamin
for the baby. They taught her new words and new memories about
The Voice and The Face. The Face raped women, they told her, The
Voice always lied. The Voice wanted her mad so he could
forsake her. The pleasure she felt, the comfort the face
gave her was an illusion. The real image was in her dreams
that came in the sudden flashes on the wall, always the same: The
man with Face and the Voice tearing into women like a beast.
To you, they said. He did this to you.
Not believing she would cry and fight, until they convinced
her struggles would kill the child in her womb. She knew
this to be true, so she learned to say the words, and soon she
believed them.
She delivered the baby while completely alone, squatting in a
corner like a cave dweller. She would not scream, afraid her
Keepers would hear and come to take the infant from her.
She recalled an old movie where an Eskimo woman delivered
her own baby and licked the birth blood away. She felt like
that woman, alone, but proud, strong and rejoicing in the birth
of her healthy, chubby child. She kissed the top of the
squalling infant's head, begging her be silent. There was
no place to hide the child. Peeling off the green
cotton dress, her only garment, she wiped the birth blood from
the infant, then wrapped the peach toned child in her sheets.
When her Keepers came they found her sitting on the toilet
bowl, holding the child and watching as her afterbirth plopped
into the water. She starred at the painted white faces with
terror widened eyes.
"Please don't take her," she begged them.
"Of course we won't take your baby," the Male said, but
he reached for the child anyway. "But you must let
help you," To the Female he said:
"She's bleeding. She's not dying is she?"
"It's normal, but she needs rest and somewhere warmer, more
cheerful than this."
"We can't afford to free her yet," the man argued.
"I don't know if this has been enough to change
her."
"For goodness sakes, look at her. What is she going to
do?" the woman snapped. "Look at her face. You
wanted her mind altered, so she's useless to Sloan. I think
she's far more gone than you bargained for," The
Female turned to her, the red lips beneath the mask smiled, a
real smile, gentle and kind, that broke the carefully painted
lines on her mouth.
"Look at me," The female said. "Do you
remember when you were a doctor?"
In spite of her dusky coloring, her charge paled, shrinking from
the Female's gentle fingers. The woman nodded, slowly.
This was a new game. New words. Except for the new
smile, the painted face gave nothing away.
"Look at your body, look at the blood. You need help,
don't you? For you and the baby?"
The woman nodded, a single tear sliding from her cheek to the
baby's tiny clenched fist.
"We'll need to take you someplace better. Someplace
warm and nice. And you'll be good. You want try
and run away?"
"I'll be good."
They covered her in a blanket then blindfolded her while
they drove her to a place in the open. The air was
warm and fresh. They left her and the baby there, promising
someone would come along and help them. Obedient to the
last she sat by the road, holding tightly to her child, not
removing the blind fold until the baby began to cry. She
tore the bandage from her face and peered at the child in her
arms. Unheeding that she was on an open though lonely road
in a forest, she found a place on the grass and opening her shirt
began to nurse the baby. The Lady found her there.
The Lady asked her questions about her name, where she came
from, but she only shook her head, saying she needed help.
The Lady took her to a house where the air was filled with
sunlight and the floors were made of wood and covered with soft
rugs. She brought another lady, a Doctor to look at her.
They asked her questions: Was someone trying to hurt her?
Was someone chasing her? Was she running from her
husband? She only answered "yes" to the final
question. The woman told her she would be safe with them.
"It's what I do. I run a shelter for abused
women."
They allowed her to sit on the porch and walk on neatly trimmed
sun warmed grass. They brought her soft, clean clothing and
she and the baby slept on a large bed with flowered comforters
and pink sheets. She drank sweet red juices, teas with lemon and
honey, toast in the morning with orange marmalade and hot cereal.
In the evenings she could eat noodles or wild rice with butter
and herbs and vegetables that were crisps and fresh from the
lady's garden. When the baby was three months old, they helped
her dress the child in a yellow dress, with lacy tights and tiny
shoes. The baby had to see a doctor, get shots, they told
her.
"Things will be better when I return," the Lady told
her. "You'll be able to go home."
Home? She remembered a house near water and a tall,
handsome man with snow white hair, and the brightest, bluest
eyes. The baby, whose hair was dark, and whose skin had
taken on gold tint, had blue eyes like his the first month, then
they changed to green with dark gold sparkles. She knew
this man would adore the baby and take care of her, even if he
had to shield her from the Face.
She rocked the chair harder as the sun faded into a deep red sky.
As the sky turned black she began to cry noiselessly,
thinking they had lied to her. They had taken her baby and
they would not be back. She would have to break her promise
and go look for them. Then she saw the lights from the car
coming up the drive. She jumped from the chair and
ran to meet them. Even in the dark she could see it was not
their car. She froze as the door opened and the interior
car light outlined the faces of the driver and his three
passengers. The woman, tall, dark skinned, and willowy was
vaguely familiar, like a figure from childhood or old movie.
