RECLAMATION

(A Sequel to "Lost & Found")

by

Jill Hargan

Prologue

My first official session with John Gage was, of necessity, a hurried one.  The police had scheduled the inquest into Reggie Langston's death to take place only a few days after they'd found his body.  John would be required to give his testimony, and I wanted to be sure and get at least one meeting in before what would naturally be a very stressful and emotional ordeal for my new patient.

I knew the basics of what had happened to him, of course.  But I like to start from the beginning - let my patients tell me in their own way and in their own time.  I've found this helps to keep me from making assumptions based on information that isn't always the truth, or at least what a patient sees as the truth.  With John, I wanted to hear him tell me how he felt about the upcoming hearing, to see if he was going to be able to handle talking about his experiences with his captor.  If he couldn't discuss it with me one on one, how would he be able to talk about it to a room full of strangers?

He was nervous.  I expected that.  I don't even remember how my practice became focused over the years on victims of violence, but they were now my specialty, and I knew these initial visits were always difficult for people who have been beaten down, both physically and emotionally.  I knew the feelings John would be battling; the guilt, the shame, the embarrassment.  That's not to say that each patient I see is identical to every other one.  They are all as unique and individual as the circumstances that bring them to me, each battling their demons in their own way.  But I have learned to see patterns in their behavior, and none of them are ever very eager to open up and talk about themselves or what happened to them.

John sat in the softly padded chair across from my desk, his dark eyes moving about my office, taking in the decor, the quietly bubbling fish tank, my framed degrees; looking everywhere but at me.  His hands were gripping the arm rests of the chair and his left leg was bouncing in an effort to release some of his tension.

This wasn't the way I usually plan it.  I like to meet with my patients casually first, sometimes in their homes, with people they feel safe with - family, friends, even their regular physician.  It allows them to get to know me a little; they can feel comfortable around me.  That way when we're alone for the first time, it isn't quite so overwhelming.  But because I wanted to see John at least once before the inquest, I had to forgo the preliminaries and plunge ahead.  It made it harder on him, since I was asking him to come in and trust me cold.

I knew if I sat there and waited, John would never say anything, so I had to make the first move.  Since we needed to be able to get him through the inquest before we did anything else, I couldn't even take the time to let him start from the beginning.  I had to be sure he could cope with what was going to happen tomorrow.

"So, John... do you think you'll be up to answering the coroner's questions?"

His leg stopped, and he glanced up at me for the first time.  His expression told me my question wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting.

"I... I don't know."  He spoke quietly, but seemed in control of his emotions.  That was a good sign.

"You'll have to tell them about shooting Reggie."  Rather abrupt of me, I know, but we had so little time.  I could only hope I wasn't ruining any chance to build a doctor/patient trust.

John merely nodded slowly.  I wasn't telling him anything he didn't know already.  "I told Crockett about what happened," he stated evenly, then shrugged, a gesture meant to show me he wasn't concerned, but I could see otherwise in his face.  "I guess I can tell it again."

Now it was my turn to nod, as I considered how far to push him.  I watched him fidget with a snagged thread on the arm of the chair for a time, then I continued.

"They'll need to know why."

That stopped his movements.  He sat still for a long moment then, without looking up, he gave a short nod.

"I know."

His voice was barely audible.  I felt bad that I had to push him like this, but it was better to find out now, than wait and have him fall apart in the courtroom.

"Will you be able to tell them what they need to know?"

He drew in a deep breath.  If it hadn't been so quiet in my office, I wouldn't have heard the slight shudder as he did so.  But he managed to hold himself together.

"I don't know... I hope so."

It wasn't the answer many doctors might have wanted to hear, but to me it was better than any glib assurances that he would be fine.  John was being honest with me - and with himself.  He wasn't sure, but he was going to try.  That was all I could ask.  I think that was when I caught my first glimmer of just how strong a person John Gage was, and I felt a sudden surge of confidence that he was going to be able to pull himself out of the hell he'd been dwelling in for such a long time.  To be truthful, many of my patients never do find the personal strength to do this, and while I was gathering the background on John's case - talking to his friends and his doctors - I had begun to fear that he might fall into this unhappy category.

"Can you tell me?"

John finally looked at me and held my gaze long enough for me to see into his eyes, to at last get a glimpse at the depth of pain that lay just beneath his thin surface of control.  But in an instant it was gone, and I saw once more the strong will that had gotten him this far.

"Why did you shoot Reggie, John?" I asked gently.

"Because I was tired," was his quiet reply.

And I understood.  Although it wasn't the answer the legal system would be looking for, I understood.  I had seen enough poor souls who were victims of the great amount of cruelty certain human beings were capable of inflicting on others.  I knew exactly what he was trying to tell me.

Chapter One

Tulare, California

April 1978

It wasn't a trial.  It wasn't even a grand jury.  When Crockett told them that it was to be an inquest into how Reggie died, that's what he meant.  But it was still a lot more casual than Johnny had imagined.

They were in a courtroom, but it was smaller than anything the paramedic had ever seen.  Of course, Tulare County wasn't exactly Los Angeles and hardly had the need for large courtrooms.  The judge sat behind a regular, office type desk, rather than on a raised dais.  There were a dozen or so thinly padded folding chairs set close together, giving the place a crowded feel.  Johnny got the impression that normally this room would only hold five or six people, and that they'd scrounged as many extra seats as they could find just for this hearing.

Those chairs were filled.  Johnny sat in the second row, flanked on either side by Roy and Kelly Brackett.  They'd come up last night to avoid having to make the long, pre-dawn drive.  Joanne had wanted to come lend her support as well, but Johnny was relieved that Roy had convinced her it wasn't a good idea.  He wasn't sure just how much detail the judge was going to make him go into, but he'd rather Joanne never hear the things he was certain were going to be discussed today.  For those same reasons he was just as glad none of the guys were here in the room, though they'd all offered repeatedly to accompany him and provide moral support.  But even though Johnny realized the guys probably knew what had happened to him while he was gone, he didn't think he could bear having them in the courtroom hearing it first hand in all the gory details.

On the other side of Brackett was Dr. Evans.  Johnny had seen him for the first time yesterday morning, and though he'd dreaded going, it hadn't been as bad as he'd expected.  The session hadn't lasted very long, and they hadn't done much more than talk about what might happen at the inquest today, but Johnny quickly realized it was going to be easier to talk to the psychologist about his time with Reggie than it was for him to talk about it with Roy.  Maybe because he wasn't worried about what Dr. Evans might think of him.  Not that Johnny had ever felt Roy was judging him, but there was still that lingering doubt; the fear that his friend was ashamed of him, disgusted with him, repulsed by what he'd done.

The list could go on and on in Johnny's mind if he let it.  Most of the time he was able to push those notions away as ridiculous, but they still lurked on the edges of his thoughts.  He knew that wasn't fair to Roy, who had stood beside him and supported him throughout the entire ordeal; going above and beyond the bounds of friendship.  But it still wasn't something Johnny could get completely out of his head right now.  Hopefully, talking to Dr. Evans might help him do that.

Of the other people here, Johnny knew Lieutenant Crockett.  He was with a couple of other men from the L.A. County Sheriff's office.  Buck Starnes was here too, sitting just behind Johnny.  He hadn't said anything to them when he came in, but he let his hand rest briefly on the paramedic's shoulder in a show of support that Johnny truly appreciated.

The other people in the room were strangers, though Johnny was sure they had some legal reason to be here.  Due to the sensitive nature of the testimony that was going to be presented, the judge had ordered a closed hearing, relegating the hordes of eager reporters outside, where they would have to wait and try to get information second hand.  He was sure they weren't happy about the restriction.  They'd certainly tried their best to get him to talk to them this morning when he walked into the courthouse.  Johnny had never been so grateful to his friends as he was at that moment, as they steered him protectively through the throng.  He'd kept his head down, merely walking where Roy and Dr. Brackett led him as they each held firmly to one of his arms.

It all was rather blurred to Johnny, but he did remember clearly Brackett actually pushing one reporter back when the man got too enthusiastic and tried to shove his microphone in Johnny's face.  It was definitely an image he'd be able to appreciate later, but for now he was too nervous to think of anything more than what was going to happen in the next few minutes.

He was sweating.  Even though the room was air conditioned, Johnny could feel the perspiration gathering on his forehead and in the palms of his hands.  His mouth was dry and his stomach was tied in knots.  The little bit of breakfast he'd forced down because both Roy and Brackett were hovering, making sure he put something in his mouth, was not resting easy.  And when the tall, silvered haired judge came in and sat down, bringing silence to the room, that small amount of toast and cereal suddenly turned into a heavy lump in his gut.

Johnny barely registered the bailiff's words as he introduced Judge Philip Stephens and asked everyone to stand.  The paramedic tried to rise with everyone else, but he couldn't make his legs work.  The air in the room had grown heavy and he was breathing faster, trying to pull more oxygen into his lungs.

"Johnny... you okay?"

Roy's voice was quiet, but it caught Brackett's attention.  The doctor placed a concerned hand on Johnny's arm.

"Breathe slower, Johnny.  Take slow, even breaths."

He was trying.  The last thing he wanted was to become the center of attention in this room, but he was afraid that was already happening.  He could hear Brackett's and Roy's voices, both giving him hushed words of encouragement, but they weren't helping him in his fight to keep the panic at bay.

And then he felt someone take both his hands and grip them firmly, and a calm but commanding voice was calling his name.

"John... John, stay calm.  You can do this.  Just like we talked about.  That's it... slow, steady breaths..."

The voice continued, somehow compelling him to listen, pulling him away from the edge.  The gray haze receded, and once more there was enough oxygen in the room.  Johnny quit working so hard to draw a breath and could feel the back of his seat against his spine again.  A self-conscious glance to his right and Roy was there, an encouraging smile on his face.  To his left, and he was surprised to see that Brackett and Dr. Evans had traded places.  The psychologist still had hold of Johnny's hands, but let go when the paramedic glanced down at them.

"You did great, John," the man said, a warm smile on his round face.

Johnny didn't feel great.  He felt stupid.  And when he glanced up and saw Judge Stephens was looking at him, apparently waiting for him to get a grip, he flushed in embarrassment.

"Do you need to step outside for a moment, Mr. Gage?" the older man asked kindly.

Johnny ducked his head, wiping his palms on his pants.  "No, sir," he managed to get out, hoping it was loud enough for the judge to hear.  He certainly didn't need to antagonize the man who would be making decisions about his future.

But the judge didn't seem put out.  He merely gave the paramedic an understanding nod then hit his gavel once lightly on the desk, calling the hearing to order.  Only when it fell silent, did Johnny notice there had been a buzz of sound, telling him people in the room had been talking around him.

About me, he corrected himself morosely.  He kept his eyes on his feet as Judge Stephens began talking.

"All right, folks, let's get the business end of this done.  This is the official inquest into the death of Reginald Langston."  The judge paused for a moment, causing Johnny to lift his eyes.  The man's lined face looked pensive as he pulled at his chin.  "This is a most unusual case," he continued slowly.  His eyes scanned the faces before him, then settled on Johnny.  "I'd like to say one thing first.  Mr. Gage, please be assured that none of these proceedings are intended to cause you any more grief than can possibly be avoided."

