Road to Damascus
Part 4

 

The stench of sulfur permeated the small, otherworldly courtroom where Kelly Brackett was on trial for his father's murder.  A legion of demons taunted the solitary man at the defense table, hissing and screeching vile epithets as he waited for the judge to enter the cramped chambers and render his judgment.  Kel already knew that he would be sentenced to death for his heinous crime.  After all, he had offered no defense.  For all practical purposes, Kel had served as his own judge, jury and executioner.  All that was left to do was wait for the final arbiter of justice to pronounce his sentence before this unholy assembly.

Suddenly, an unseen thunderous voice boomed, "All rise!  This court is now in session.  The Honorable James G. Brackett presiding."

Kel's knuckles turned white as he gripped the granite table.  The hour of judgment had finally arrived.  He had committed an unpardonable sin, and therefore must pay with his life.  Kel knew he owed his father that much.  That knowledge, however, did little to alleviate his mounting panic.

The fearsome demonic bailiff with the red, glowing eyes flapped his leathery wings and pointed directly at Kel.  "You.  Rise."

Kel screamed in pain as two smaller demons pulled him from his chair and dragged him before the judge.  Their bony fingers felt like red-hot pokers slicing through flesh and bone, and Kel's terror intensified as he realized that this was only a small foretaste of the eternal torment to come.

The elder Brackett peered over his reading glasses as he prepared to condemn his only son.  "Kelly Brackett?"

His arms still burning from the demons' touch, Kel looked up at this father in awe.  Even in death, James Brackett cut a formidable figure draped in his black robe.  "Yes, Your Honor?"

"You have pleaded guilty to the charges against you, and since you waived your right to a jury of your peers, I have no choice but to mete out the severest penalty.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

James Brackett shook his head.  "No, I don't think you do.  If you had fought to defend yourself, I would have dismissed this ridiculous case.  You were never responsible for my death, but since you confessed to my murder, the court had no choice but to prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law.  You disappoint me, Kel.  You've thrown your earthly life and immortal soul away out of a misguided sense of guilt and familial loyalty, and for what?  Did you honestly believe this unnecessary sacrifice was required to atone for a non-existent transgression?  Kel, there is no need to seek absolution when no offense has been committed.  Yes, it's true that we've had our arguments and estrangements over the years, but I never stopped loving you, or being proud of your many accomplishments.  And even though I thought you could be stubborn and willful at times, I always respected you for the courage of your convictions."

"Dad..."

James Brackett held up a hand to silence his son.  "Kel, I'm sorry.  I can't help you.  Even if you had become a lawyer like I wanted you to, at this point, you wouldn't be allowed to argue your case or present any new evidence or witnesses.  If only you had been willing to save yourself when it mattered.  Now it's too late to go back and change your plea or otherwise alter the course of these proceedings.  You must forfeit your life as punishment for your foolishness."

The moment Judge Brackett banged the gavel, the floor opened up and Kel was pushed into the pit of fire and brimstone.  Kel wailed in horror as his body tumbled toward the flames, not out of fear or pain, but because all of this was for nothing.  That was the worst punishment of all, to know that he had in his power to save himself all along, and he had squandered that opportunity because of his misplaced guilt.

Kel closed his eyes and braced himself as he prepared to meet his fate.  The heat of the flames intensified with each passing second as he plummeted toward the abyss.  His heart was pounding like it was going to burst, and for a split-second, he wondered if it was possible to have a myocardial infarction in the afterlife.  Kel strained to regain control of his flailing limbs so that he could clutch at his chest, but some unseen force kept thwarting his frantic efforts.

Then his momentum inexplicably ceased mere seconds before he fell into the fiery lake, and the sulfuric hail that devoured his flesh and seared his lungs was suddenly transformed into a freezing rain that soaked through the remnants of his clothing.  Kel's screams halted while his mind tried to process the incongruity, and his eyes snapped open.  To his amazement, it was not a vision of hell that awaited Brackett, but the concerned faces of the cardiac unit's nursing staff.

One of the nurses struggled to pry his hand away from his chest.  "Hold still!  Let go of the tubing!"

"What?"

Another nurse spoke to him in a soothing voice.  "It's okay, Dr. Brackett.  You had another nightmare.  But you need to calm down and stop trying to rip out your central line.  Then we'll let go of your arms, okay?"

"Sorry."  Brackett was embarrassed that he had once again attracted the attention of the medical staff because of a stupid nightmare, and tried to shoo everyone out of the room before he could further humiliate himself.  "I'm all right.  You don't have to stay."

The older woman motioned for the other two nurses to clear out of the room.  As soon as they left, she smiled compassionately at the troubled physician.  "That must have been some nightmare.  You were screaming like a banshee, and your pajamas are drenched with sweat.  Do you have another pair, or do I need to get you a gown to change into?"

"I'm all right," he repeated, albeit not very convincingly.

Her response was eerily familiar.  She placed her hands on her hips and raised a skeptical eyebrow.  Brackett had gotten that same look from Dixie on more occasions than he cared to remember, and he wondered if they taught that in nursing school.

"You're shivering, Dr. Brackett.  Between those damp pajamas and the air conditioner vent being so close to your bed, you must be freezing.  You know, it's almost six-thirty.  I could tape a plastic bag over your IV site so you can take a nice hot shower.  Then after you change into some dry clothes and eat a bite of breakfast, you can go back to sleep."

His pulse quickened at the mention of sleep.  "No!  I mean...yeah.  You're probably right.  A hot shower sounds good, and I have a clean pair of pajamas to change into."

"Great.  I'll go get a bag and some tape.  Do you need anything else?"

Brackett rubbed at his eyes.  "No, but thanks."

While he waited for her to return, Brackett reflected upon his dream.  It didn't really matter whether his father had sent him a message from beyond the grave, or if his subconscious had finally realized that Joe Early had been right all along.  The end result was the same.  Brackett knew he had to save himself before it was too late.

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Early berated himself as he exited the elevator and headed toward Brackett's room.  He had intended to stop by and apologize before his shift started, but of all the stupid luck, a power surge during the early morning hours disabled his alarm clock and he overslept.  Early had been horrified when Dixie's phone call awakened him shortly after seven-thirty.  Even when he felt like something the cat hacked up, he never overslept like that on a weekday, let alone be late for work.  The whole morning seemed to rush past in one giant blur, and an early lunch break was his first opportunity to visit his friend.  He just hoped that Brackett would still be willing to be his friend after some of the angry remarks he had made the day before.  He had almost reached the room at the end of the corridor when he spotted a familiar figure in a blue velour housecoat headed toward the nurse's station.

"Kel!" Early exclaimed in surprise.  "It's great to see you up and about.  Is cabin fever setting in, or are you on a mission to chew out some poor unsuspecting nurse?"

Brackett laughed.  "No, just getting in a little exercise.  It's the hamsters' turn to have run of the facilities today."

"Sorry I haven't been by to see you yet."

"More lab work?"

"Nope.  Just overslept."

Brackett appeared shocked, splaying one hand across his chest.  "What?  You, oversleep?  Is this one of those signs of the coming apocalypse?"

Now it was Early's turn to laugh.  "Am I that predictable?"

"Yes, Joe, you are.  That's what we love about you."

Early gestured toward the tiny lounge a few doors down.  "Can I buy you a drink?  Some juice from the vending machine?"

Brackett grabbed his IV stand as he shuffled toward their destination.  "I'd rather have a scotch, but I'd settle for some apple juice.  Except you need to select the grape button if you want apple juice.  If you hit the apple button, you get this weird cranberry cocktail drink."

"I'm not sure I even want to ask how you know that," Early remarked as he reached into his pants pocket and fished for some loose change.

"Oh, I've learned a lot of things since I've been here.  Like what days they serve green Jell-O, how awful a low-fat, low-salt diet can taste, how long fifteen minutes on a stationary bicycle can seem after being confined to bed for several days, and how to listen to your best friend when he's trying to tell you when you're acting like a world class jerk."

Early plucked a few coins from his hand and paused before he inserted them into the vending machine.  "Kel, I was way out of line yesterday.  I'm sorry.  I don't know what got into me."

Brackett shook his head as he sat down in the chair closest to the window.  "No, it was my fault.  You were right.  My father's death affected me a lot more than I was willing to admit.  I just kept hoping if I ran fast enough, the emotional repercussions would never catch up with me.  Obviously I was wrong."