She got out first, moving the seat back to allow the others
clim out. One man was tall, his hair white like halo in the half
light. The other man was about the height of the woman,
with a strong shoulders Finally the driver opened his door
and stood gazing at her, his eyes like a cougar's in the night.
It was him, his face cold and hard, like the image on the wall.
"My God," the woman said. "Steve, it's her.
It is Amanda."
The man shook his head, his cold eyes unyielding, almost angry as
he walked toward her.
"Who are you?" he asked walking up the stairs.
She backed away, not bothering to hide her fear.
The Younger Man gripped the Angry Man's shoulder.
"Steve, easy," The Younger man said. "She's
in shock."
The white haired man said nothing. He didn't move from his
spot beside the car.
STEVE. She knew that name. It was His name. The
name with the FACE. She looked at the tall man walking
towards. It was HIM.
Fear turned rage and she leaped at him, her nails scraping his
face.
"You left me!" She screeched, unheeding of his
hands on her wrist. She kicked and punched, until he was
forced to bend her arms across her chest to hold her.
"Amanda, don't. Darling, don't fight me," he
whispered in hair. She could feel his heart thudding like a
drum in his hard chest. His hands on her arms, though firm
were gentle. His face, close to hers was wet.
Something inside her chest cracked. She wanted more
than anything to kiss the wet face, to wipe away his bitter
tears, but she knew she could not give in to these feelings.
She butted his chest with her head trying to break free.
"You left me, you bastard. You left me to die,"
she said, hating the words and hurt on his face. She must
not believe in his pain, or that on the Younger man's face, and
especially that on the older man's face. They didn't care.
They couldn't care. She had to find her daughter.
"Where is Katherine? What did you do with
her? What did you do with my baby?"
-2-
It
didn't start as revenge. Devon O'Meara had only wanted to
hear about the last few days of his sister's life--even the bad.
He needed to understand what had turned his loving, fun
loving sister into a serial killer. He hesitated
approaching Steve Sloan, since Lynne died at the detective's
hands, but Steve Sloan's report of the incident seemed almost
forgiving of Lynne's madness. So when Devon followed Sloan
and his beautiful companion to Community General's Doctor's
lounge the last thing he expected to over hear the police officer
say about Lynne was:
"There's nothing to tell you, Amanda, honest. Just my
quarterly romance with the local psycho."
Of course, Sloan told this to his lady friend in private,
seemingly unaware that Devon might overhear their discussion.
Probably thinking Devon was a staff doctor taking a
break, the two sat close together at a table near the coffee
machine, their bodies close. The woman reached over and
touched Sloan's hand.
"Steve, you're too hard on yourself. You couldn't have
possibly known this woman had a problem."
"She dated me. Even chased me," Sloan told the
woman with an unpleasant laugh. "That should have been
a warning enough that she was ready for a padded cell or
had an irate husband waiting at the door."
Shaking with fury, Devon unsuccessfully attempted to steady
his grip on the Styrofoam cup. Coffee rattled in his cup
and spilled over his hand, staining the cuff of his white shirt
and the napkins around the coffee maker. He jumped as
slender, golden brown fingers lifted his hand.
"Are you all right?" Devon looked up into Sloan's
companion brandy colored eyes. She smiled reassuringly at
him. "I'm a Doctor, don't worry."
"Imagine that," he managed. "Finding a
doctor in a hospital."
She laughed, a thoroughly pleasant sound enhanced by a heavenly,
but subtle perfume. Devon forced a smile to his face.
He felt strangely moved by the woman's gentle touch, as if
he could feel their combined destiny. Steve Sloan approached
them, his stance protective as the woman examined Devon's hand.
"This doesn't look too bad," the woman decided, her
voice cool and professional. "But lets run a little
cool water over it, and I'll have a nurse apply some burn
ointment." She beckoned to a passing orderly with her
left hand. Her wedding ring sparkled. Devon went
white, looking blankly at Sloan.
"You're married?" he asked dumbly. Steve's eyes
narrowed, immediately alerted. He opened his mouth with a
sharp question, but his companion's amused giggle cut across his
words.
"I'm married," she explained. "But
not to this lovely gentleman. We're just friends."
The woman didn't see the quick subtle change on Sloan's face, she
was busy tending Devon's hand, but Devon saw it: a tightening
around Sloans lips, the blue green eyes, darkening. This
kind and lovely woman might consider Sloan 'just a friend"
but Sloan was in love with her. Devon smiled.
Steve, observing Devon as closely as the oddly familiar man
regarded him, spoke up his voice abrupt and cold enough to catch
the woman's interest.
"Have we met? Are you on staff here?"
"No, I'm not a doctor," Devon offered, nodding a thank
you to the woman.