Johnny felt his face grow hot again, but this time his embarrassment was also mixed with gratitude.  He managed to give the man behind the desk a slight nod of thanks.

The judge's gaze moved down to a stack of papers in front of him.  "I have here reports from Dr. Kelly Brackett, Dr. Calvin Reynolds, and Dr. William Evans; all detailing the abuse John Gage suffered at the hands of the deceased."

A man in the front row cleared his throat, a frown of displeasure on his face.  Johnny didn't know who he was, but the judge obviously did.  The older man glared pointedly at the malcontent.  "Ernie Hobson, I know full well that you're the District Attorney of this county, but I have no intention of letting you entangle this meeting with a bunch of ‛allegedly's' and other legal mumbo jumbo.  The facts are the facts, and what the deceased did to Mr. Gage is all on record.  We're not here to dispute that."

Johnny heard Buck chuckle softly behind him and felt the police officer's hand pat his shoulder lightly.  The paramedic recalled something Buck had said last night when they'd first arrived in Tulare.

Don't worry, John.  Judge Stephens is a good man.  He doesn't hold a real high regard for  legal red tape.

Johnny hadn't really understood what his friend meant at the time, and he'd been too anxious about what was going to happen the next day to give it much thought.  But he realized now that Buck was plugged into the politics of his county, and perhaps Johnny really didn't have as much cause to worry as he'd been afraid he did.

"Now," Judge Stephens continued evenly, as if he hadn't paused to give the D.A. a dressing down.  "We'll hear first from Dr. Clive Sanderson, Tulare Country Coroner."

A middle aged man rose from his seat in the front row and approached the judge's desk, taking his place in the small chair that had been placed beside it.  As he began his testimony, Johnny felt his breathing quicken a bit, and a new wave of perspiration washed over him.  He clenched the arms of his chair, but managed to keep the anxiety in check as he steeled himself to get through the hearing.

The coroner was brief and the judge's questions to the point.

Yes, Mr. Langston had been dead when they found him.  Exact time of death was hard to pinpoint due to the body's state of decomposition.  Cause of death was definitely from multiple gunshot wounds.

The coroner was dismissed and Sergeant Starnes was called up.  Once more, Johnny felt the officer give his shoulder a squeeze of encouragement as Buck made his way out of the row of chairs.  Buck answered the judge's questions clearly and concisely, but Johnny began to see that though the truth was being told, certain aspects of what had happened were not being discussed.

Buck spoke about finding the house after an intensive search of the area - helped of course, by what Mr. Gage remembered.  He told of finding the body lying on a bed, and of calling the coroner.  The judge asked if a weapon had been located.  Buck's eyes found Johnny briefly before he gave a crisp nod and said, yes, there had been a hand gun beside the bed with all the chambers empty.  Buck then told of finding Reggie's collection of clothing and uniforms, some of which belonged to the  murdered firemen, that there were more than likely several victims they hadn't been aware of and were still looking into, that from the evidence they found in the house, it seemed obvious that the dead man was a psychotic killer who preyed on firefighters - a comment that earned the officer an admonishing glare from the D.A., but no reproval from Judge Stephens.

Johnny waited, but never once did Buck mention the shackle around Reggie's ankle, or the chain leading to the wall.  He never brought up the fact that Reggie wouldn't have been able to move or get away; that he was shot in cold blood, helpless to defend himself.  The paramedic wondered why they weren't talking about it, unless the judge was going to wait until it was Johnny's turn to testify.

After a few more questions Buck vacated the witness seat.

"John Gage, will you please take the stand."

Johnny's throat went dry, and he wasn't sure his legs would work as he pushed himself up out of his chair, but somehow he managed to stay on his feet.  His right knee protested, but he tried to ignore it.  That was another hurdle he was going to have to face.  Dr. Reynolds had Johnny scheduled for surgery next week.  But for right now, it was taking all the paramedic's will power to get through this ordeal without falling apart.

He leaned on the back of the chair in front of him, meaning to work his way past Roy, but was surprised when his partner stood up, put a steadying hand under Johnny's elbow and began edging his way out from their row of seats.  Johnny followed after him, thankful for the support that was more than just physical.  Roy held onto him the whole time he was maneuvering sideways out of the row, but stopped when they reached the end and dropped his hand, allowing Johnny the dignity of walking to the front under his own power.  Johnny gave his friend a tight, fleeting smile, more grateful than he could express for the constancy in his life that was Roy DeSoto.

He was acutely aware that all the eyes in the room were fixed on him as he made his way to the chair beside the judge's desk.  He could feel the sweat trickling down his back, the uneasiness of his stomach, and he prayed that he wouldn't embarrass himself by losing his breakfast in front of everyone.  The few feet he covered seemed like the longest distance he'd ever walked, but at last he made it and sank down in the one chair in the room that wasn't the folding kind.  The little bit of extra comfort it provided was quickly lost by the fact that Johnny was now facing the crowd of unfamiliar people.  He shifted his eyes to the second row, to quickly locate the few comforting faces and concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and steady.

He was so focused on trying not to have a repeat of his earlier anxiety attack, that he actually jumped a bit when he heard the judge say his name.

"Mr. Gage?  You ready?"

There was something in the older man's voice that told Johnny this wasn't the first time the judge had addressed him.  He didn't sound annoyed, but Johnny flushed with embarrassment anyway.  He nodded quickly, tried to speak and had to clear his extremely dry throat.

"Ye... uh, yes, sir."

The weathered face smiled kindly, then opened up one of the files that lay on the desk in front of him.  When he spoke, his manner was official, yet there was an underlying warmth to it.

"All right, Mr. Gage, the first thing I want you to know... we're going to keep this as brief as possible.  I have the reports from your doctors, and the police reports, but the law requires that we also have your testimony on file.  I'll have to ask some questions that might be difficult for you, but just take your time and answer the best you can.  Rest assured, everyone here wants you to be able to put this behind you and move on with your life."

Johnny's eyes had been fixed on his lap during most of the judge's speech.  The one time he happened to look up, he caught sight of the District Attorney.  The expression on the man's face told Johnny that probably not everyone wanted him to just be able to put this behind him, but he could appreciate the judge's words.

"We'll start at the beginning... on the night of October twelfth, 1976... you were employed by the Los Angeles County Fire Department, working as a firefighter/paramedic.  Is that correct?"

Johnny nodded.  There was a slight sound from the court reporter and Johnny flushed again, remembering the instructions he'd been given that he would have to speak his answers.

"Uh... I'm, uh... I'm sorry."  His mouth felt parched, but he managed to croak out a simple, "Yes."

"And your station responded to a large warehouse fire..."  The judge consulted the report, then continued.  "At around 7:10 p.m.?"

Johnny nodded again, caught himself and answered, "Yeah, that... uh... that sounds...um... I think it was about... about that time."

A glass of water suddenly appeared under Johnny's nose and he took it gratefully.  After he took a few soothing gulps, he realized it was the bailiff who had given it to him.  He handed the glass back with a quiet, "Thanks."

"All right... now, can you tell us when you first saw the deceased.... Mr. Langston?"

Johnny's mouth went dry again, despite the water he'd just drunk.  His heart started racing, and he swallowed several times before he could get his voice to work.

"Uh... I... I don't... I don't remember what time it was.  Late... it was late.  We were done... with the fire, I mean.  I... I had taken Captain Stallings H.T. back to him.  When... when I came back... I didn't see Roy."

"Your partner... Mr. DeSoto?" the judge clarified.

"Yeah... I... I didn't see him.  So... so I went around the squad... I went around the squad..."  He had to swallow again.  "He was there... Reggie... Reggie had a gun... he... he had Roy."

Johnny paused, and closed his eyes.  Even after this long, the memory of that night was still vivid.  He could still hear Reggie's voice, telling him Roy had died there, hanging by his hands on the door of the squad.

It's your fault, Johnny.  You made the switch.  If you'd let me take him, he'd still be alive.  But you wanted to come with me and pushed your way in.  So you let your partner die.  He must have suffered a long time before anyone came to check on him.  I wonder if he thought about you while he hung there, slowly bleeding to death.  Do you think he hated you at the end?

Johnny's eyes snapped open.  He lifted his gaze to find Roy in the second row.  He had to find him.  He had to make that voice go away and prove to himself that Reggie had lied to him.  About Roy - and about so many other things.

He was there; as he'd been there through it all.  At the sight of Roy's face, of the concern so evident there, Johnny felt his breathing slow down and a certain degree of calmness settled over him.  He could do this.  He would get through this.  He wouldn't let Roy down.

"All right, Mr. Gage."  The judge's voice broke into Johnny's thoughts.  "You came upon the deceased holding your partner at gunpoint.  We already have Mr. DeSoto's statement to the police that Mr. Langston was trying to kidnap him.  So this is really a formality."  Judge Stevens lowered the report in his hand and removed his glasses.  "Just tell us for the record, Mr. Gage.  Did Reginald Langston force you to go with him against your will?"

I'm a lot more fun than he is. You want somebody to help you have a good time?  I'm your man. Leave him here and take me.

You'll just go with me, no struggles?

I'll go with you and play all the games you want.

The conversation was as real in Johnny's head as if it were happening right now.  He lifted his head as he answered with a clear sounding, "No."

His answer caused a distinct buzzing in the courtroom.  Johnny saw Roy half stand, only to be pulled down by Dr. Brackett.  He saw the calming motion Brackett made with his hand, as if telling Roy to wait and see what happened.  He wasn't sure why everyone was upset.  Then he heard the slight rap of the judge's gavel, bringing order back to the crowded room.

When it was quiet again, the judge turned to Johnny.

"Mr. Gage... perhaps you misunderstood the question.  I want to be sure everything is clear here.  You stated you came upon Mr. Langston holding your partner at gunpoint.  But he took you instead of Mr. DeSoto... are those the facts?"

"Yes," Johnny replied quietly.

"So, he did, in fact, take you against your will."

Johnny frowned slightly, wondering why they couldn't grasp what he told them.

"No.  I went with him," he stressed.  "He didn't make me go.  I wanted to go."

He heard the low wash of conversation again and saw the judge rub at the bridge of his nose.  Obviously something wasn't going the way the people here were expecting it to.  He thought perhaps if he elaborated, it might help them understand.

"I had to go," he stated.  "I couldn't let him take Roy.  So I went with him.  But I wanted to do that.  Nobody forced me to.  I went because he couldn't take Roy.  Roy couldn't... Roy wouldn't have been able..."  Johnny paused, the words sticking in his throat.  After a long moment, he tried again, but his voice was barely audible.  "I couldn't let that happen to Roy."

Now there was a long moment of a silence so profound that Johnny felt all his old fears stirring again.  Of course he went with Reggie of his own free will.  And now they all knew it.  Now they knew what he was... that he was willing... that...

See, Johnny?  Didn't I tell you this would happen?

Johnny's heart thudded in his chest, and he sank against the back of the chair, his hands gripping the hard, wooden arms.  He hadn't heard Reggie talking in his head for nearly a week - not since that day at the house.  He and Roy had spent a long time in front of the fireplace, burning all the hated evidence of Reggie's favorite game.  And it had been more than just the pictures that had burned in that grate.  Johnny had felt a kind of cleansing; as if his fear and shame and guilt had been offered up in the fire.  He'd hoped he'd purged his soul of Reggie as well.  But that didn't seem to be the case.