Early pushed the coins into the slot and pressed the button designated as grape.  Sure enough, a small can of apple juice was dispensed.  He handed the ice-cold drink to Brackett and sat down beside him and prepared to deliver the apology he had been mentally rehearsing since two-thirty in the morning.  "Kel, there isn't any excuse for the things I said.  I had no right to presume to know how you felt, and I certainly didn't have any right to inject your father's death into the argument like I did.  That was completely uncalled for, and I'm sorry."

"Joe, are we about to get into another warped competition here?  Trying to outdo each other as to who's sorrier about what we said yesterday?" Brackett said half-jokingly.

"Point taken.  Truce?"

Brackett moved his juice can to his left hand and wiped the condensation from his right before he extended it to Early.  "Truce."

After the two men shook hands, Brackett appeared pensive.  "Joe, after you left, I did a lot of thinking last night."  Okay, technically he did most of that thinking after he woke up screaming from another nightmare about six-thirty, but he didn't plan to disclose that little fact.

"And?"

"Did I ever tell you what happened between me and Dad before he died?"

"No."

Brackett took another sip of the cold apple juice more as a stalling maneuver rather than to quench his thirst.  "Dad bought this reconditioned sport boat about a year after his thrombectomy.  A forty-six foot long, twin diesel Hatteras.  He renamed it Tempus Fugit, the Latin term for 'time flies'.  Dad took an early retirement and wanted to make up for what he felt was a bunch of lost father-son time.  So he asked me to take a leave of absence for six months so we could go fishing to all these exotic locales that he'd been reading so much about.  Well, his timing couldn't have been worse.  That was right after our first round of budget cutbacks and layoffs, and I didn't feel it was right to take off for six months when I was asking what was left of the staff to work longer hours and double shifts.  I felt like I had to set an example.  And to be perfectly honest, I was worried about my own job."

The other physician nodded in understanding.  "You figured if you could be gone for an extended period, some bean counter in Administration would figure you were easily expendable."

"Exactly.  So I told Dad that it wasn't a good time, and maybe we could do it later, after things got back under control."  Brackett picked at a slight imperfection on the juice container while he gathered his thoughts.  "Anyway, obviously that's not what Dad wanted to hear, and he heaped a ton of guilt on me to try to get me to change my mind.  He reminded me about how bad his odds were before he had the clot removed from his leg, and how he was damned lucky to still be alive.  Then when that failed to persuade me, Dad told me that he was going to die soon, and that it was going to be my fault.  He also said that he was going to come back from the grave to haunt me for the rest of my days and make my life a living hell for abandoning him when he needed me the most.  Joe, if I had any idea..."

Early lightly rested his hand on Brackett's knee.  "Kel, there's no way you could have known he was going to die of a massive coronary a little over a year later.  And while I hate to speak ill of the dead, your father really knew how to manipulate people, especially you."

"Tell me about it.  I was glad when he finally stopped calling me every day.  Besides, we were about due for another estrangement, so I didn't really worry about it when I didn't hear from him for a while.  I know that must sound cruel and heartless, but that's just the way it was between Dad and me.  We'd have a big fight and then we'd keep our distance for a few months, or even years.  Eventually we'd get back together, make our apologies and promise that we'd never let anything come between us again.  Before you know it, the cycle would start all over.  Except we never got around to the reconciliation phase after that last argument.  I tried to get in touch with Dad a couple of months later, but he had moved away and didn't leave any phone numbers where he could be reached.  After a while, I gave up trying to track him down.  I figured he knew where to find me when he was good and ready to talk."

Brackett wasn't aware of the tears streaming down his face until Early handed him a handful of tissues.  He silently mouthed a thank you and numbly dabbed at his eyes and blew his nose before he continued.  "One night I get this phone call from a hospital I've never heard of in Santa Cruz.  At first I thought it was a wrong number or someone's idea of a bad joke, but when the nurse said she was calling about James Brackett, I had this weird feeling in my gut even before she told me that he had suffered a massive coronary.  They didn't expect him to survive, but I knew I had to try to see him before he died.  I can't explain it, but I knew he was already gone before I got there."

Casting a surreptitious glance toward the door, Brackett blew his nose before he continued.  "I never told anyone this, but as I was driving up to Santa Cruz in the middle of the night...well...I saw Dad sitting beside me in the car.  He said that his blood was on my hands, and that I was going to have to die just like he did to make things right.  Then he disappeared into thin air.  Damn it, Joe.  I'm not an idiot.  I know that grief plays strange tricks on the mind, and I don't need a psychiatrist to tell me that my father's ghost was really a manifestation of my guilt.  But somehow, something stuck in my mind that wouldn't let go.  By that point, I already had an ulcer, so it didn't seem impossible that I really could follow in his footsteps to the grave.  That's why I kept putting off the surgery.  I thought that denial would be my salvation.  If I didn't acknowledge the problem, it couldn't kill me.  Yet at the same time, I felt obligated to die in order to atone for my father's death."

"So when you had the MI..."

"Yeah," Brackett sniffed.  "I thought that it was my time to go.  And then when I didn't, I felt like I had failed my father all over again.  I've spent my entire life trying to gain my Dad's approval in some form or another.  Except for my decision to go into medicine, of course.  It was a long time before he forgave me for that."

"I've always been curious, Kel.  If your father's approval was so important to you, why did you become a doctor instead of a lawyer?" Early asked.

Brackett blotted at his face with the tissue again.  "Because my mother died of breast cancer when I was a teenager.  I couldn't do anything to save Mom, but I thought if I could learn how to save other people, it would be a way of honoring her memory.  But Dad didn't see it that way.  He didn't want to be reminded of her death, so my choice of career was a real bone of contention."

"Kel, have you talked to Chris Hauser about your relationship with your father?"

"No, but I probably should.  I feel so lost without Dad.  We fought like cats and dogs half the time, but I loved him, and I know he loved me.  And deep down in my heart, I know he wouldn't expect me to sacrifice my life just because I feel guilty that I wasn't with him when he died."  In a faltering voice, Brackett pleaded, "I want my life back, Joe, but I don't know how to crawl out of this hole that I've dug for myself."  The once silent tears that streamed down his face gave way to violent sobbing, and his frail body began to shake.

Brackett's anguish tore at Early's heartstrings.  The older physician was at a loss for words, but then words were often inadequate at a time like this.  Early briefly hesitated, then wrapped his arm around his friend and pulled him closer to his side.  To his surprise, Brackett seemed to welcome the gesture, and rested his head on Early's shoulder.

"It's okay," Early soothed.  "It's going to be all right."  As Brackett's warm tears splashed onto his shoulder and seeped through the fabric of his lab coat, Early placed his other hand behind Brackett's head and gently rocked his friend back and forth as if he were comforting a child -- a forty-two-year-old child who still mourned the loss of his father.

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Although his lingering fever had sapped most of his energy, Johnny had no problem giving Boomer a full account of his argument with Roy the day before.  He was in full rant mode, scarcely stopping long enough to catch his breath as he continued to assail his former friend and partner.  "Boomer, he lied to me!  He sat there in my apartment, and with a straight face, he promised me he wouldn't get drunk again.  He's throwing his life away, and for what?  Because his wife left him?  People get divorced all the time these days, and you don't see them ruining their lives with booze.  They mourn and move on.  Good grief!"

Boomer knew how much Johnny valued honesty, and could understand why he was so upset by what he perceived as his friend's betrayal.  However, he could afford to be more objective since he didn't have a personal stake in the situation.  "But Mr. G., I think you're being too hard on Mr. DeSoto.  Hell, I've gotten drunk for far more stupid reasons than he did, like trying to impress one of my frat buddies at a kegger.  He's hurting right now, and while I'm not saying it's right, I understand why Mr. DeSoto is trying to self-medicate with alcohol.  He's just trying to numb the pain."

"Well, it's a stupid solution," Johnny grumbled.

Seeing that his argument had failed to persuade Johnny, Boomer tried a different approach.  "Mr. G., when you got all upset a couple of times yesterday and they had to give you a shot, did it help make you feel better?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's what Mr. DeSoto's trying to do.  He's trying to feel better.  He's just going about it the wrong way."

Johnny snorted his disapproval.  "No kidding."