"I'm an attorney and victim's advocate."
"Oh dear," The woman stepped away hands raised in
mock horror. "I'm not facing a malpractice suit, am I
?"
Devon laughed then, the first genuine mirth he had felt in the
weeks after his sister's death.
"No, I'm not that kind of lawyer, Doctor--?"
"Amanda Livingston," the woman shook his uninjured
hand.
"Devon O'Meara," Devon squeezed her hands.
"Well, it was nice meeting you Doctor Livingston.
I have to be going. I have a plane to catch."
"Hey," Amanda tapped Sloan's cheek, diverting his
troubled frown as Devon left the room. Sloan wrapped his
large hands around her fingers and kissed them, a causal, yet
loving gesture. "Do you want to talk?" She asked
him.
"Not about Lynne. I should have been able to help her
Amanda," He patted the woman's hand as the door
closed. "Come on lets talk about your trip. How
did CJ like Hawaii?"
San Francisco:
"Get me a line to all the open files at the Los Angeles
police office involving a Detective Steve Sloan," Devon
ordered as he barged into his San Francisco office. His
secretary looked up startled from the pile of papers on her desk.
"Mr. O'Meara, I wasn't expecting you to come in today,"
the handsome woman stammered. "Your father called.
He wanted to know if -- if the person they have in Los
Angeles is really your sister Lynne?"
"It was Lynne," Devon snapped. "Get me those
files. And see what you can tell me about a Doctor Amanda
Livingston."
Los Angeles Police Department
"What's wrong Sloan?" Tanis Archer asked her partner.
She sat on the edge of his desk. "You look ready
to tear a piece out of somebody's throat."
Steve glanced up at Archer with irritation, then shrugged.
Archer showed real compassion when Steve returned to work
after his incident with Lynne. Other fellow officers, male and
female, especially his captain were not as sympathetic,
unmercifully teasing Steve about his track record with female
felons. However, it was not Lynne's death that haunted him
at the moment, it was the way Devon O'Meara looked at Amanda.
Steve knew he had no right to feel jealous of another man
flirting with Amanda, still like a nagging itch at the base his
scalp, Devon's too handsome face and smiling blue eyes bothered
him. The crime data base had no information on a Devon
O'Meara. California records showed him to be an attorney of
good if not impeccable standing. Archer put a file down on
the table, her face open but neutral.
"Thought you might want to see this. Someone claimed
Lynne's Conklin's effects and body."
Steve hesitated then opened the manilla folder. He shuffled
the papers, paling as he read the signature.
"You all right?" Archer asked.
"I don't know. I think I made an enemy today."
"Fancy
meeting you again," Agent Ron Wagner indicated the
seat across from him. His smile was cold, appraising.
Devon O'Meara returned the smile and sat in the preferred
seat.
"It is a strange coincidence. I am the last person to
see Amanda Bentley before she supposedly died, and then she shows
up an amnesiac at my fiancee's mountain cottage. How weird
is that?"
"I don't believe in coincidence, Counselor," Ron told
the man. "Tell me again, just how your fiance found
Amanda? And why wait three months to tell anyone?"
"I'm going to repeat only what I said to the LAPD, and
nothing more," Devon explained. "You know what I
do. We run shelters for battered women. We hide women
all the time. When we stumbled on Amanda on the road near
the woods, she was shoeless, in a cotton prison dress, cuddling a
newborn wrapped in nothing more than a sheet. She was
bleeding for God sakes and she was terrified. We got a doctor to
look at her. We figured she was hiding from someone or had
escaped from some Godforsaken prison farm. She wouldn't say
who she was, and Hell, I thought Amanda Bentley was dead."
"So for three months, you hid her at your fiancee's
cabin?" Ron scoffed. "Why didn't you try and find
out who she was?"
"We tried. We checked missing persons, police reports.
Hell, I was the one who flagged you guys with the
fingerprint check. Now, I'm not saying anything more
without a lawyer."
Ron pushed the phone across the desk.
"Get a good one."
-3-
Amanda blinked, then opened her eyes, pressing at them with
her fist. She gazed up at the white ceiling then the soft
blue walls. Except for her bed, an overhead television, and
the handsome, white haired man sleeping in the chair in the
corner, the hospital room was empty. She looked at her
wrist. The bindings were gone, so was the IV.
She sat up, frowning with distaste as she plucked at
her hospital gown which was sticky with breast milk.
"Hey you! Doctor Sloan," she called out sharply.
The white haired man's eyes opened abruptly, instantly
alert. He stood up and stretched and then smiled teasingly at
her.
"You barked, Madam?" he asked. Scowling to
hide her confusion and susceptibility to the man's charm, she
held out her damp gown.
"Could I get the breast pump? It must be time for you
guys to milk me again."
"You do seem to have an abundance," he said with a
small naughty grin. At her glare, his face became at once
solemn. "We want to try something different today,
Amanda."