He could feel the hot flush in his face; feel the now familiar weight of shame bearing down on him like a physical burden.  If Reggie was right... if Reggie was right...

"I think I understand what you're saying, Mr. Gage."

The judge's kind voice broke through the dangerous downward spiral Johnny's thoughts were taking.  The paramedic let his eyes move to the desk, then up to the silver haired man's weathered face.  What he saw there took him by surprise.  There was no disgust there, rather a deep compassion.

"I just need to get it down for the record.  Did Mr. Langston put handcuffs on you and take you away at gunpoint?"

Johnny's eyes never left the judge's as he nodded mutely, then remembered and answered, "Yes."

Judge Steven's smiled warmly.  "That's what we needed to get straight.  Now we can move on."  He glanced at the reports again.  "From the statements here, you were Mr. Langston's prisoner for approximately eighteen months.  Does that sound right?"

It took Johnny a moment to find his voice.  "I... uh, I... I... don't remember how long... I mean, that's what everyone's told me."

"All right, that's good enough.  We know from your doctors' reports, that you were abused and mistreated during that time.  I don't think, for the purposes of this hearing, we need to go into specifics.  Other than perhaps for you to concur."  The judge sat up a little straighter.  "Mr. Gage, did Reginald Langston beat you and sexually abuse you during those eighteen months?"

The silence in the room was deafening.  Johnny swallowed against the bile that rose up in his throat.  He knew they were all looking at him, waiting for him to tell them.  This was why they'd come, after all; to hear the story.

He sat there, feeling the hardness of the chair pressing into his backside and thighs; felt the sweat rolling down his back and sides; heard the pounding of his heart, the rush of blood in his ears.

Tell them, Johnny.  Tell them about the game.  Tell them how much fun we had.  Tell them...

He swallowed again, finding a reserve of strength somewhere deep inside himself and shoved Reggie's voice to the back ground.  That wasn't what the judge had asked him.  The judge didn't want to hear about the game.  From somewhere the rational part of his brain reminded him that this judge was trying to help him; was phrasing his questions so that Johnny only had to answer with the minimum amount of detail.

Johnny took a deep, steadying breath.  "Y... yes.  Yes, he did."  His voice quavered, but he'd managed to be heard.  And there was a certain relief in having said it.

"Thank you, Mr. Gage.  I'm sure that wasn't easy for you."  The judge picked up another paper.  "The last thing we need to address is the night of the shooting.  I have the police report, and we've heard from Sergeant Starnes and the Coroner."  The judge's mouth was set in a thin line but didn't seem to be angry.  He seemed more like he was doing something he wished he didn't have to.  "I do need to ask you, though.  Did you shoot Reginald Langston?"

Blood... so much blood. It was on the walls and on the bed and on the floor. His hand was shaking violently as he dropped the gun to the floor. He slowly slid down the door frame, never taking his eyes off Reggie's lifeless body.

The moment had replayed itself over and over so many times in Johnny's mind, it could hold him in its grip, unable to move, if he let it.  Needing something else to focus on, Johnny's eyes found the second row again; saw Brackett and Roy, and even Buck behind them.  Then he saw Dr. Evan's; his nod of confidence and encouraging smile.

Drawing strength from them, Johnny took a deep breath.  "Yes," he answered in a low voice, then repeated somewhat stronger, "yes."

The murmur in the courtroom was soft and quickly hushed before Judge Stevens even raised up his gavel.  He gave the audience a hard stare, then he turned back to Johnny, his face softening.  "Thank you, Mr. Gage.  And I apologize for making you go through this entire ordeal."  He put his glasses back on and shuffled the reports on his desk.  "Now then... I believe that is all we are going to..."

"Judge Stevens?"

Johnny glanced to the front row and saw the sour faced district attorney with his hand raised to get the judge's attention.

"Yes, Ernie?"  Even as high strung as Johnny was at this moment, he could still hear the exasperation in the older man's voice.

"If you don't mind, Judge... I have a question for Mr. Gage.  That is... unless we're in too much of an all fired hurry to just sweep this under the rug."

There was another wave of murmurs, and this time the judge's gavel did bang twice before quiet resumed.  The older man glared at the D.A. for a long moment, then took a deep breath.

"I'll ignore that comment, Ernie.  And I won't charge you with contempt, because I know you can't help being the jackass that you are."

The judge let the soft laughter in the room go unchecked for a moment, then rapped lightly without comment.

"All right, Ernie... since you're so concerned that we're going to trample on Mr. Langston's civil rights... and so that we do this the right way the first time and never have to go through this again... you ask your question."

Johnny had listened to the exchange, hearing the judge's thinly veiled sarcasm, but also seeing in the District Attorney's eyes a glint of anger as he got up from his seat.  The man didn't have to take more than a step to stand in front of Johnny, and the paramedic felt the familiar flutter of panic.  He'd quickly realized that Judge Steven's was trying not to make Johnny delve too deeply into his experiences, but this man was an unknown factor.  Johnny only hoped that whatever grudge the D.A. held against the judge, he didn't choose this moment to further the battle.

The man stood quietly regarding Johnny, then he crossed his arms over his chest, one hand rubbing at his chin, as if pondering something weighty.

"I'm a little confused, Mr. Gage.  Maybe you can help me out... clear something up that's bothering me about this whole business."

He paused.  Johnny felt like the man was waiting for him to say something, but the paramedic wasn't sure just what, so he remained silent.

"You said you had a question, Ernie," Judge Stevens reminded sternly.  "Get to it."

The D.A. glared daggers at the older man, but didn't comment.  He turned his gaze back to Johnny.

"My question is simple, Mr. Gage.  I just want to know one thing.  Why?"

Johnny stared at the man in confusion.  He wasn't sure what he was being asked.  The District Attorney's mouth moved in a disgusted smirk.

"Oh, come now, it's not a hard question.  You were with Mr. Langston for eighteen months.  If he was abusing you the entire time, why that night?  Why pick that night to kill him?  Why not the night before... or the week before... or even the year before?  What happened that night that made you decide to pick up a gun and kill a man?"

Yeah, Johnny... why did you do that?  Why did you kill me?  You said you loved me.  You know I loved you.  Why did you ruin everything?

Johnny closed his eyes, his heart in his throat, his breath quickening.  He didn't want to hear Reggie now.  He couldn't listen to Reggie's seductive persuasion and talk to this man at the same time.

"Mr. Gage...  I asked you a question."

He asked you a question, Johnny.  You have to answer him.  Tell him Johnny.  Tell him...

"You've played the wide-eyed victim very well here today, Mr. Gage, but let me tell you what I think happened.  The autopsy showed traces of semen on Mr. Langston...  semen that wasn't his own."

Johnny flushed and felt the heat rise in his face.

"The two of you obviously had sex that night..."

Yes, we certainly did, didn't we, Johnny.  And it was wonderful.  You enjoyed yourself, didn't you?  Tell the man how much you enjoyed it...

"...and then perhaps you had a little quarrel... a lover's spat?"

Johnny's mind was spinning.  A spat?  Is that what you called it?  But it wasn't true.  He and Reggie never fought.  They didn't quarrel.  Johnny never fought back.  What good would that have done?  This man knew nothing.

The banging of the gavel caused Johnny to jump, his heart pounding against his chest.

"Ernie, you are out of order."

"I think the argument got out of hand and that's when you decided to go get the gun."

"Ernie Hobson!  I won't tell you again..."

"I don't think you killed him in desperation.  I think it was in a fit of a passion!"

"MR. HOBSON!"  The gavel thundered loudly in Johnny's ear, and his shoulders jerked convulsively with each bang.

And then it was quiet... deathly quiet for a long moment.  All Johnny could hear was his own raspy breathing.  Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the District Attorney spoke once more.  His voice was subdued, but not sorry.

"Mr. Gage, I'll ask again.  Why did you..."

"Johnny... Johnny, it's okay.  Just answer him."

Roy.  That's Roy.  He felt his heartbeat slow, and he opened his eyes, already looking past the D.A. to find his friend standing in the second row, leaning on the back of the chair in front of him.  His face was intense, but his eyes were filled with understanding.  Of all the people here, Roy was the only one who truly knew the complete grasp Reggie had once held over Johnny's life and soul, and  the anguished toll this was taking on the paramedic.

He knew Roy had faith in him.  Johnny wanted to earn that faith and trust, but he didn't know how exactly to answer the D.A.'s question.  What would satisfy the man... what would make him understand?  He heard Reggie's voice again, but this time it was faint and far away; as if merely a whisper of a memory.

We'll be together forever, Johnny. It's going to be just like this forever...

And he knew.  Johnny locked eyes with his friend; drew strength from the bonds of that friendship that had been tested and tried and come out stronger over the last year and a half.  He never moved his gaze from Roy's as he dug down once more and found the courage to speak.

"He... he said... Reggie said it would be... that it would be forever.  I couldn't... not forever.  I needed it to end."

He finally turned from Roy, and for the first time let his eyes meet those of the man in front of him.  "Can you even begin to understand that?" he whispered hoarsely.  "I needed it to end."

After a long, heavy silence, the District Attorney cleared his throat.  He didn't say anything.  He merely stood for a moment, then quietly resumed his seat.

Johnny's shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes again.  He was exhausted, emotionally and physically.  He could feel himself trembling, and he desperately hoped they were done.  He didn't think he could answer one more question.

He could hear Judge Stevens shuffling his papers again, but when the man began speaking, his voice sounded distant.  In words that had a tinny ring to them, the older man declared that the hearing was finished; that Reggie had died of gunshot wounds; that it was justifiable homicide and no charges were going to be filed against John Gage.  He banged his gavel once to dismiss them.

The room at once erupted with noise - people talking, chairs moving, but Johnny never even tried to get up.  He felt limp, and there was a gray haze on the edges of his awareness that made the sounds around him fade in and out.  The thought slowly wandered into his mind that he might be going to pass out, but for some reason he wasn't concerned enough about the possibility to call attention to himself.

The next thing he was aware of was that he was staring at his shoes.  After another moment, he could feel the hand on his neck, holding his head between his knees.  Finally he could hear the voice at his ear offering encouragement.

"That's it, take slow, steady breaths.  You're gonna be fine."

Roy.  His rock.  His lifeline.

He could hear other voices now.  They were mostly talking about him, expressing concern for his welfare, and Johnny was suddenly conscious of once more being the center of attention.  He tried to sit up, but Roy's firm pressure on his neck prevented him from doing that.

"Take it easy... stay where you are for a minute."

"I'm okay," he insisted in a hoarse whisper.  "Roy, lemme up.  I'm fine now."

There was a quick conference that Johnny couldn't hear all of, but at last Roy moved his hand.

"All right, just go slow."

"Sit up easy, Johnny."

That was Brackett.  Johnny wondered who else was still here.  He straightened up, and realized that Roy's hand hadn't gone far.  He could feel it pressing on his back, making sure he moved slowly.  It was probably a good thing, though Johnny thought briefly about getting mad at the mothering.  But the way the room spun when he got fully upright again made him decide it wasn't such a bad thing to have doctors and paramedics as friends.