"Okay, look at it this way," Boomer reasoned.  "You're here in the hospital, where the docs know that you're going through a rough time and can legally prescribe drugs that are medically appropriate.  For the sake of argument, let's pretend you never hurt your back, all right?  Say something really bad happened to you that you didn't know how to deal with, but you were too embarrassed to tell even your best friend everything that's going on in your head.  What would you do?  Would you automatically whip out the Yellow Pages and make an appointment to see the nearest mental health professional, or would you try to handle the problem yourself, even if you went about it in a crappy way?"

"I'd probably try to handle it on my own," Johnny admitted reluctantly.  His expression grew somber as he reflected upon his own situation, and recalled something Early had said the day before.  "You know, when the doc was here to shove this garden hose up my nose, he was tap dancing around the idea that I should talk to a shrink about all of this.  He didn't actually come out and say it, but I could tell that's what he was getting at."

"It might not be a bad idea.  Couldn't hurt to talk to someone."

"I suppose.  I just wish I could talk to Roy.  It's not that I don't appreciate you being around and listening to me whine and complain, but..."

Boomer waved his hands back and forth in a gesture intended to convey that he had not taken offense to the remark.  "Don't worry about it, Mr. G.  I understand.  You and Mr. DeSoto have been best friends for years, almost like brothers.  It's only natural that you'd want him to be around.  That's why I think you're so mad at him about the drinking.  It's more than a broken promise.  You're mad because it's keeping the two of you apart, but you won't admit it because you're afraid that would seem selfish.  But I think Mr. DeSoto needs you just as much as you need him."

Johnny grudgingly conceded Boomer's point.  He was afraid of appearing needy and selfish, especially in light of Roy's recent marital problems.  Over the years, the two men had depended upon each other's friendship to see them through their various trials and tribulations.  Why should this time be any different?  And Boomer was right about another thing.  Roy needed his support, not his condemnation.  In all fairness, he couldn't say that he'd handle the situation any differently.  Faced with a possible lifetime of disability, Johnny wondered how he would cope once he was discharged from the hospital.  Would he be tempted to turn to alcohol as an escape as well?

The ensuing silence became increasingly uncomfortable, so Boomer decided to share a little secret he had been keeping from the paramedic.  Given Johnny's current frame of mind and his uncertain future within the fire department as a paramedic, he hoped he wasn't about to make a huge mistake.  But in the interest of restarting the conversation, Boomer decided to forge ahead and hope for the best.  "Hey, Mr. G.  I've been meaning to tell you...uh...I think I might have that unemployment problem licked."

"Really?  That's great."

"It's not official or anything yet.  So far, I've just put in my application and filled out a bunch of paperwork.  I'll have to get a physical, and they have to run a background check and all, but that shouldn't be a problem.  I don't have any skeletons in my closet, and I certainly haven't committed any crimes.  That is, of course, if you don't count those dumb plays I made in the last game against USC.  A lot of Bruins fans thought those were downright criminal."

Johnny was clearly intrigued.  "Background check?  Where did you apply, the FBI?"

"Nope."  Boomer grinned.  "The fire department."

"Boomer, that's terrific!"

Relieved that Johnny seemed genuinely happy for him, Boomer felt it was safe to tell the rest of the story.  "I put in my application right after my interview with social services last week.  It turned out that the position just involved a bunch of paper shuffling, and I couldn't see myself in a nine-to-five desk job.  Then I got to thinking about some of the stuff you said, and it really hit home.  I mean, the whole point of majoring in sociology was because I wanted to help people, right?  Well, I figured what better way to do that than to join the fire department.  You know, it's funny how things work out.  My grandma likes to say that every time God closes a door, He opens a window.  I used to think that sounded hokey, and shrugged it off as another one of those Croatian folk sayings that make my grandparents feel better whenever something goes wrong.  Anyway, I finally got it."

"Got what?" Johnny asked.

"I finally understood that things happen for a reason, even though we can't see it at the time.  And I owe it all to you, Mr. G."

Johnny was obviously puzzled by the younger man's remarks.  "Me?  What did I do?"

Boomer excitedly explained.  "You see, I kept going on job interviews, and kept getting rejected.  I was really bummed out.  But now I know why I didn't get any offers, because there was something better in store for me.  I just didn't know what it was.  Then you came along and helped me figure it all out.  I probably never would have done that if I hadn't met you."

"So in other words, I did you a big favor by falling down the stairs?  Is that what you're trying to say?" Johnny teased.

"Aw, Mr. G.!  That's not what I meant.  I'm real sorry that you got hurt."

"Boomer, I was just joking."

The younger man hastily tried to amend his earlier remark.  "Mr. G., I'm just glad you helped me discover what I was meant to do with my life.  I'm tired of being thought of as nothing more than a big, dumb athlete.  It seems like every time people hear my name, the first thing that comes to mind is, 'Oh, yeah.  Boomer Tomjanovich, the football player.' I want to be remembered for doing something that really matters, like saving a guy's life or rescuing a couple of kids from a burning building.  Hells bells, Mr. G.  I'd even be happy to be remembered as the guy who got some old lady's dumb cat out of a tree.  So I guess what I'm trying to say is that good things can come out of bad things."

Johnny gestured toward his legs.  "I wonder what good can possibly come out of being paralyzed for the rest of my life?"

Boomer laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair.  "Well, first of all, Mr. G., I think you're jumping the gun about how this is all going to play out.  Like the doc said, it's still too early to know whether or not you'll be able to walk again or not.  And even if you're not, there's plenty of other things you can do besides be a paramedic."

"Like what?" Johnny scoffed.  "That's all I know how to do.  I don't have any other skills, and I don't have a college degree like you do."

"So get one."

"Boomer, are you crazy?  I'll be thirty-two in August."

Boomer shrugged.  "It's never too late to get an education.  Besides, college isn't just for kids right out of high school.  A lot of people don't get started on a degree until they're older.  For instance, this guy in my sociology classes was in his forties when he started college.  He was a policeman with the LAPD for nineteen years, and then got shot in the line of duty when a drug bust went bad.  He said that it was sort of a blessing in disguise, because the pressures of the job were turning him into a real bitter person.  So he decided to become a social worker and try to help kids before they turned to a life of crime.  In fact, the department thought it was such a great idea that they assigned him to a desk job with flexible hours so he could go to class, helped him out with his tuition and kept him on the payroll and everything.  Now he goes around to schools as part of this drug abuse prevention program and organizes trips for inner-city kids to go to ballgames with off-duty officers so they'll hopefully learn to see cops as their friends instead of their enemies.  It's great PR for the department, and he gets to keep drawing a full salary and keep his pension.  And then there was this guy who didn't start college until he was in his sixties.  His wife died about a year after he retired from the phone company, and his kids were grown and lived clear across the country.  So he decided to become a missionary.  It's something he had always wanted to do, but never felt he could because of his family responsibilities.  But before his church would consider sending him on a mission to another country, he had to learn a couple of other languages and take a few courses.  I think he said he was going to be sixty-seven when he finished school.  So you see, it's not too late for you."

Johnny still appeared skeptical.  "I don't know, Boomer.  I'm hardly the egghead type."

Boomer erupted into a fit of laughter.  "And I am?"

"But I probably couldn't afford it anyway," Johnny protested.  "I don't know where I'm going to get the money to live on, let alone something like college."

"They have scholarships and grants, and not necessarily only for smart people who just graduated from high school.  And I'll bet if you stayed on at the fire department, they'd probably help you out with some of the expenses.  A whole bunch of companies do that these days, especially if you're going to major in something that might benefit them somewhere down the line.  Say like some kind of business degree.  Then maybe you could get a job streamlining the department's procedures and get rid of most of those dumb forms that you're always complaining about.  It's bound to beat sitting on some street corner selling pencils and feeling sorry for yourself."

When Johnny didn't reply, Boomer asked, "Mr. G., why did you become a firefighter and a paramedic anyway?"

Johnny warily regarded the younger man.  "Because like you, I wanted to help people."

"And you still can.  I'm a prime example.  Think about it, Mr. G.  With the exception of the first day when I met you, you've been laid up the whole time I've known you.  But even when you were flat on your back, you offered me lots of cool advice.  So you see?  You don't need two good legs to help people, Mr. G.  You just need a good heart, and you have that in spades."