She regarded him with suspicion. He seemed to suppress some
kind of emotion.
"Well," she snapped with impatience.
"What?"
"Katherine doesn't like the bottle much," he said
slowly. "We thought we'd bring her up and the two of
you can have breakfast together."
Amanda composed her face with difficulty. It had been three
weeks since these people had let her see and hold her baby except
through a window with guards standing near by.
"What's the catch?"
Mark Sloan smiled.
"You don't hit the Nurse in the head with a pitcher or try
to leave the hospital with your daughter."
"So you finally admit that she is MY daughter."
"Honey there was never any doubt of that," Mark said
gently. "Do we have a deal?"
Amanda nodded. Looking at her fingernails thoughtfully she
added:
"Can I see my other children. My boys?"
"They're at school right now," Mark said slowly,
studying her face. "But if you're certain you're ready
we can bring them for dinner tonight."
"I want to see them. My Mom and Dad too, if they are
not too angry with me."
"They're not angry, Amanda. You were missing a long
time. They thought you were dead and they just had to be
certain it was really you."
"And are they certain now? Are you?"
"I knew who you were the moment I saw you, honey. But
yes, the DNA test using CJ's and Little Katherine's blood prove
that you are definitely Amanda Sloan."
"Bentley." Amanda corrected defiantly.
"He didn't want be my husband. He didn't even
tell you did he?" Amanda challenged when Mark opened
his mouth to dispute her claims. "Does he have to
come?" Amanda suddenly looked like a sulking, but
frightened little girl.
"Who?" Mark asked innocently.
"You know. Your son. Is he coming?"
"Well, Steve is your husband, Amanda. The
children live with him now."
Mark didn't add it nearly took an act of God to persuade the
Bentley's to let Steve keep the boys and to keep them from suing
for custody of Katherine, once they found Amanda. Mark
insisted that Amanda's recovery would accelerate if things were
the way she and Steve had planned them: All them living as a
family at the beach house.
Amanda didn't answer. Looking at her bowed head Mark
sighed.
"Okay, honey. I won't force you to do anything you
don't want to. Just the children today."
He walked towards the door.
"Mark?"
Mark's hand stilled on the door. Not in the six weeks since
her return had Amanda acknowledged him by his first name.
He swallowed and blinked to keep sudden, unexpected tears
from his face.
"Yes?"
"This room is so plain, I mean for the baby and the
boys," Amanda said. "Can we brightened it up a
little. I mean there must be something attractive in this
hospital that I can't use as a weapon."
Mark turned to look at her then. His heart swelled as he
saw the bright teasing, very Amanda like smile on her pretty
face.
"I think I can find a stuffed bear or two," Mark
managed before he fled to the hall. He nodded briefly at the FBI
agent guarding the door, then signaled to the nurse.
"I brought my daughter-in-law some clothing from home.
You want to take them to her? And get her flowers and
a some stuffed toys from the gift shop. She likes purple
and green."
"Are you certain that's wise?" Mark turned his
eyebrow raised, more head physician than parent in that moment.
"Of course, Doctor Sloan" the nurse said
hurriedly reaching for her phone. "Are you all right
Doctor? You sound strange."
"I'm fine," Mark said, clearing his throat.
"A little cold I think."
By the time he reached his office, Marks face was streaked with
tears. Steve, blowing noisily on his delighted baby girls
stomach, paused seeing his father enter. He turned white,
clutching the baby close.
"Dad? What is it? Is it Amanda?"
Mark nodded then seeing his son's dismay, held up and hand and
smiled.
"She's fine, son. She's fine. She called me Mark,
that's all," The older man sat down in his chair
"It's been so long since I've heard her say my name.
I think she's turned the corner, son. I'm going to let her
nurse the baby. We'll let her keep Katherine in her room
today. Maybe tonight, if things go well."
Steve's face lit up, and he kissed the baby head.
"We're going to see Mommy."
The baby gazed up at her Daddy's face, her large round green gold
eyes fascinated by the sparkling stuff in his eyes. She
wave a hand at him, trying to catch the tear.
Mark sighed, knowing what his son would ask, what he asked every
day.
"Steve, I'm sorry Son. She's not ready to see you yet."
Mark gripped his son's shoulder. "I know this
hard, but she went through__"
"I know what she went through Dad. You don't have to
remind me of what happened to my wife because of..."
The baby, unsettled by her father's agitation, whimpered,
nuzzled against him and tried eating his cheek. Steve
paused, contrite. He kissed the child then held her out to
his father.
"She's hungry. You better take her to her
Mother."
Mark took the baby, who immediately snatched her Grandpa's
glasses.
Mark made a playful, censuring noise at the child and rescued his
lenses from a thorough tongue bath.
"She's getting better, Steve. You can take her home
soon."
End of Part One.