"Easy, there.  You okay?"

Johnny nodded slowly, still fighting the dizziness, but not about to admit to it.

"Just thirsty," he answered.

"Here ya go."

It was Buck who handed him a glass of water.  Johnny took it gratefully and would have drained it down in a few gulps, but there was Roy's restraining hand again.

"Just sip it," he cautioned, then smiled when Johnny glared at him.  "He's doing better," he announced with a chuckle.

"I'm okay," Johnny assured them.  He glanced around the nearly empty room.  "Are we all done?  Can we go now?"

"Yes, we're done," Brackett answered, then his mouth quirked in that half smile of his as he continued, "and no, we're not going yet.  You're sitting here for a few minutes until I'm satisfied you can walk out of here under your own power."

"I told ya, Doc, I'm fine," Johnny insisted.  "I just... it just got kinda... hot in here, is all."

"Yeah, Ernie Hobson can sure heat up a court room," Buck agreed.  "That man's the biggest asshole in the county... and a damn good prosecuting attorney.  He's just a little lacking in the sensitivity and compassion departments.  Judge Stevens wanted me to be sure and apologize to you on behalf of Tulare County."

"That's okay," Johnny mumbled, still embarrassed by what the D.A. had brought up in front of everyone.  "Guess he was just doing his job."

"Well, I for one, think you handled it marvelously, John," Dr. Evans spoke up quietly.  "You did very well today."

Johnny flushed at the praise, especially since he didn't think he'd done much to deserve it.  And he'd even wimped out at the end.  His doubt must have shown in his face, for Dr. Evans gave him an understanding smile.

"You may not think so, John, but today was a big hurdle and you got past it.  That's something you can be proud of."

Johnny wasn't so sure of that, but he didn't argue.  He fidgeted in the hard chair, uncomfortable again.  Roy must have sensed his uneasiness for he gave his shoulder a light squeeze, then spoke up.

"If you're feeling better, Johnny, why don't we see about getting outta here."

"That sure sounds good to me."  He stood, clutched the arm of the chair a moment, as one last wave of dizziness passed over him.  But he was able to wave off any further help.

They walked toward the courtroom door, Roy never far from Johnny's side.  As they reached it, Johnny paused, looking toward Buck.

"This is really all over, right?"  He knew he probably sounded weak, but he needed the assurance.

Buck nodded and grinned at him.  "The next time you come to Tulare, John, it will be purely a social call."

Chapter Two

Los Angeles, California

Roy rolled over and sleepily reached out to Joanne's side of the bed, only to find it empty.  He lazily opened his eyes and saw that his wife was indeed gone.  A glance at the clock told him why.  It was nearly nine.  She'd let him sleep in, and he was grateful.  Yesterday had been a grueling day, and by the time they'd gotten back from Tulare last night, Roy was beat.  He was  glad Joanne had convinced him to trade shifts today just in case they got hung up at the inquest.  Now he could take a day to unwind from the emotional drain of the last few days.

He lay on his back, his arms under his head, and stared at the ceiling for a long moment.  After the hearing they'd gone to Buck's house, where Teresa had served them a huge lunch to celebrate the verdict.  Johnny had enjoyed the visit; had played outside with the girls as much as his leg would allow.  But Roy could tell the demands of the day had taken a lot out of his partner.  He knew Johnny wouldn't completely relax until they were in the car on their way home.

He'd been proven right.  As soon as the paramedics had climbed into the comfortable back seat of Brackett's roomy Towncar, leaving the front for the two doctors, Johnny had stretched his leg out as much as he could without pushing into Roy's knees, leaned up against the window and fallen asleep.  He stayed that way nearly the entire four hour drive back to Carson.

Roy's own nerves had been frayed as well.  And it wasn't just the ordeal of the inquest, though that had been hard enough.  As Johnny had haltingly answered the judge's questions about when Reggie showed up at the fire, he wasn't the only one reliving that horrible night.  Roy's own memories had reared up with a vengeance from where he'd thought them safely buried, sending his heart racing.  He felt like a heel that he was experiencing such anxiety when it was Johnny who had gone through so much pain and torment and was now having to talk about it in front of strangers.  He'd managed to get through the moment, and as the questions moved from the night of the kidnapping to the shooting, Roy had been able to calm down and concentrate on helping Johnny in whatever way he could.

As bad as the courtroom had been, it was actually at Buck's house where Roy's stomach really started doing a number on him.  They'd just eaten, and everyone was sitting around talking, either in the living room or outside with the kids.  Roy had been on the patio, sitting in a wooden lounge chair, watching Johnny push three year old Kara on the swings, while five year old Rosa pumped her little legs on her own in an effort to show Johnny just how high she could go.

Buck had come and pulled up a chair next to Roy.  For a while he didn't say anything.  He merely sat and silently watched his girls swing.  When he finally spoke, what he said froze the smile that had been playing on Roy's face.

"You left a lotta loose ends out there, ya know."  His voice was pitched low to keep the conversation between the two of them.

"Whaddya mean?"  Roy followed the officer's lead and kept his voice down as well.  "I didn't touch anything with my bare hands."

Buck waved a hand in front of his face, as if merely swatting away the gnats that loved the green grass in this arid climate.

"That's not what I meant.  You did okay there.  Besides Reggie's, no prints turned up that we've been able to match with anyone except John and a few of the other victims."

"Then what..."

"For starters..."  Buck at last turned to face him, his expression neutral.  "We found some things that were hard to explain.  A photo gallery with nothing but empty picture frames on the walls... a studio and lab in the garage... but absolutely no pictures or negatives... and ashes in the fireplace that were still warm..."

Roy felt the color drain from his face and suddenly wished he hadn't eaten so much lunch.  He opened his mouth, but for a moment couldn't get his voice to work.

"I... I guess I didn't think about that... about any of it," he admitted ruefully.  "Buck... I hope... I mean... I didn't make trouble for you, did I?"

Buck shook his head.  "No.  I took care of things.  I managed to sort of... uh... guide the investigation a little.  I made a few suggestions on the report... like maybe a vagrant got in.  The door was unlocked... it wouldn't have been hard.  And we get a lot of transients in the outlying farm areas.  The orchards are an easy meal."

He paused and took a drink of the beer in his hand.  "It was a bit of a stretch that he used the pictures to start the fire, but with all the weirdness surrounding this case, it was easy for the chief to just let it go at that.  He knew it was thin, but he didn't ask too many questions."

Roy reached for his iced tea and took a long drink, trying to ignore the slight tremble in his hands.  He knew it wasn't just from the things Buck was telling him now, but more from having to remember that day in the house and the things he'd seen there.

"I'm really sorry, Buck," he finally said, sincerely apologetic for any problems he'd caused this man who'd done nothing but help Johnny since the first day he'd found him wandering lost and confused.  "I guess I wasn't thinking straight.  Johnny was so upset, and I just thought burning those damn..."  Roy paused and took another long drink of his iced tea.  He'd just about said more than he meant to.  But apparently the Tulare police officer had already put the pieces together.

"Look, Roy... it wouldn't have taken Einstein to figure out what was hanging on those walls."  His voice wasn't recriminating, and he gave the paramedic an understanding nod.  "I probably would've done the same thing you did."

Roy had to mentally shove the flash of those nightmarish images out of his mind.  His jaw worked for a moment as he fought to control the wave of nausea he still felt every time he thought about the photos.  When he felt he could talk without his voice quavering, he faced the officer squarely.

"You need to know one thing, Buck," Roy stated evenly.  "What I did... the choice I made that day... it was for Johnny, yeah, but... it wasn't just Johnny.  Buck... those other men... the ones who died... all their families have left are their memories.  It's bad enough that their wives and kids have to think that their last hours were filled with pain and fear.  If anyone had seen those pictures..."  Roy had to pause and swallow hard before he could finish.  "Buck, you know how people are... Johnny's already had to face some of that shit.  If any of those pictures had gotten around... I just didn't think their families deserved to have to deal with that.  What good would it've done anyway?  The animal who hurt them was dead.  He didn't have the right to keep hurting good men from the grave."

Roy fell silent and turned away, his face flushed with embarrassment at making such an impassioned speech.  When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked up to see Buck standing beside him.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Roy.  Like I said, I would've done just what you did.  It's just lucky we were able to keep the police report steered away from some of those unanswered questions.  If Ernie Hobson had gotten wind of them, he'd have worried 'em like a dog on a bone."  He chuckled lightly.  "Good thing we've got men like Phil Stevens in this county.  Kinda balances out the Ernie Hobsons."

He'd slapped Roy's shoulder, then moved on to join Johnny and the girls at the swings.  But Roy had stayed where he was, Buck's words still swirling through his mind.  He knew the man hadn't told him these things to make the paramedic feel guilty, rather he was just letting him know what had transpired.  But Roy couldn't help wondering what might have happened if anyone other than Buck had handled the investigation; if the Tulare Police Chief had been more inclined to question the findings; if Judge Stevens hadn't been assigned this case; if Ernie Hobson had been able to push for a deeper probe into Reggie's death.  So many things had worked in their favor, but it could just as easily have gone the other way.

Those troubling thoughts had plagued Roy during the trip home, kept him tossing restlessly for the first few hours of the night, and even now they managed to gnaw at him, making his stomach uneasy still, though he wasn't completely sure if the churning he felt now was more from anxiety or hunger.

Deciding to go with the latter, he tossed the covers back and got out of bed.  By the time he'd showered and shaved, his stomach was rumbling audibly, helping to convince him that most of this morning's upset had been imaginary.  He pulled on a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt, then headed downstairs, his nose telling him that Joanne had cooked pancakes and sausage for breakfast.

Chris and Jenny would have eaten over an hour ago and would already be at school, but as Roy reached the bottom of the stairs he could hear Missy's happy babbling coming from the kitchen and he headed in that direction.

He stopped at the entryway, smiling at the scene before him.  Joanne was at the sink, washing up some of the dishes.  Johnny was sitting at the table with a plate of half eaten pancakes in front of him.  Missy was in her high chair beside him, and the two of them were playing some game that entailed a lot of airplane noises and taking turns eating the small bites of breakfast Johnny was picking up with his fork.  As the dive bombing utensil zoomed passed the baby's open mouth and landed in Johnny's, Missy squealed with laughter and banged her hands on the high chair's plastic tray.  Obviously this was a favorite part.

Roy laughed along with her and instantly Missy's attention turned in his direction.

"Ba-pa, Ba-pa!" she crowed with delight at seeing him and lifted her sticky hands toward him, all interest in the game forgotten.

"Hey, little miss," he greeted with a grin.  "You're a mess."

As Roy moved to pick Missy up, he was aware of two things:  the sound of Joanne discreetly clearing her throat, and the flash of disappointment in Johnny's face as he set his fork down, the bite that was meant for Melissa still stuck to the tines.

Aw, damn it all.  How're we ever gonna do this?

He didn't pick the baby up.  Instead he planted a kiss on the top of her head, then moved to take his normal seat at the head of the table.  Missy squawked a few complaints at his neglect, but didn't fuss too badly.  Joanne came over and placed a cup of coffee in front of him and kissed his cheek.