Boomer glanced at his watch as he pushed himself out his chair.  "I hate to take off on you, but I need to run a couple of errands before I meet Katie for dinner.  We're going to check out this new pizza joint after she gets off from work.  Do you want me to bring you anything when I come back later this evening?"

"No, not really."

"I better be on my way then."  Boomer paused before he headed toward the door.  "Oh, and Mr. G.?  I know it's none of my business, but try to cut Mr. DeSoto a little slack, okay?  Maybe he's made a few mistakes because he's scared about losing his family, but you're scared about losing some things, too.  Why don't you two work this whole thing out so you can be scared together?"

Johnny knew that Boomer was right.  The only problem was, how could he put his foolish pride aside and reach out to his friend before it was too late?

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Roy aimlessly stacked several empty sugar packets into a neat little pile on the table as he lingered over a cup of coffee in the hospital cafeteria.  He had intended to go upstairs to see his partner, but once again, he was paralyzed by his fear of rejection.  Joanne had made it abundantly clear that she didn't want anything to do with him, and now it seemed that Johnny felt the same way.  Roy knew that in both cases, he had brought his troubles upon himself.  So in theory, if he caused the problem in the first place, shouldn't he be able to fix it as well?  If so, then why was he so afraid to try?

A short, plump woman carrying a cafeteria tray passed by Roy's table as he contemplated his dilemma.  She looked familiar, but he couldn't recall where he had seen her before.  The woman, however, had no difficulty recognizing him.

"Roy DeSoto!" she squealed.  "Mind if I join you?"

"Uh, sure.  Go ahead."  As soon as the friendly stranger set her tray on the table, Roy finally recognized her as his partner's new landlady.  Johnny had moved into the small apartment complex a few months ago, and Roy only remembered talking to Mrs. Murphy a couple of times for a grand total of about twenty minutes.  Nonetheless, she positively beamed as if she had just been reunited with a long-lost friend.

Mrs. Murphy blushed as she unwrapped one of the slices of chocolate cake on her tray.  "I know as fat as I am, I shouldn't be eating this, let alone two slices.  But sometimes a body needs a little comfort food.  Know what I mean?"

"Yes, ma'am, I sure do."  Roy pushed the empty sugar packets aside and propped his elbows on the table.  "I like to snack late at night.  Mostly ice cream.  Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry...it doesn't matter.  I love it all."

The woman rolled her eyes heavenward.  "Oh, dear Lord.  You just had to go and say that, didn't you?  Now I'm almost tempted to go back and get me one of those little cardboard cups of vanilla ice cream to go with this."  Mrs. Murphy leaned closer toward Roy and lowered her voice to an almost conspiratorial whisper.  "You know, their cake is so dry, it really needs a little dab of ice cream to give it some moisture.  I don't know how they can serve this to sick people.  Why it's a miracle that somebody hasn't choked on it yet!  Maybe when Johnny's not feeling so poorly, I'll whip him up one of my famous chocolate layer cakes.  That ought to whet his appetite!"

Roy nervously cleared his throat.  He didn't know whether she knew about his argument with Johnny the day before or not, so he tried to keep his comments neutral.  "Um, how is he doing today?  I haven't made it up there yet."

Mrs. Murphy shrugged.  "I don't know.  I haven't had a chance to see him either.  That sweet little blond nurse said that Angela, his physical therapist, is in with him now.  Then they need to do a few things before Johnny is ready to receive visitors again.  Let's see, I think that nurse's name was Debbie.  Yes, that was it.  She's cute as a button.  Johnny ought to ask her out sometime.  Anyway, Debbie said to come back in about an hour, so I thought I'd come down here for a little snack."  She laughed as she lifted a forkful of chocolate cake to her mouth.  "Listen to me.  A snack!  Good gracious, you must think I'm a batty old woman for calling two pieces of cake a snack!  You must wonder what I consider to be a hearty meal!"

Her laughter was infectious, and Roy smiled despite his depressed mood.  "Johnny says you're a terrific cook."

"Oh, pshaw!  That's hardly a glowing testament to my cooking skills.  Like all single men, he'll eat anything you put in front of him.  But he can't hold a candle to Katie's friend Boomer.  That boy's a human garbage disposal!  Eats like a horse, just like my five sons used to do.  Just about ate me out of house and home.  But Boomer's a nice boy, a nice Catholic boy.  I had always hoped that he and Katie would get together some day, but that granddaughter of mine is as stubborn as the day is long.  Wouldn't date the whole time she was in college.  I can't say I blame her though for wanting to get her education before she got serious about a boy.  Her mama and daddy dropped out after their first year in college to get married, and Katie swore up and down she wasn't going to let anything distract her from getting that degree in business administration."

Mrs. Murphy took a quick sip of her coffee before she prattled on.  "You know, I had always hoped that my oldest son, Adrian, would go into the priesthood.  I have to confess, I wasn't too happy at first when he started dating this skinny little Italian girl.  Not that I had anything against Theresa you understand, but the Church doesn't let married men become priests.  But now I wouldn't have it any other way.  Theresa has been a good wife and mother, and if they hadn't gotten married, Katie never would have been born.  That child has been a real blessing to me in my old age."

Roy polished off the rest of his coffee and pushed the empty cup toward the sugar packet graveyard.  "Sounds like you have every reason to be proud of Katie."

"Oh, yes!  She's the first one in our family to ever finish college.  Katie's going to have lots of opportunities that women in my generation didn't have.  She'll be able to support herself, and not have to settle for marrying some ne'er do well for what folks these days call a meal ticket."

Mrs. Murphy lowered her voice again, glanced furtively over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening to their conversation, and quickly crossed herself as she offered up a silent prayer before she confided in Roy.  "My Thomas, may his soul rest in peace, was a terrible husband.  Couldn't hold a job for more than a month or two before he'd get fired.  He had what my mama called the 'Irish Disease'.  Thomas drank like a fish, and spent what little money he earned on liquor and loose women.  I can't tell you how many times we were thrown out on the street because we didn't have rent money.  It's a crying shame when a man doesn't have enough self-respect to take care of his family.  Lots of times I just wanted to leave that sorry excuse of a husband, and bundle up my babies and move back home with my mama.  But she wouldn't hear of it, and said that it was my Christian duty to stay with Thomas.  That's how it was in those days.  You got married, and it was for better or worse, mostly worse.  People didn't get divorced back then.  It didn't matter if your husband got drunk and beat you every night or ran around on you.  Women were expected to bear their burdens in silence."

Her eyes suddenly misted over, and Mrs. Murphy crossed herself again.  "Roy, I know this must sound evil, but I wasn't sorry when Thomas died in a construction accident.  That stupid fool was drunk as a skunk when he fell off some scaffolding.  I didn't get any insurance money or a settlement from the company since Thomas was responsible for causing his own accident, and I had a hard time making ends meet.  I was twenty-eight years old, didn't even have a high school education, and had to raise seven children by myself.  The Church helped out a little, but it wasn't enough to pay all the bills.  I took what honest work I could find.  I got a job as a seamstress, took in washing and ironing, hired myself out as a maid, anything I could think of.  But God have mercy on my soul, I've done some things I'm not proud of to keep a roof over our head, food in my children's bellies and clothes on their backs.  One of these days I know I'm going to have to account for all that with the Good Lord, but I did the best I could at the time.  Now a lot of people thought I should have gotten married again, but I was afraid I'd do even worse than Thomas!  And I was still young.  Goodness me, I could have had even more babies to feed and clothe by myself in a few more years!"

Mrs. Murphy's thoughts returned to her granddaughter, and her eyes gleamed with pride.  "So you see?  That's why I'm so proud of my little Kathleen Rose.  She made a lot of sacrifices so she could get that college education, and now she has a good paying job with an insurance company and has her own apartment.  Now of course, I'm hoping that Katie is going to settle down one of these days with some nice Catholic boy like Boomer, stay happily married and have lots of fat, happy red-haired babies.  But if things don't work out, she's not going to starve.  I can go to my grave in peace knowing that precious girl can take care of herself."

The elderly landlady suddenly frowned.  "Oh, gracious!  I'm so sorry, Roy.  I'm sure you have better things to do that listen to some foolish old woman tell you about her troubles and brag about her granddaughter."

"No, it's okay," Roy replied politely.  "I enjoy listening to you.  Sounds like you've had to overcome a lot."

Mrs. Murphy pointed toward the ceiling.  "Speaking of which, that poor boy upstairs sure has a lot to overcome.  Bless his sweet heart.  It's such a shame, not being able to walk and do for himself anymore, especially with Johnny being so young.  I've been praying for him.  I know Johnny isn't of the faith, so I hope he won't mind that I asked Father Flanagan to pray for him, too."

She appeared thoughtful as she looked at the untouched piece of chocolate cake still sitting on the tray.  "Since it's going to be a spell before I can see Johnny, I reckon I'll go tell that perky little nurse that I'll be back later this afternoon, probably around dinnertime.  Then I'll go home and bake Johnny a nice big chocolate cake.  There's nothing like the smell of a freshly baked chocolate cake to tempt the appetite, and heaven knows Johnny needs some meat on his bones.  But I'm going to have to make a double recipe of icing.  I swear, if you don't watch him, that man can lick a cake bald in no time.  He sure loves my chocolate buttercream icing.  Why, maybe I should just skip the cake and bring him a big bowl of icing and a spoon!  I bet he'd like that!"

Although Roy nodded approvingly, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy.  It seemed like a lifetime ago that anyone had cared that much about him.  Roy couldn't remember the last time Joanne had baked him a cake, joined him in a late-night snack session, showered him with kisses or allowed him to make love to her.  For all practical purposes, he and Joanne had been little more than roommates for the past several months.  Roy was almost tempted to injure himself so that someone would do something nice for him.  Or maybe he should just go ahead and kill himself and get it over with.  Would Joanne even bother to come to the funeral?

Roy mentally shook himself from his morbid reverie, and tried to think of an excuse to rapidly extricate himself from the conversation.  He made a great show of looking at this watch and then jumped to his feet.  "Oh, no!  I've been enjoying our conversation so much, I lost track of the time.  I'm going to be late for an appointment!"

"Oh, Roy!  I'm so sorry.  I wish you had said something earlier.  Now I feel just terrible for taking up all your time."

"No, that's okay.  It's my fault.  I should have been paying better attention.  Tell Johnny I'll see him later, okay?"

Roy barely remembered rushing out of the cafeteria or leaving the hospital through the front entrance.  But as he walked toward his car, he was painfully aware that he had just lied to one of Johnny's friends, just because some of her comments were hitting a little too close to home.  Roy was starting to appreciate another sad consequence of his recent drinking binges.  One lie had begat another lie, and it had all happened so easily.  He looked at this watch again, this time actually bothering to look at the numbers.  It was only a quarter after two.  If he was lucky, he might be able to salvage his alibi, and with any luck, he might be able to save himself as well.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

While the rest of A-Shift gathered in the dayroom to watch television, the station's two temporary paramedics were getting caught up on their logbook.  Gabriel Martinez softly swore in Spanish as he tried to transcribe some notes.  "I can't believe this," he said angrily as he vigorously shook his wrist back and forth.  "My pen's clogged up again.

Brice failed to conceal his disdain as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.  "No, it isn't.  You're simply not holding it at the appropriate angle."

Gabriel scowled at the other paramedic.  "What in the hell are you talking about?"

"Here, let me demonstrate."  Brice removed his perfectly capped pen from his pocket and pulled out his notebook.  After removing the black plastic top and securing it to the other end of the pen, Brice used his department-issued writing utensil to sign his name on a blank piece of paper.  "See?  If you hold your pen at a precise sixty-degree angle, it facilitates the maximum flow of ink."

"Oh, geez!  Do I look like I carry a protractor around with me?  Brice, since you're such the expert here, then you finish this up!"

The other paramedic seemed completely unfazed by Gabriel's outburst.  "Perhaps that would be a more efficient arrangement.  Your constant complaints about trivial matters and tendency to reminisce about each call are extremely distracting."

"Whatever."  Gabriel stood up and walked over to the cookie jar.  "Hey, does anyone want any Oreos while I'm up?" he asked the men sitting in the dayroom.

Captain Stanley diverted his gaze from the television screen.  "Sure, I'll take a couple."

Chet's eyes grew wide with horror.  "No, Cap.  You don't want to do that."

"Why not?  I love Oreos."

"But not those!  Gabriel got me with that trick before."

"What trick?"

"He takes the Oreo apart and scrapes the cream filling off," Chet explained.  "Then he replaces it with white toothpaste like Pepsodent and puts the cookie back together."

Martinez handed Captain Stanley two cookies on a paper towel with one hand, and made a circular motion beside his head with the other.  "He's loco en la cabeza, Cap.  Crazy in the head."

Chet held his breath while he watched Captain Stanley munch on the sandwich cookie.  To his profound relief, there was no evidence that the Shadow had tampered with the Oreos...this time.  Chet strongly suspected that Gabriel was just trying to lull him into a false sense of security before the Shadow sprang some hideous prank on him.

Gabriel sat down beside Marco and Henry on the couch.  "What show are you guys watching?  It's in black and white!"

Marco shrugged.  "It's an early episode of The Beverly Hillbillies."

"Who's the big goofy chick?"

"Oh, that's Jethro's twin sister, Jethrene.  The same actor plays both roles."

The paramedic appeared relieved.  "Whew!  For a minute, I thought that was one ugly chica."

Marco grinned evilly.  "I don't know, Martinez.  She looks better than some of the girls I've seen you go out with."

Gabriel groaned.  "Hey, that wasn't my fault.  Mama arranged every one of those dates.  I always know I'm doomed whenever my mother says those five scariest words in the English language, 'She's such a nice girl!'  That usually means my date will be as wide as she is tall, and has a face so ugly that it would make a train take a dirt road.  Hell, the last girl Mama set me up with had a bushier moustache than mine!  I'm almost tempted to grab the next woman I see and propose, just so my family will stop trying to fix me up."

"Well, there's a bunch of new nurses over at Rampart.  Why don't you ask one of them out?"

"Nah, I'm not too crazy about the idea of dating someone I might have to cross paths with on the job.  It's really awkward when you break up and then you still have to face that person day in and day out."

"It doesn't seem to bother Johnny."

Captain Stanley polished off the last bite of his cookie and wiped his mouth with the paper towel.  "Speaking of John, how is he doing?  I was tied up in that seminar at HQ all day yesterday and didn't get a chance to make it over to the hospital."

Marco wearily rubbed his forehead.  "Not too good.  He wasn't as zoned out on drugs like he was the day after his surgery, but he's really in a funk.  Johnny hardly said two words the whole time we were there."

"We?"

"Mike, Chet and I went up there yesterday around noon.  Johnny doesn't believe he's going to get any better, so he's already given up."

"I really hate to hear that," Captain Stanley said in a somber tone.  "It's a damned shame about what happened.  From what Dr. Morton said, it doesn't sound like John's chances of ever walking again are all that great.  That has to be tough.  I'm sure I'd be feeling sorry for myself, too.  Who'd have ever thought that such a minor injury could turn into something so awful?"

The engineer nodded sadly.  "Like the doc said, it's one of those freaky things."

"Freaky," Chet mumbled.  "I'd say that about describes Gage to a 'T', all right."

"Kelly, for once in your life, give it a rest," Captain Stanley warned sternly.  "I'm sure John isn't laughing about any of this right now."

Marco distractedly scratched Henry behind the ears.  "I still don't get why he didn't go back to Rampart when he realized that he wasn't getting any better instead of seeing a GP.  I'll bet Dr. Early wouldn't have missed the warning signs."

Gabriel immediately rushed to his fellow paramedic's defense.  "Actually, I can understand Johnny's line of reasoning.  Rampart's ER has been an absolute zoo for the past couple of weeks, ever since they've been swamped with a bunch of non-emergency cases.  If you're not dying, you have to wait for hours and hours and hours before one of the docs can take a look at you."

"Now that you mention it, Roy said it took about seven or eight hours before one of the ER docs took a look at Johnny the day after his accident, and that he was in major pain while he waited to be seen.  But even so, I don't see why he couldn't have asked Dixie or one of the doctors to recommend a guy that someone's heard of before.  Where did Johnny find this GP anyway, out of the Yellow Pages?"

"I think he asked his landlady who she went to," Mike answered.  Then he looked purposely at Chet.  "Maybe he felt too embarrassed to ask for a referral from someone at Rampart."