"Morning, sleepy head," she greeted.  "I've been keeping the sausage warm for you.  Give me a minute and I'll have some hot pancakes ready for you."

"Thanks, hon," Roy answered absently.  He poured a dash of cream into his cup and stirred the hot liquid.  "I'm sorry, Johnny," he began finally, after a long moment of silence between the two men.  "I didn't mean to come barging in and..."

"It's okay, Roy," Johnny assured him with a smile that only lifted one side of his mouth.  "You didn't do anything wrong.  You're her dad... that's all she knows."

"No," Roy corrected firmly, pointing his spoon at Johnny.  He recognized his partner's defeated tone that spoke of the depression Johnny struggled with, and Roy wanted to change the mood in the room immediately.  "You're her dad.  She needs to learn that."  He set the spoon down and sighed ruefully.  "I just don't know exactly how we go about teaching her."

Joanne came over and set a hot stack of pancakes and a small plate with sausage links in front of Roy, then sat down beside him to join in the conversation.

"First off," she began, "you both have to realize this isn't going to happen overnight.  It's going to be a long process... with little steps."  She gave both men meaningful looks.  "Roy... you have to accept that you can't stop being Missy's Papa all at once.  And Johnny..."  Joanne reached across the table and squeezed Johnny's hand, "you have to understand that if Missy goes to Roy, she isn't rejecting you."

Roy watched Johnny's gaze move to take in his daughter as she finger painted in the maple syrup on her tray.  When he turned back to face Roy and Joanne, the keen longing was still visible in his eyes, but he managed a more genuine smile.

"It's just hard to be patient," he said with a small sigh.  "I've already missed so much time with her..."

"I know," Joanne said softly and Roy could hear the slight catch in her voice telling him what he already knew.  This wasn't any easier on Joanne.  He reached under the table and let his hand rest on her knee in a supporting gesture.  She flashed him a grateful look, then continued.  "The important thing is that you're here now.  You're both getting to know each other.  It's going to take time... and it won't be easy."

"Easy," Johnny murmured, almost as if he were talking to himself.  He  ran a hand through Missy's tousled hair.  "I know what the easy thing would be," he said quietly, the melancholy that was never far from the surface sounding clear again.  "The easy thing would be to leave things the way they are... you guys finalize the adoption."

"Johnny..."  Roy started, then stopped himself, hearing the frustration in his voice that would only sound like anger to his friend.  He began again, consciously keeping his voice even.  "Is that what you want?  To take the easy way?  Is that really what you want?"

Johnny opened his mouth as if to speak, then he merely closed it again and shook his head slowly, a look of chagrin on his face.

Roy breathed easier at that, and finally started on his pancakes.  At least Johnny hadn't given up.  He was still willing to work for the things he wanted back; the things Reggie had taken away from him.  The younger man's strength of will had been taxed to the limit the last couple of days, and Roy had been concerned that after the ordeal of the inquest Johnny wouldn't have much left to get him through the rest of the hurdles he still had to face.  Thankfully, it appeared his fears had been unfounded.

"Well, I have a suggestion that might make things a little better," Joanne announced after Roy had eaten about half his breakfast.  By the slight hesitation in her voice, Roy could tell his wife wasn't sure how her idea might go over and had probably been waiting for what she felt was an appropriate moment.  But she had Johnny's attention now, as well as Roy's, so she plunged ahead.

"It was actually Dixie's idea... and she got the info from Dr. Brackett.  There's this child psychologist... she has her own practice, but she also does some work in pediatrics at Rampart... Dr. Ella Royce.  Anyway, I spoke with her a little bit... explained our situation.  She's willing to come talk to us..."

"Not another doctor, Jo," Johnny pleaded in a distressed voice.  Roy could tell by the look on his partner's face that the thought of discussing his personal life with yet another stranger was not something he was thrilled about.

"It's not what you think, Johnny," Joanne explained patiently.  She knew as well as Roy how reluctant Johnny was to talk about his time with Reggie.  "This wouldn't have anything to do with... with what happened to you.  All she would do is help us... all of us, Chris and Jenny too... make a smooth transition for Missy."

Johnny leaned his elbows on the table and let his forehead rest in his hands, letting out a long, resigned sigh.  Not for the first time, Roy wished he could wave a magic wand and make everything better for his friend.  But they weren't children and all three of them knew far too well that merely wishing for the hurt to go away wasn't going to make it happen.

"I think we should give it a shot," he chimed in, trying to make it sound like no big deal.  "I'm the first to admit I'm in over my head on this.  Maybe we do need somebody to give us a few pointers."

Johnny didn't answer for a moment, but finally his head lifted.  At first his expression was bleak, but as he glanced once more at Missy, that changed, and Roy swore he saw a flicker of hope in his friend's eyes just before Johnny nodded his acceptance.

"Okay," he murmured as he got up from the table.  "Whatever you guys think best.  I don't want to make this any harder than it has to be."  His hand once more brushed through his daughter's mop of black hair, letting it linger there a moment before he undid the tray from the high chair, lifted the baby out and took her to the sink to wash her face and hands.

Roy resumed his breakfast, watching Joanne restrain herself to the merest twitch as Johnny held Missy with one arm, stuck her sticky hands under the faucet to rinse them off, then cupped some water in his own hand and splashed it on her face; a process which delighted the toddler, judging from her happy giggles.  Roy knew it wasn't the way Joanne did it, but it seemed to get the job done and with a lot less fuss than Missy made to a warm wash rag being rubbed on her face.

Roy was proud of his wife for the way she was handling the whole thing.  The last few days Joanne had stepped back and allowed Johnny to take over most of Missy's routine, keeping her advice brief and only given when Johnny asked for it, or when she truly felt he was in over his head.  There had been a few glitches like this morning, and Missy still wouldn't let Johnny put her down for the night without Joanne being there as well.  But overall he felt they'd made some progress.  Certainly they were still a long way from Johnny and Missy living in a home of their own, but hopefully this Dr. Royce would have some ideas in that regard.

Done with breakfast, he pushed his empty plate aside, pulled his coffee closer and reached for the morning paper.

"That was great, Jo, thanks," he said absently, as his wife gathered up his plate and fork to take to the sink.

He skimmed through the front page, taking note of a few items that seemed important.  There was a lot of commotion over some reports of toxic waste in a town with the strange name of Love Canal.  There was more on the problems in Nicaragua.  The price of gas was expected to reach nearly ninety cents a gallon by the end of the month.  Roy shook his head at that, remembering how he used to buy gas by the dollar's worth when he was a teenager.

He turned the page and saw more of the same kind of stories.  He wasn't in the mood for gloomy world politics, so he moved on to the local section of the paper.  At least here most of the things reported affected him more closely.  He was ready to skim through the main stories as was his routine, when his eyes caught sight of a small picture of Johnny; that same file photo the papers had been given by Headquarters when the paramedic had first disappeared.

Roy frowned as he read the brief report on the inquest.  It wasn't much, which Roy was thankful for.  Considering how much the papers had covered first, the kidnappings and murders, then Johnny's return from captivity, this article was fairly routine, merely an account of the proceedings and the verdict of justifiable homicide.  Roy sighed.  He supposed they felt the public needed to know the outcome, but he wished they could leave Johnny alone.

"Bad news?"

Roy glanced up and saw Joanne at the other side of the table wiping up Melissa's high chair.  He looked around but didn't see Johnny or the baby.  Apparently reading his thoughts, Joanne nodded toward the living room.

"It's not a big deal, I guess," Roy said softly.  He laid the paper down so Joanne could see it and pointed to the article.  "Just more press," he informed her.

Joanne heaved a sigh that echoed Roy's earlier one.  "Maybe this'll be the end of it," she said hopefully.  Like Roy, she kept her voice quiet in an attempt to keep Johnny from hearing their discussion, but Roy could tell she was upset by how much force she put into scrubbing the high chair tray that by now was probably cleaner than it had been when they bought it.  "How can he get on with his life if they keep dragging everything up?" she asked in a disapproving whisper.

Roy shrugged, unable to explain human nature to himself or to his wife.  "At least they didn't rehash everything again.  That's a relief anyway."

Joanne merely shook her head, gave the baby's chair one last swipe with her rag, then went over to the sink to rinse it out.  Roy quietly closed the paper.  He pulled out the sports section and folded the rest of it up.  Hopefully, the newly started baseball season would be the only news Johnny would be interested in today.

Chapter Three

Anaheim, California

"The Angels are gonna go all the way this year... you just wait and see."

"Aw, Jasper, you're full of shit," Keith Mattson observed casually as he glanced through the newspaper half heartedly.  It was about twenty minutes after nine and long past time their shift should have started, but the guys from B shift were still out with the engine, so there wasn't much for them to do.  "You know they always fall apart in the second half."

"Not this year," Jeff Jasperson vowed fervently.  "Not with this new kid, Carney Lansford.  He's gonna light a fire under 'em."

"Who's gonna light a fire?"  Paulo Sanchez breezed into the day room of Anaheim City Fire Station 9.  He pulled out a chair and straddled it as he grabbed a jelly filled donut from the nearly full box on the table and took a huge bite.  "Who brought the donuts?" he asked as he licked red raspberry filling off his fingers.

"Cap did," Jasper replied.

"The Angels," Keith answered at the same time.

Paulo lifted his eyes heavenward in an appeal for some divine intervention.  "Dios Mio, are you at that again, mi amigo?"  The stocky Hispanic engineer slapped the younger fireman on the back.  "Will you never learn that the Dodgers are the only great baseball team in California?"

"Don't let Cap hear you say that," Keith warned with a laugh.  "You know he's a die hard Giants fan."

Paulo snorted at their captain's well known affinity for the San Francisco team.  "The Giants and the A's don't count," he stated as if it wasn't open for debate.  "Northern California shouldn't even be considered the same state as us."  The engineer reached for another donut.  "Why aren't we like the Dakotas, or the Carolinas, or..."  He paused, stuffed half the pastry into his mouth and thought a moment, then finished around the mouthful, "... or the Virginias."

Keith choked on the gulp of coffee he'd just taken.  "You ignorant Mexican," he laughed, good naturedly.  "There's no North and South Virginia."

Paulo didn't take offense.  He and Keith had worked together for enough years to take such ribbing in the spirit it was meant.  The engineer merely continued chewing on his donut and pondered the geography of the United States.

"The Angels are gonna go all the way, I tell ya," Jasper repeated stubbornly after a few moments of silence.  "Just wait and see."  He turned to Keith, his face perplexed.  "Don't you have any loyalty to our city?"

"I don't live in Anaheim, remember?" Keith pointed out with a grin.  "I live in Long Beach."

"I know that," Jasper shot back with a shake of his head.  "But you work here.  Ya gotta have some loyalty to Anaheim?"

"Why?" Keith asked with a laugh.  He was yanking Jasper's chain as he always did, but somehow the younger man, who was barely more than a rookie, never seemed to pick up on it.  "What's Anaheim got besides Mickey Mouse and a baseball team that chokes every year?"

"Hey, we got a lot to offer here," Paulo spoke up brightly.  "Heat, smog and brush fires."  He laughed and grabbed for yet another donut.