Chet squirmed in his chair.  "Why are you looking at me?"

"Remember that day when we were filling out that new personnel form and you were teasing him about the fact that he didn't have a family doctor?"

"Yeah.  So?"

Mike sighed in exasperation.  "Never mind."

"Was anyone ever able to get in touch with Roy?" Marco asked.

Captain Stanley shook his head.  "I've tried several times, but no one answers.  I sure wish I knew how to get in touch with him.  The number I have on file for his in-laws isn't a working number anymore."

"Man, he's going to kick himself when he finds out about Johnny," Chet said.  "When is he supposed to be back anyway?"

"Monday, as far as I know.  Roy only asked for a week off, but I'm sure he'll call me if that changes.  He's one of the most level-headed and responsible people I know."  Captain Stanley stood up and stretched his arms over his head during the closing credits of The Beverly Hillbillies.  "We-e-e-ll doggies!" he said, imitating Jed Clampett's folksy drawl.  "I reckon I best git m'sef back in that room back thar and git busy with that big ol' stack of paper sittin' on my desk."

Martinez jumped to his feet as well.  "That reminds me.  I need to get something out of my locker."

Chet eyed the paramedic with suspicion.  "Like what?"

"My spiral notebook.  My buddy Emilio is going to help me fix up my car, and I want to review our notes.  I bought another magazine last night, and I think we may need to modify our plans.  I'm going to the dorm and see if I can work this out in my head.  Later, guys."

"What's the matter, Chet?" Marco asked, making every attempt to appear concerned about his friend's welfare.  "You look like you don't feel so good all of a sudden."

"Hmmpf," Chet snorted.  "Do you believe that story for a minute?  I'll bet he's up to no good."

"You said that last shift when he went to the dorm to read his car magazines.  Nothing happened, remember?"

"Well, he's just trying to throw me off track.  I'm telling you, the Shadow is planning something big.  I just know it."

Having completed his notes in the logbook, Brice recapped his pen and stuck it back in his pocket as he rose to his feet.  Then he dryly stated his opinion of the situation in a tone that fell somewhere between a mild rebuke and condescension.  "Kelly, if you hadn't overstepped the bounds of decency and fair play when you applied a liberal amount of analgesic ointment to Martinez's undergarments, then you wouldn't have anything to fear from his alter ego known as the Shadow."

Chet threw up his hands in defeat.  "All right, all right!  I know I screwed up...big time.  I got written up and everything for that dumb prank.  But I can't go back and undo it.  I swear, I would if I could, but I can't."

Brice frowned as he massaged a muscle spasm in his neck.  "I never could understand the widespread appeal of slapstick and vaudeville type humor."

Chet was absolutely aghast.  "How can you not love the Three Stooges, or Bud Abbott and Lou Costello?"

"Ah, yes.  The comedians of the 'Who's on first?' fame."

Chet visibly relaxed.  "Okay, then you've seen them.  I was starting to get worried about you there for a minute."

However, Brice wasn't noticeably impressed by the referenced comedy routine.  "In my opinion, the basic premise of the sketch was overplayed.  Once it was firmly established that 'Who' was the name of the first baseman, it was no longer necessary to continue to underscore that point."

"But Brice, that was a classic!" Chet protested.

"Perhaps to individuals with a less sophisticated sense of humor."

Chet grumbled at the paramedic's assessment.  "I guess that means you don't like the Three Stooges either.  Man, isn't there anything that tickles your funny bone?"

"Of course," Brice answered coolly.  "However, I don't believe it's necessary to inflict bodily harm upon a group or an individual for another's amusement.  Such childish and irresponsible behavior can only result in serious, if not tragic, consequences.  Therefore, I have deemed it necessary to report Captain Stanley's overly lenient management style to the proper authorities within the department.  His continued toleration of so-called pranks and practical jokes creates and unsafe and hostile work environment, which is in clear violation of Article..."

"Whoa, wait a minute!" Marco interrupted.  "You can't do that!"

"On the contrary, it's my moral and professional obligation to report Captain Stanley for not maintaining proper discipline within the ranks," Brice refuted smugly.

Mike shook his finger at Brice.  "Don't you dare!  If you report anyone, it should be Chet.  He's the one who's always causing all the trouble."

Brice resolutely stood his ground.  "Leaders are ultimately responsible for the actions of their subordinates."

Chet was horrified by Brice's proposal.  "No, Mike's right.  If you're going to rat someone out, pick me.  Cap has nothing to do with this.  It's my fault.  I'm the one who wreaks all the havoc around here.  Cap's totally innocent."

A very bewildered looking Gabriel Martinez returned to the dayroom.  "Hey, guys.  What's wrong?  Did I miss something?"

Mike glowered at the bespectacled paramedic.  "No.  Just a minor difference of opinion over the interpretation of a particular administrative policy."

"Okay, as long as it wasn't anything important."  Gabriel suddenly slapped his forehead.  "I almost forgot why I came out here in the first place.  Chet, there's a funny noise coming from your locker."

"Noise?" Chet repeated with alarm.

"Yeah.  Sort of a weird rustling sound, or maybe a hiss.  I couldn't tell.  Or maybe I just imagined it."

Gabriel watched with bemused interest as his fellow firefighter went running toward the locker room.  As soon as the coast was clear, he lowered his voice to a near whisper.  "So did he fall for it?"

Mike grinned.  "Hook, line and sinker."

"You should have seen the look on his face!" Marco laughed as he heartily slapped his thigh.  "It was the funniest thing I've even seen.  I thought Chet's eyes were going to bug out of their sockets.  Brice, that was a great performance.  You really had him going."

Brice smiled.  "Thank you.  The experience was considerably more enjoyable that I anticipated it would be.  I had my doubts when Martinez recommended this ploy to encourage the Phantom to retire, but he was right.  There's a certain satisfaction in the execution of the practical joke."

Gabriel placed his forefinger over his lips.  "Now remember, I'm not officially involved.  I promised Captain Stanley that I'd leave the Shadow at home, but I didn't make any such arrangements on behalf of the Shadow's brand new apprentice.

Marco enthusiastically pledged his support.  "You have our word."

Mike echoed his shift-mate's commitment by making a zipping motion over his mouth with his fingers.  "Our lips are sealed.  When we clue Roy in on the plan, we'll make sure he thinks this was our idea."

"You'll need to tell Cap the same story," Gabriel reminded them.  "But don't tell Cap until I'm out of here.  As of Monday, Brice is going to fill in for Johnny until..."

Marco's voice almost faltered as he finished the rest of Gabriel's sentence.  "Until Johnny comes back."

The celebratory mood of only a few seconds ago had been dampened.  No one actually believed Johnny was ever coming back, but they couldn't bring themselves to admit it.  For now, they would try to preserve the tenuous illusion of optimism as best they could.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Three days after his surgery, Johnny idly flipped through the channels as he searched for something interesting to watch on television.  Mid-afternoon programming left a lot to be desired, but since he couldn't exactly roam the halls in search of adventure, Johnny finally settled on an old Pink Panther movie.  He couldn't remember which one it was, but it didn't really matter.  It would help to stave off the tedium that now filled his days.  An unexpected voice jarred him from his restless activity, and Johnny instinctively turned toward the open doorway.  He was surprised to see Brackett in a wheelchair, being pushed into the room by an orderly.

"Not much on this time of day, is there?" Brackett remarked.

"Dr. Brackett!"

"Guilty as charged."  Brackett quickly dismissed the orderly, and then wheeled himself closer to Johnny's bed.  "Damn hospital rules don't make a lick of sense sometimes," Brackett complained.  "They make me go to rehab and walk around in circles on this little track, but then they won't let me walk up here to see you.  I have to ride in this silly wheelchair.  I keep trying to tell the nurses that I need the exercise, but they won't listen to me."

One corner of Johnny's mouth turned upward in a poor facsimile of his famous crooked grin.  "Yeah.  Hospitals are like that sometimes.  You wouldn't believe some of the ridiculous orders doctors impose on their patients."

Brackett tried to adopt an aura of indignation.  "Me?"

Now that Brackett was sitting right beside him, Johnny was shocked by the physician's appearance.  Brackett must have lost at least ten pounds since he last saw him, and the doctor was gaunt and pale even then.  Of course, he had recently suffered a heart attack, but from what Johnny understood, it had only been a mild one.  Had the MI been more serious than the doctors first thought it was?

Johnny suddenly felt embarrassed that he hadn't made an effort to visit or call Brackett, and he felt compelled to apologize for his apparent lack of concern.  "Sorry I haven't been by to see you, Doc.  I've sort of been laid up for a while."

"Don't worry about it.  From what I hear, our problems started about the same time," Brackett replied.

"Yeah, I guess they did.  So are you doing okay now?"

"I'm making progress, slowly but surely.  Unless he changes his mind at the last minute, my gastroenterologist is probably going to let me go home tomorrow."

Johnny's forehead wrinkled in confusion.  "But I thought...how come...I thought you had a heart attack."

Brackett smiled sadly.  "I did.  Then four days later my ulcer finally got the better of me.  I started hemorrhaging in the middle of the night and had to undergo emergency surgery."

"Oh, man.  I didn't know.  I'm so sorry to hear about that."

"It's okay.  I should have had it taken care of a long time ago.  But you know what they say about doctors being the worst patients."

"Paramedics, too," Johnny added glumly.  "At least I know I am.  But I don't have anyone to blame for this mess except me."

Brackett frowned.  "Now, Johnny.  That's not the story I heard."

"Then you heard wrong, Doc.  I screwed up.  I didn't realize how serious this was, and waited until it was too late before I called for help.  I'm a paramedic, and I should have known better."

"Johnny, don't do this to yourself.  It's not like you refused medical care.  As I understand it, you planned to see your general practitioner the day of your accident.  It's not your fault he cancelled out on you at the last minute.  But you saw Roger Dunn in the ER the next day, and then followed up with your GP thereafter.  You did what you were supposed to do."

"Then why am I here?  What went wrong?"

Brackett had his own view on the matter, but this wasn't the time or the place to get into that with Johnny.  He needed to verify a few facts before he made any accusations.  So rather than answer the question, Brackett decided to redirect the conversation slightly.  "Johnny, a spinal epidural abscess can be a very tricky diagnosis sometimes.  In the early stages, symptoms can be easily attributed to other, less serious causes."

Seeing that Johnny was not easily persuaded, Brackett tried again.  "Johnny, how many times have you strained a muscle or two during a rescue?"

Johnny snorted.  "Gee, I've lost count."

"Did you ever once worry that the muscle spasms and soreness would develop into a serious neurological condition, or did you just follow our advice, take your pills, curl up with a heating pad, rest up and shrug the whole thing off as a short-term inconvenience?"

"Okay, I see what you're getting at," Johnny admitted reluctantly.  "But I still feel pretty stupid."

"And I don't?"  Brackett pointed at his own chest.  "Johnny, I'm a doctor, and I failed to heed my own symptoms.  Don't you think I feel pretty stupid?  I knew I was living on borrowed time with my ulcer, but I kept ignoring my doctor's advice to have the surgery.  I know it doesn't make any sense, but some part of me kept hoping that if I ignored the problem long enough it would go away.  I even missed the early warning signs of my impending MI.  I automatically assumed that the chest tightness I had recently been experiencing was due to anxiety, and seconds before I collapsed at the base station, I thought I just had a bad case of indigestion."

"But that's not uncommon.  A lot of people think that at first."

"Yeah, but I'm a doctor.  I should have known better, right?"

Touché.  Johnny hated it when Brackett injected logic and common sense into an argument.  That was totally unfair and uncalled for.  How was he supposed to continue to brood about his misfortune if Brackett robbed him of his excuses?  Well, he still had a card or two left to play in this bizarre game of one-upmanship.

"But you're going to be okay," Johnny countered.  "A few weeks of rehab and you'll be good as new.  I'm going to be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of my life."

"That's not necessarily true.  Joe said it's still too early to tell.  You shouldn't jump to conclusions."

"Doc, I'd be happy to jump period.  Let's face it, my luck has finally run out.  I'm not going to get better this time.  I might as well thrown in the towel right now."

"And do what?  Lie in bed all day and feel sorry for yourself?"

When it became obvious that no answer was forthcoming, Brackett carefully considered his next move.  Johnny could be temperamental under the best of circumstances, and a spinal epidural abscess hardly qualified as one of those occasions.  Nonetheless, the doctor was determined to coax Johnny out of his melancholic state.  Resting his elbows on the arms of his wheelchair, Brackett steepled his fingers and took a deep breath as he prepared to disclose his own inner turmoil in hopes that it would help the dejected paramedic.

"Johnny, it's true that I have a favorable prognosis," Brackett began cautiously.  "But that doesn't mean I'm not concerned about my future.  I have a very stressful and demanding job, and sometimes I wonder if I'm signing my own death warrant if I go back.  So I've been thinking about resigning from my position at Rampart."

Johnny was dumbfounded by the doctor's admission.  "You can't be serious!"

Brackett shrugged.  "Why not?  Besides, what patient wants to be treated by a doctor who can't even diagnose himself?  I'd be doing the community a big favor, don't you think?"

"No, Doc, you got it all wrong.  You wouldn't be doing anyone a big favor at all, especially you.  It's like what you were talking about a minute ago.  Sometimes the symptoms of one problem can easily mimic the symptoms of another.  And that's especially true when you're the patient.  It's hard to be objective.  So don't beat yourself up.  These things happen."

"I'll tell you what," Brackett proposed.  "I'll stop blaming myself for my problems, if you'll stop blaming yourself for yours.  Deal?"

Johnny grudgingly gave his consent.  "Oh, all right.  But only if you promise not to hand in your resignation."

"Fine, but you have to promise not to do anything foolish like quit the fire department, at least until we have a better idea about your long-term prognosis, okay?

"But that's different!"

"Johnny, do we have a deal or not?"

"Okay, okay!  I promise.  Are you happy now?"

Brackett grinned.  "Very."

Johnny pretended to be preoccupied as he rearranged his covers.  How had he let the doctor talk him into staying on with the department?  It wasn't like he had an exciting future ahead of him as a desk jockey.  Brackett's situation was entirely different.  For crying out loud, the man was a doctor.  He had a heck of a lot more opportunities available to him than a washed out paramedic/firefighter did.  And if Brackett wanted to leave the medical field altogether, at least he had an undergraduate degree in something.  Johnny didn't even have that to fall back on.   But after his initial resentment faded, Johnny was curious about something Brackett had said earlier.

"Dr. Brackett?"

"Yes, Johnny?"

"A moment ago when you were talking about leaving Rampart, what were you planning to do?"

The physician flinched at the memory of his recent conversation with Joe Early on the subject.  "I thought about going back to school to become a lawyer."

"At your age?" Johnny blurted out.  Immediately, he regretted his choice of words, and quickly started to backpedal.  "Um, not that you're old or anything but..."

Brackett was amused by the paramedic's frantic attempt to downplay his initial reaction.  "No offense taken.  However, age had nothing to do with my decision not to follow through with my ridiculous plan.  It's never too late for an old dog to learn new tricks.  If I went to law school full-time, I could finish up in about three years.  I'd still be in my mid-forties, and could probably practice law for a good twenty years or more.  But I finally realized that I didn't really want to leave the medical field.  I just wanted to escape some personal demons, and changing professions seemed like the easiest way to do that."

"You almost gave up your job because you were scared about something?" Johnny asked in amazement.

There was a slight twitch at the corner of Brackett's mouth.  "Johnny, for what it's worth, I had a hard time believing that I have a good prognosis.  Somewhere along the way, I became a prisoner of my own fears, and fear can often be as debilitating as any physical illness or injury."

Johnny nodded mutely as the physician's words slowly sank in.  The phrase "paralyzed with fear" was beginning to take on a whole new meaning.  Not that Johnny believed his paralysis was psychosomatic in origin, but he was starting to understand how his fears made it easier to prematurely concede defeat.  Like Roy, Johnny could accept failure better if he felt it was his choice.  That way he could create the illusion that he was in control, the ultimate master of his fate.  Perhaps they were more alike than Johnny cared to admit.

Brackett gently rested his hand on Johnny's arm, startling the preoccupied paramedic.  "Johnny, are you okay?"

"Huh?"

"You seemed like you were a million miles away.  What were you thinking about just now?"

"Oh, nothing important."

"Johnny, what is it?"