"You're right," Keith agreed with a grin.  "That's much better than my nice condo by the beach."  He cocked an eyebrow at his friend.  "You keep stuffing those down, amigo, and you're not gonna fit behind the wheel of the engine."

Paulo merely smiled and kept on eating.

Jasper rolled his eyes in exasperation.  "I don't believe you guys."

Paulo laughed loudly.  Keith just chuckled and turned to the local section of the newspaper as Captain Brinkhoff poked his head in the doorway to tell them roll call would be in a few minutes whether the engine was back or not.  Jasper got up immediately; the rookie in him still making him jump at the slightest word from their superior.  Much more seasoned, Paulo and Keith lingered at the table.  Paulo poked at the remaining donuts, as if he was considering another one.  Keith took another swig of coffee and let his eyes rove over the paper once more to see if there was anything of interest.

He didn't know why he bothered to read the paper every day.  It was all the same crap.  He was just about to toss it aside when his eyes caught sight of the small black and white photo in the lower corner.

"God damn it!" he spat out, making sure his voice didn't carry past the day room.

"What's wrong?" Paulo asked with concern.

Keith slapped the open paper down on the table, then jabbed a finger at the picture and the article that accompanied it.

"They let him off."

"Who?"  Paulo leaned over and tried to read the paper sideways.

"Gage!" Keith retorted angrily.

The engineer's dark eyes narrowed and he scrubbed a hand down his chin as he glanced over the account.  "Says it was justifiable homicide," he murmured, then looked up at his friend.  "But you know it was, amigo," he stated in a pacifying tone that turned bitter as he continued.  "That son of a bitch deserved to die."

"I know he did.  He deserved a lot worse than a few slugs to the gut.  After what he did to Cal..."

Keith's jaw clenched, his sentence left unfinished.  It was still hard for either of them to mention the name of their friend.  It had been a year and a half since Cal had died; a year and a half since he'd disappeared without a trace from the brush fire not two miles from their station; a year and a half since his burned body was found in that factory fire.  A year and a half, and Keith still felt like it had happened only yesterday.

He knew Paulo felt the same way.  They had been a tight knit group.  When Keith first came to Station 9 five years ago, he'd been about the same age as Jasper and just as green.  Paulo hadn't been here much longer.  Having just passed his engineer's exam, he'd been transferred to 9 only two months earlier.  Cal was the veteran, having served under Captain Lombardi for almost two years.

A few years older, and definitely more seasoned than either of his shift mates, Calvin Bentley had quickly become their friend and mentor.  He was an affable guy, tall and lean, his blond hair and blue eyes making him the center of attention with any of the women they came across - on the job or off.  But Cal never let that go to his head.  In fact, it embarrassed him most of the time, much to the rest of the crew's amusement.  He had recently been divorced, but never talked about his ex-wife in anything but glowing terms.  No one really knew why they'd split, but it was obvious when Cal talked about her, that it wasn't because he didn't love her anymore.  He had a kid, Stevie, who he spent as much time with as he could wrangle, and everyone agreed that Calvin Bentley was a great dad.

Cal was also a damn good firefighter, and he went out of his way to pass on the things he'd learned over the years to the men he worked with.  That meant Keith Mitchell more than anyone, since Paulo spent most of his time with the engine.  Even Cap acknowledged that Cal was probably the best guy in the brush that he'd ever served with, and Keith couldn't have agreed more.

Captain Jack Lombardi was the leader of their shift.  His once coal black hair was shot through with gray and his face told of his over twenty years in the fire service.  He more than knew his stuff, and he was a decent and fair guy to work under.  His wife had died of cancer a few years before Keith came aboard, but there was still a framed picture of her on the desk in the office.  Cap didn't talk about her much, but there were occasions when one of the guys would find him sitting with his legs up on his desk and the photo in his hand.  They all knew at times like that to leave him alone.

Paulo Sanchez barely made the department's height requirement, but he possessed the heart and strength of a bull.  Five foot five, he had the chest and arms of a prize fighter, though he was constantly being kidded that with his eating habits, his chest was soon going to fall to his waistline.  Married right out of high school to the only girl he'd ever dated, he was now the father of five little boys, who were stair stepped in ages from two to ten, with another one on the way.  He joked that his wife was saying extra novenas to St. Gerard to be sure she finally got a girl.  When razzed about the number of kids he had, Paulo would always just laugh and say the rig's weren't the only pumps he was good at handling.

Then there was Keith.  He'd always found himself a little lacking when compared to Cal.  He wasn't quite six foot tall, with a face that blended into a crowd.  His sandy brown hair that he'd worn so long as a teenager was starting to recede at the forehead, making him look like his old man long before he was ready to.  And no matter how much he worked out in the station's weight room, he could never quite develop the "look" he was after.

After graduating high school, he'd drifted for a time; getting by but never really excelling at anything until he found firefighting.  He'd finished the Los Angeles County Fire Academy at the top of his class, had been baptized by fire, literally, when he spent his probie days with County Station 71 battling the legendary Malibu Canyon Fire of 1970, which burned over eighty five thousand acres and destroyed more than one hundred and thirty homes.

Keith had received a commendation for his work there, and he'd also found he had a talent for fighting brush fires.  After working for L.A. County for about a year, he wanted to make a change.  He'd joined the Anaheim City department not long after that, working at a couple of different stations until he'd been assigned to 9, located up in the hot and dry hills above the main part of the city.  He wasn't married and had never been close to his folks, but here he'd found a home and guys he quickly grew to consider family.

They'd all felt that way, and things had been good.  Keith was enough of a realist to know changes happen eventually.  Promotions, transfers, and all the other things that were the natural order of life would sooner or later split them up.  But that was a future concern; a bridge they would cross when it was time.  It wasn't supposed to happen when they weren't expecting it; while they were doing grunt work on a fire road; when none of them even realized Cal was gone until it was far too late to do anything about it.

It had been over a year and a half, and Keith could still remember certain things with crystal clarity.  The fire on the other side of the hill sending enough smoke and ash their way to make breathing nearly impossible.  The overgrown fire road they were sent to clear so there could be an assault on the flank of the beast.  The heat and the sweat, and the feel of the shovel rubbing against the blisters on his hands that even his gloves couldn't prevent.  The damn tree that had somehow fallen across the dirt road.  Cap standing knee deep in brush telling Cal to run back to the engine and bring the power saw.  Cal trotting away from them until he was out of sight down the hill.

The rest tended to blur together, and he couldn't always be sure of the sequence.  Cap muttering something about what the hell was taking Bentley so long.  Waiting and waiting and time seeming to stand still.  Running down the hill himself to see what the hold up was with the saw.  No sign of Cal anywhere.  The look on Cap's face as the police asked him question after question.  The flash of blue and red lights on the dusky hillside as they searched and searched and searched.  The silence in the cab as they rode back to the station.  Doing his damnedest not to look at the empty seat beside him.  The detectives standing in the day room telling them Cal's body had been found.

Keith's fist balled up at that memory, taking some of the newspaper with it.  It wasn't right.  Nobody deserved to die like that, but especially not Cal.  Cal had fought fire his whole life; given himself body and soul to the battle against the beast.  For him to be found like so much burnt debris went against everything that seemed right and fair.

It was about that time that the autopsy report on the first man, that Jansen guy from Fresno, had been  made public.  And the papers had spared no detail; making sure everyone who read them knew exactly what that animal had done to his victims; leaving little doubt that the same had been done to Cal.

Life had gotten a little crazy after that.  Keith's whole foundation just seemed to crumble out from under him.  There was the funeral.  It was the traditional affair with draped rigs and pipers and Cal's flag covered coffin taking the place of honor on top of the engine.  Paulo drove, with Cap sitting beside him.  Keith walked behind, next to Stevie and his mother.  Behind them Cal's parents followed, holding onto each other as they went.

Keith had always thought this kind of ceremony was a dignified and honorable tribute to a fallen comrade.  But that day it had seemed jarringly out of place.  Cal hadn't given his life.  He hadn't died so that others might live.  He hadn't done anything that day except go to work like he did on any other day.  He hadn't done anything except go back to the rig to get the god damned saw.  He wasn't a hero.  He wasn't anything.  He was just dead.  And no amount of bagpipes or dress uniforms could change that.

After the funeral the brass wouldn't let them go back to work until they'd talked to the department shrink.  They all must have been able to bullshit their way through, for they were back on the job in a couple of weeks.  It wasn't easy, but they were getting through.  And then that paramedic went missing.

It had been too much for Captain Lombardi.  Already devastated by losing Cal from practically under his nose, Cap had taken an early retirement.  And though Keith and Paulo tried their best to keep in touch with him; stopping by after shift to try and get him to go out to breakfast, inviting him over on their days off to watch a ball game or to just go for a beer, Cap had resisted their efforts, and had finally moved to Oregon to live near his youngest daughter.

Keith didn't blame him for wanting to get away from any reminders.  But it was only him and Paulo left now.  There had been talk of splitting them up, but they both had too much tenure for the brass to do that against their will.  They'd both dug in their heels and demanded to stay at 9's.  Over time they had several captains, until they'd gotten Brinkhoff six months ago.  He wasn't a bad guy, but he'd never be able to replace Jack Lombardi.  The last place on their shift had been filled by many different guys, but Jasper seemed the best fit.  He'd been with them three months now and despite his being a rookie, both Keith and Paulo genuinely liked the kid and found him easy to work with.

Life had settled down mostly.  Keith still felt keenly the loss of his friend.  He knew Paulo did too, but they didn't talk about it much.  They went about their jobs, they battled brushfires, they ate dirt and smoke, and they joked about it afterward.  Keith bought his condo in Long Beach and Paulo got his wife pregnant again.  Things were on track.

Until two weeks ago.  Two weeks ago everything changed.  Two weeks ago John Gage was found - alive.

Again the papers had a field day.  All the old stories were printed again, with the new spin of having a surviving victim to spotlight.  While they hadn't come out and said anything specifically, they'd left it plain for anyone with a brain to infer that the same things that had happened to the other men had happened to Gage.  Only he hadn't been killed.  He'd lived.  For a year and a half he'd lived with the monster who did unspeakable things to the men he'd taken.

A person was left to wonder.  And Keith had certainly done a lot of wondering.

Why did Gage survive?  Why didn't that fucking pervert kill him and dump his body in a fire so other firemen could find him like so much garbage?  What did Gage do different than Cal did?  What kind of deal did he make with the creep?  What did he do during all that time?

Keith didn't have to read the papers to come up with the same conclusions the reporters had.  It wasn't exactly rocket science.  This Gage gave the pervert what he wanted.  And it was just as obvious that Cal and the other firemen who'd been killed hadn't.  They'd fought this guy and died like men.  Gage had caved.  He'd given up, given in and played the bitch for this sicko.  But why would he do that?  Why would any man do that?  The only reason that came to Keith's mind was that he enjoyed it.  Any guy who would do that had to have been at least half way to being a faggot anyway.

True, Gage had finally gotten bored with taking it up the ass and killed the son of a bitch.  But he'd sure taken his own sweet time doing it.  And now the court ruled it was justifiable homicide.  Well, no shit.  Who wouldn't have been justified in blowing that psycho's head off?  Although to Keith's way of thinking, that was too quick and painless a death for somebody so sick and twisted.  What the guy deserved was to hang by his nuts from the hose tower while the birds pecked his eyes out.

But now it looked like this queer bait Gage was getting off scott-free, without even a slap on the wrist.  He was going to go back to his life as if nothing had happened; as if good men - better men- hadn't died; as if he shouldn't have died too.  Keith felt his stomach twist into a knot of hate.  It wasn't right.  It just god damn wasn't right.

"Hey, amigo... you okay?"

Keith glanced up, his friend's concern evident in his face and his voice.

"I dunno, Paulo."  Keith ran a hand across his face and heaved a sigh at the injustice of it all.  "I just don't know."

Paulo tugged at the newspaper until it slid out from under Keith's hands.  He then closed it and folded it up, tossing it to the other end of the table.

"You can't let it eat you up, man," he said with quiet intensity.  "It's all over now.  There's nothing you can do."

Keith nodded grimly.  "I know that, amigo.  Boy, don't I know that."

Cap called once more for them to come into the bay for roll call.  Both men stood and pushed back their chairs.  As Keith came around the table, he felt Paulo's hand come down on his shoulder in a comforting gesture.  It helped some, but not enough - not nearly enough.

Chapter Four

Los Angeles, California

Johnny lay in his hospital bed in Rampart's 3^rd floor Orthopedic wing watching the drops of water travel slowly down the window pane.  It was fitting somehow that the beautiful weather that had been with them through Easter and beyond had finally given way to the spring storm that swept into the L.A. basin with gusty ferocity.  It had rained most of the day, the wind blustery, and as evening had approached the clouds were still black and billowy; the only light an eerie green and yellow cast left in the wake of the setting sun.  Dark and uncertain.  That's how the sky had looked and how Johnny felt inside.

He didn't want to be in the hospital.  He'd never liked being a patient, a dislike that had little to do with pain or discomfort, and everything to do with having to depend on others to perform the most basic personal needs.  But tonight it went even deeper than that.  Tonight he just plain didn't want to be here alone.

Dr. Reynolds had scheduled his surgery for early in the morning and decided it would be better if Johnny spent the night.  It made sense.  Roy had to be at work by eight, and Joanne would be busy getting the kids to school.  This way the DeSotos didn't have to readjust their routine to make sure Johnny was at the hospital at the crack of dawn.  And though no one had come out and said it, the paramedic knew all his doctors, Reynolds, Brackett and Evans, were concerned about his state of mind regarding this surgery and would feel better knowing he was somewhere they could keep an eye on him for the next few anxious hours.

The only trouble was, being here in the hospital wasn't exactly doing good things for Johnny's stress levels.  He knew without asking that the last time his nurse had taken his vitals his BP was higher than normal.  He could tell by the look on Roy's face as he watched the young woman jot down the readings that his partner knew it too.  Roy hadn't wanted to go.  He wasn't any happier about leaving Johnny alone than the younger man was about being here, but there didn't seem any way around it.  As it was, Roy stayed longer than visiting hours allowed, ignoring the none too subtle hints from the nursing staff that the patient needed his rest.

Johnny gave a mental snort at that thought.

Yeah, like I'm gonna get any rest.

He pulled his gaze away from the mesmerizing rain and focused on the tv mounted on the wall at the foot of his bed.  Laverne and Shirley were living out their goofy lives with no sound.  He didn't really want to watch it and had only turned it on for company when Roy left.  But Penny Marshall's nasal voice was giving him a headache, so he'd turned the volume down.  It might have been amusing to watch with Chris and Jenny, but by himself he just wasn't interested.

Johnny sighed softly.  Since coming home from Tulare nearly three weeks ago, he hadn't spent a night alone.  When the nightmares came, as they still did, he'd been able to take comfort in knowing that he was safe in Chris's room, with Roy and Joanne just across the hall.  Even as self-conscious as he was about disturbing the DeSoto household, at least the faces he saw when he woke from his nighttime terrors were comforting and familiar.  True, they were concerned and anxious; tousled and bleary from being torn from deep slumber, but at least Johnny knew they didn't blame him.  There was no judgement or disapproval in any of their eyes.

Here it was different.  Here he was uncertain.  Here he was with strangers.  Strangers who only knew him from the accounts they'd read in the papers.  And he certainly knew what people were inferring from reading those articles.

Or there was the other side of the coin - he could wake up and see someone he did know.  He'd dated enough nurses at Rampart over the years, it was entirely likely he'd encounter one or two of them during his stay.  Johnny wasn't sure which would be worse, to be surrounded by people he didn't know but were morbidly curious about why he'd survived his ordeal, or to have women taking care of him whom he'd had a more personal relationship with.  The last thing he wanted was for some pretty nurse he'd chased, hovering around fluffing his pillow, bringing him water, helping him to the bathroom or, once his leg was immobile, bringing him bedpans or giving him sponge baths.

Johnny shuddered at the thought of one of these women getting a good look at his back.  He knew the scars there were still very evident.  Brackett had assured him they would fade somewhat over time, but the paramedic knew they would never completely go away.  He would always carry them as a visible reminder of Reggie's displeasure, and they weren't something he was very eager for other people to see.

Dixie must have sensed some of his distress.  As she helped him get settled into his room this evening, she'd allowed him to keep his white t shirt on under the open backed hospital gown.  His shirt - and his shorts - an act that he would be forever grateful for.  Though he was realistic enough to know he would more than likely lose both garments during his surgery, at least for now he didn't have to lie here with only a thin layer of cotton between him and prying eyes, or deal with the embarrassed fumbling all patients did to keep their backsides covered if they had to get up for any reason.

But there were worse scars than physical ones.  Johnny rubbed absently at the ugly marks that encircled his wrist.  As much as he hated the thought of one of the nurses seeing Reggie's handiwork, he couldn't even imagine what it would be like if any of them witnessed one of his night terrors; to see him at his weakest, to hear him begging Reggie to stop.  Or worse, begging him not to.

Johnny threw an arm over his eyes as if he could shut out that possibility.  There were plenty of women working at Rampart he'd flirted with.  Many he'd dated.  Some he'd actually made love to.  Not as many as some people liked to think, but he wasn't exactly a choir boy either.

Of course, he'd been faithful to Kathy while they'd been together, and he'd been with Reggie for eighteen months.  Naturally, over that much time, there would have been some changes in the hospital staff.  But he was sure there were a few nurses still working here who would have memories of John Gage.  Would they remember being with him; remember his kisses, his touches, his intimate caresses?  Would they remember?  Remember - and then wonder?

He pressed his arm tighter against his eyes, as if the added pressure could chase away the tormenting images.  With a sigh that wasn't quite a sob, Johnny turned to his side and buried his face into his pillow, the slightly stiff case only reminding him that he wasn't at Roy's house, tucked safely into Chris's spare bed.

"John?  You're not asleep, are you?"

Johnny lifted his head to see who was there, then shifted all the way to his back when he recognized Dr. Evans.  The psychologist stood in the doorway, one arm full of folders, his brows lifted questioningly, waiting for Johnny to give him permission to come inside the room.  With the mood he was in, the paramedic was tempted to plead fatigue and ask the doctor to return tomorrow, but there was something about the short, round faced psychologist that always put Johnny at ease, and besides, having some company would put off a little longer having to be in this room alone.

He lifted his hand in invitation.  Dr. Evans smiled warmly, came in and pulled up a chair next to the bed.  That was something else Johnny appreciated the psychologist for.  He always respected Johnny's space.  Most doctors would have just barged in, whether they were welcomed or not.  At least Dr. Evan's waited for permission.

"I thought I'd drop by and check on you before I went home for the night," the man began.  "See how you were doing."

Johnny didn't say anything, positive there was more coming.

"Your nurse says you're a little agitated.  I saw your last set of vitals and I'd have to agree with her."

Johnny let his gaze drop to the thin white blanket that covered him.  There was a long moment of silence between them, then the paramedic sighed softly.

"I just don't like hospitals very much," he stated evenly, hoping Dr. Evans would take that as reason enough.

"I don't know very many people who do," the psychologist agreed with a chuckle.  "But not many of them let that send their blood pressure sky rocketing," he added, his tone inviting Johnny to tell him what was really bothering him.

Johnny let his fingers twist in the loosely woven blanket.  He trusted Dr. Evans, but it still wasn't easy to bring his fears out into the open.

"I dunno, I..."  He shrugged his thin shoulders helplessly, stumbling for the words.  "I guess I'm kinda worried about the surgery," he said at last, grasping for an easy explanation, one that he thought the doctor would readily accept.

"That's understandable," Dr. Evans replied with a thoughtful nod of his head.  "There are a lot of unknowns involved."

Johnny remained silent, his thoughts taking a guilty turn.  Great, I can't even be honest with my shrink.

"Would you like me to see about getting you something to help you sleep?"

No!

"No!" was out of Johnny's mouth before he could stop it.  Without realizing it, he'd shot straight up in bed, his heart racing.  "No," he repeated a little calmer, though he still felt breathless with panic.  But he knew he needed to calm the alarmed look on his doctor's face.  He took a deep breath and worked at sounding unconcerned.  "No, drugs... okay?"  He managed to lift one corner of his mouth in a semblance of a smile.  "At least not until I have to."

If the psychologist had argued with him - tried to persuade the paramedic of the benefits of getting a good night's rest before surgery, Johnny would have clammed up and stubbornly insisted he was fine and in no need of medication.  But Dr. Evans didn't react that way.  He merely reached out to pat the back of Johnny's hand, his face full of understanding and his voice reassuring as he said, "It's all right, John.  It's your choice.  If you don't want any drugs, you don't have to have them."

My choice.  For once something is my choice.

That realization opened up the dam.  Johnny felt the tension leave his body, and he relaxed against the pillows.

"It's these damn nightmares, Doc," he admitted in a low voice.  "It's bad enough when they come when I'm sleeping normally.  If I'm doped up..."  He ran a hand through his mop of dark hair as he struggled to overcome his reluctance to give voice to something he'd rather never hear spoken out loud.  "I... I say things... sometimes I..."  I cry... I scream... I beg.  But even though he was trying his best to be forthright with Dr. Evans, those words wouldn't come out of his mouth.  He shrugged again.  "I used to date some of these nurses, ya know?  I just don't want...  It would be..."

"Embarrassing?"  The older man supplied.

Johnny nodded with a tight, self-conscious smile.  "To put it mildly."

"I can imagine it might be."  The psychologist sat quietly for a moment, tapping at his chin with his index finger.  Then he sat back in his chair, his hand folded on top of the stack of files in his lap.  "Would it help if I stayed here with you for a while?"

"You mean just sit here and watch me sleep?"

Now it was Dr. Evans' turn to shrug.  "I have some paperwork I need to finish.  I can do it here as well as in my office."

He got up and moved over to the empty bed beside Johnny.  As the paramedic watched, the little doctor got on the bed, adjusted the angle of his head so that he was the right height for writing, and turned on the overhead reading light.  He turned to Johnny with a satisfied look.

"See?  I'm all set.  You can go ahead and go to sleep, and I'll run interference with the nurses."

Johnny stared at him for a long moment, unable to admit to himself yet that having the doctor here would help.

"Don't you have a home to go to?  Family?"

"Of course.  But my youngest son is at college, and my wife is in Chicago this week taking care of her sister.  So I'm bach-ing it this week anyway."  He raised his eyebrows expectantly.  "Do you think you can sleep with me in the room?"

It wasn't the same as being at Roy's, but it was better than being alone.  As much as he hated the feeling like he needed babysitting, he couldn't deny the sense of relief that washed over him at the thought that Dr. Evans would be here tonight.

He nodded slowly, then reached out with the remote to turn off the television.  When he turned out his own light, the room was dimmed, but not completely dark.  The light from the other bed was bright enough that Johnny would be able to see the psychologist without any problems.

Feeling better than he had all night, Johnny shifted in his bed until he was comfortable, then threw his arm up over his eyes and breathed out a sigh that was an equal blend of fatigue and relief.  If the nightmares came tonight, at least there would be somebody here who would understand.

"G'night, Doc," he mumbled softly.  "And... and thanks."

"Good night, John."

* * *

He didn't want to be here.

He was hot and sweating, and his breath was coming in nervous pants.  The lights were glaring and making him squint.  The red shaggy run he was lying on wasn't as soft as it looked.  It was rough and scratchy against his naked skin.

He didn't want to be here.

"You know what I want," came the deep voice that was so familiar.  "You have to play the game.  You don't want to get punished."

There was the whirring click of a camera shutter.  His eyes strained to see into the bright light... to see the dark figure standing behind the tripod.

"Play the game," the voice commanded.  "You have to play the game.  You know what will happen if you don't."

No... please... please don't make me do this.  I can't do this.  I... I don't know how to...

"I can show you.  I can show you how to play."

No.. I don't... please don't make me...

"I'm not having much fun here."  The voice was darkly disappointed.  "You know what happens when I don't have fun."

No... wait... I can do it.  Don't be mad.  I... I think I can...

He'd been sweating before, but he felt a new wash of perspiration running down his back and face as he slowly reached down his body.

You can do this.  Don't make him mad.  Just don't make him mad.

"That's it.  Now you're playing.  That's good.  I knew you could do it.  You're a smart boy.  I knew you wouldn't break the rules."

You'll learn fast that you don't want to break the rules.

His eyes opened wide.  The man behind the camera stepped forward.  Even in the glaring lights he could see that Reggie was enjoying watching him play.  Reggie was playing along.  Reggie was going to join him on the rug...

No.  Stay away.  I'll play, but stay away.  Leave me alone.  I'll do it, but by myself.  Not with you.  Please, not with you... No... no...

"NO!"

Roy shot up in bed, his heart racing, trying to suck in gulps of air.  He was covered in sweat, and his stomach was churning.

"Roy?  Honey, are you all right?"

He could hear Joanne's voice, but he couldn't process yet that she was talking to him.  He kept trying to breathe, to calm down, to get the horrible images out of his head.

"Roy?"

In her concern, Joanne's hand came to rest on his shoulder.  It was too much.  He couldn't handle the physical contact.  Throwing back the sheet, Roy practically fell out of bed in his haste to get to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, his stomach emptied of what little dinner he'd eaten, Roy sat back on the bathroom floor, waiting for his breathing to return to normal.  He finally became aware that Joanne was at the sink, wetting a washrag.

"You okay, now?" she asked.  She stooped down beside him, but didn't touch him.  Instead, she handed him the wet cloth.

"I think so."

Roy's voice sounded raspy to his ears.  From the retching, he supposed.  He took the rag, ran it over his face, then let it rest along the back of his neck.  He caught Joanne's concerned eyes, and gave her a chagrined look.

"I'm sorry," he said.  "I don't know what happened."

Joanne smiled and reached to brush the hair out of his face.  "Sounded like a pretty bad dream," she said.  "Was that it?"

Roy shrugged.  The last thing he wanted to do was to talk about the nightmare, and definitely not to Joanne.  "I dunno.  I guess so.  I'm okay."

She looked at him for a long time, but she didn't push.  She leaned over and kissed the top of his head.  "Guess I'll go back to bed then.  You sure you'll be all right?"

"Yeah.  I will."  He grabbed her hand as she stood up.  "Thanks, honey."

Joanne flashed him a smile.  "No problem.  With all the nightmares Johnny has, I'm getting pretty used to them."

She hadn't meant anything by it, but Roy suddenly went cold at her words.  He wasn't like Johnny... he wasn't.  There was no reason that he should have these kind of dreams.  He hadn't done any of those things.  Johnny did.  It was Johnny's nightmare he was having.

He watched Joanne leave the bathroom, but didn't get up for a long time.

Chapter Five

Johnny couldn't wait to leave.  He'd ended up spending two nights at Rampart since Dr. Reynolds wanted to be sure there wasn't any unwarranted swelling around the incision before he released his reluctant patient.  And although the paramedic wasn't as anxious about his second night's stay as he'd been the first, it was still a relief to be getting out and going home.

Well, to Roy's house anyway.  I don't really have a home.

He pushed that thought to the back of his mind.  Sooner or later he was going to have to deal with the fact that he had no apartment, no job, no car.  Most of his personal belongings were still in boxes in Roy's garage.  While he was missing, his furniture had been sold or given away.  That was no great loss anyway.  A bed, a few chairs, a hand me down kitchen table, an old fridge.  Those he could always get again.  But he did wonder now and then what had happened to the Rover.  No one had yet mentioned it, and he just assumed it had been sold along with everything else there had been no room for at the DeSotos'.

He understood the need to do it, and he didn't even really care about how much they would have gotten for it.  Any money Roy received from the sale of Johnny's property could never have made up for the love and care the DeSoto family had given his daughter.  But of all his stuff, the one thing he occasionally missed was his car.  At those times he had to remind himself that it didn't matter.  He couldn't even drive yet.  It wasn't something he needed to dwell on.  As Dr. Evans kept telling him, he would have to deal with one thing at a time.

For now that one thing had been his surgery, and he'd come through it with good news from his orthopedist.  Everything had gone well - much better than Dr. Reynolds had hoped for.  He had tried to prepare Johnny for the possibility that it might take more than one surgery to correct the damage Reggie's bat had caused.  But now it didn't look like he would need any further operations.  As long as Johnny did what he was told and stuck to his recovery instructions and therapy regime, his knee looked like it would heal just fine.

Johnny sat back in his wheelchair and heaved a relieved sigh.  One more hurdle down - though not really down until he was back on his feet, but he'd take what he could get.  When the door opened and Roy and Joanne walked in with Missy asleep on Joanne's shoulder, Johnny felt a rush of anxiety return as he was reminded what his next problem to tackle was - getting custody of his daughter.

They had a hearing scheduled for next week.  The judge had considerately postponed it until after Johnny's surgery, but he definitely wanted them to appear before too much more time passed.  And there was no reason to put it off any longer.  As the psychologist Joanne had arranged to come and talk to them said, the longer they waited to get the process of transition started, the harder it would be on everyone.

"Hey, partner, guess you're ready to get out of here." Roy greeted.  Shaking off his gloomy musings, Johnny rolled his eyes at that understatement, causing Roy to chuckle.  "I'll take that as a yes."

"That's definitely a yes," Johnny agreed, unable to keep a grin off his face.

"We saw Dr. Reynolds at the desk," Joanne told him, coming to stand beside him.  "He already gave us your after care instructions, so you're sprung.  Here."  She shifted the baby and handed her down to Johnny.  "You hold Missy, and I'll get your stuff."

Johnny took his daughter into his arms, grateful to Joanne for her willingness to let him be as much of a father as possible given their living circumstances.  She seemed to have a sixth sense as to when Johnny needed the reinforcement that he was Missy's parent.  Right now, as she stirred from being moved, but then settled against his chest with a soft, sleepy sigh, Johnny felt a wave of tenderness wash over him.  He smiled down at the sleeping baby, running a hand through her dark hair.  He would get through whatever he had to, no matter how many nights he had to stay in the hospital.  Whenever his thoughts threatened to take too much of a downward spiral, all Johnny had to do was to look at his little girl and remember why he needed to stay on track.

"Did you get all your stuff out of the bathroom?" Joanne asked as she picked up his bag from off the bed.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."  One of the nurses had helped him retrieve his things.  Not that he had much here.

"I'll just make sure."

"You don't have to do that, Joanne," Johnny tried to tell her, but she was already pushing the heavy door open.

Roy shook his head.  "Don't even bother," he advised his friend with a chuckle.  "You should see her when we come home from vacations."

While they waited for Joanne to double check for anything Johnny might have left behind, the door to the room opened and Dixie walked in, a colorful flower arrangement in her hands.

"Oh, I'm glad I caught you guys.  I was afraid you'd left already.  These came for you a few minutes ago."

Johnny raised his eyebrows in surprise.  He's already gotten cards or flowers from anyone he thought likely to send them.  Since he was holding the baby, Dixie set the pot down on the rolling table and settled for handing Johnny the small, courtesy card.

"I'm sure you're anxious to be going home," Dixie stated.  "Kel told me he spoke to Dr. Reynolds and things went really good."

"Yeah," Johnny answered absently as he did his best to open the card without waking Missy.  "But I still gotta wear this cast forever."

"Six weeks is hardly forever," Roy reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know.."  He paused in mid sentence, his mouth suddenly dry.  He swallowed, and trying to be subtle, folded the card over and stuffed in into his pocket.

"Who're they from?" Roy asked curiously from where he stood behind Johnny's chair.

Johnny just shrugged.  "Uh... nobody... just...  somebody... you know... trying to be nice."

There was a pause and Johnny saw Roy and Dixie exchange a look, but he didn't elaborate.  Maybe they would think he had a secret admirer.  He just didn't want them asking any more questions.  Fortunately Joanne came back in the room.

"You were right.  Everything's packed," she announced.  But just as Johnny thought he was safe and they'd leave the room without any more discussion, Joanne spied the flowers.  "Oh, how pretty.  Did you bring them, Dixie?"

Johnny's shoulders tensed, but Dixie only shook her head.  "No.  They're just from one of Johnny's many friends."

"They're beautiful, Johnny.  Do you want to take them home?"

The paramedic shook his head, hoping he didn't look as frantic as he felt.  "No... no, that's... that's okay, Jo.  Uh... Dix... can you just give them to somebody here who needs some cheering up?"

"Sure, Johnny."

The head nurse gave him a smile, but Johnny knew she was troubled by his reaction.  He couldn't see Roy's face, but he knew his friend well enough to know nothing had gotten past Roy either.  But Roy didn't say anything.  He just pushed Johnny's wheelchair toward the door.

"Bye, Dix," he said as he wheeled his friend out into the hall.

"Bye," Dixie replied.  She followed them as far as the doorway, where she stood gazing after them, the flower arrangement in her hands.  "Take care, Johnny... and stay off that leg."

Roy and Joanne both chuckled at the nurse's reference to how bad a patient Johnny usually was.  Johnny attempted a grin, but it was half-hearted at best.  All he could think about were the words on the card - words that sent his heart thudding in his chest and his stomach churning.

You should have died too, Fag!

* * *

Part 2