Since it didn't appear that the doctor was going to relent, Johnny frantically scrambled to come up with a plausible reason for his momentary lapse.  "Uh...I was thinking about what you said about going back to school.  It's kind of funny in a way.  Not about you being a lawyer, but it reminded me of something my friend Boomer said."

Brackett nodded.  "Right, the football player.  Joe's mentioned him a time or two."

Johnny smiled slightly at the inside joke about his new friend.  "Yeah.  Well, he was trying to convince me that my life wasn't over if I couldn't walk again, and told me that I ought to go to college and get a degree."

The physician was clearly enthusiastic about the suggestion.  "Boomer sounds like a sensible young man.  I think he's right."

"But, Doc," Johnny argued, "I'm thirty-one years old.  I'll be thirty-two in a couple of months.  Even if I had the money to pay all my bills and go to school full-time, I'd be thirty-six when I graduated."

"So?  And how old will you be in four years if you don't get a degree?"

"Thirty-six."  A light bulb went off in Johnny's head as soon as the words escaped his lips.  "Oh, I get it.  I'm going to be four years older anyway, so I might as well have something to show for it, right?"

"Right."

"But where am I supposed to find all this money?  College can't be cheap, and I don't know what I'm going to live on as it is.  Even at full salary, paramedics aren't exactly rolling in dough.  Nah, it's a dumb idea.  Forget I mentioned it."

Brackett, however, wasn't that easily discouraged.  "Johnny, I think you should reconsider.  A college education gives you a lot more options."

"For a crippled guy you mean."

"Johnny, if you woke up tomorrow morning and could immediately go back to work as a paramedic, I'd still feel the same way.  You never know when a degree might come in handy."

"Why?  You don't need a college education to be a paramedic."

Brackett shrugged.  "Maybe not now, but that could change.  I understand that some police departments already require a year or two of college before a person can attend their training academy.  It's possible that the fire department might eventually do the same thing.  Oh, I'm sure that any change in the rules wouldn't apply to people like you who are already certified, but I could see how a few college courses could become a prerequisite for new paramedics some day.  And what if a degree became a requirement for promotion to certain positions?  Think about it, Johnny.  How would you feel if you had years and years of experience and you wanted to rise through the ranks to a higher pay grade, and some kid who's still wet behind the ears and barely out of his probationary period gets the job because he has a college education and you don't?"

"Like Boomer," Johnny muttered dejectedly.

"Excuse me?"

"Boomer just graduated from UCLA and joined the fire department, and he's hoping to get into the paramedic program after he's finished his probationary period.  Don't get me wrong, Dr. Brackett.  Boomer's a great guy and he's going to make a terrific paramedic someday.  But I have lots of experience, and I'd be mad as hell if we were both up for the same position and he got the job instead of me.  Except..."

"Except what?" Brackett prompted.

"Maybe I'm not college material.  I wasn't exactly a straight-A student in high school."

"Johnny, you've done very well on your certification exams."

"Yeah, but that's not the same as going to school every day, all day long."

"College isn't like high school," Brackett explained.  "You don't necessarily attend classes every day.  A full-time student might only have to spend anywhere from twelve to eighteen hours a week in a classroom or lab.  And for the most part, you can arrange your schedule to meet your needs.  Some students have part-time jobs after school, so they sign up for morning classes.  Other students prefer afternoon classes because they can't seem to wake up before noon.  Then there are people who can't attend school at all during the day because they hold down full-time jobs, so they take evening courses.  That usually involves going to class one evening a week for three hours at a time per course.  So you see, colleges practically go out of their way to make it convenient to attend class."

As the doctor whittled away at his doubts, Johnny was gradually becoming more receptive to the idea of going back to school.  "Uh, Doc?  What if I'm not a hundred percent sure about this, or I can't manage rehab or some type of work and take classes at the same time?  Heck, I'm probably going to have to spend a lot of time relearning a bunch of stuff I used to take for granted, like how to dress myself, use the toilet, get in and out of the bathtub without breaking my neck, get around the city in a wheelchair or whatever, learn about bus routes, figure out what type of job I could be retrained for and whatnot.  Then if I had to add book learning on top of all of that, well, it just seems overwhelming."

Brackett could barely contain his excitement.  Whether Johnny realized it or not, he had just made the transition from completely giving up on life to thinking about his future again.  The physician fought to keep a grin from spreading across his face.  "Then start off with just one or two courses.  It's like the old adage about how to eat an elephant.  You can't focus on the enormity of the task ahead or you'd give up before you even got started.  So you just concentrate on eating one bite at a time."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of knuckles lightly rapping against the metal doorframe.  The nurse appeared almost hesitant to deliver the news to the man sitting in the wheelchair.  Having been on the receiving end of the doctor's fury on two very memorable occasions, she was hesitant to risk a third display of the physician's famous temper.  "Dr. Brackett?  I'm so sorry to bother you, but Nurse Beck just called.  She said your doctor's up in your room to see you.  I can run you up there real quick so you don't have to wait around for an orderly."

To the nurse's relief, Brackett merely grunted his assent.  "Oh, all right."

As the petite nurse unlocked the brakes on the doctor's wheelchair, Johnny reached his hand through the bed's metal side railing.  "Hey, Doc?"

"Yes, Johnny?"

"Do you think you could come back later to talk some more?  I need to bounce a few ideas around, and maybe you could help me figure out if any of them are worth my while.  And my landlady is supposed to bring me a chocolate cake any minute now, and she makes the world's best chocolate cake.  It's way better than any of that slop they're probably feeding you."

Brackett firmly clasped the paramedic's hand in his and smiled.  "You can count on me, Johnny.  Always."

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Chris Hauser was sitting in one of the chairs by the window when the timid young nurse wheeled Brackett back into his room.  He stopped chewing on the end of his pen long enough to point it toward the empty chair opposite him.  "Hey, Kel.  What's this I hear about you wandering off to see a patient?"

Brackett pretended to be insulted as he got up out of the wheelchair, and couldn't resist the opportunity to mimic the psychiatrist's response when he had been feeling less than sociable on a previous occasion.  "What kind of a greeting is that?  Don't most people usually begin a conversation by saying 'hello' first?"

Dr. Hauser grinned.  "Fine.  We'll do it your way.  Hello, Kel, how are you doing?  And what were you doing wandering off to see a patient?"

"Persistent little devil, aren't you?" Brackett replied as he sat down in the vacant chair.  He waited until the nurse left the room and closed the door behind her before he answered the psychiatrist's question.  "I stopped by to see one of our paramedics.  He underwent a laminectomy three days ago for a spinal epidural abscess."

"Oooooh.  How bad?"

"T5-T10, little sensation or movement from the mid-back down.  So far, improvement has been minimal.  Joe's not too optimistic, but I'm not quite ready to write him off yet.  He's made a full recovery before when it didn't seem possible.  In fact, you might remember him from our group therapy session a while back.  He was Joe's passenger in that awful car accident."

"I remember.  Severe compound fracture of the right femur I believe."

"Yeah.  It took him about a year to fully recover before he could go back to work, and now this happens."  Brackett placed his hand against the window as he watched people mill about the hospital grounds.  The glass was warm from the afternoon sun, and Brackett sadly realized that it had been a long time since he had been outdoors.  Actually, it had been a long time since he had done a lot of things.  Tomorrow after he was released from the hospital, he would be a free man again.  But would he ever feel truly free again?  Would the familiar ghost of his father continue to inhabit his dreams?  Or could he make his peace with the past once and for all?

"A quarter for your thoughts," Dr. Hauser prompted.

"I thought that was supposed to be a penny for your thoughts," Brackett said distractedly, his gaze still fixed on the people in the parking lot.

"Nah, I think inflation has bumped it up to a quarter now."

Brackett forced a tight smile.  "I guess Joe's already talked to you, huh?  I said it was okay."

The psychiatrist nodded slightly.  "Yeah.  He told me about what happened between you and your father."

Brackett sighed as he let his hand drop limply back to his side.  Then he turned away from the window so that he faced the psychiatrist.  "It's really strange in a way.  I've spent most of my life either trying to earn Dad's approval, or trying to earn his forgiveness.  You'd think a grown man would eventually outgrow that, but I never did.  After Dad passed away, I'm not sure if I mourned his passing, or the death of a dream that I could make everything right between us if I just tried hard enough.  I feel like my emotional compass has gone completely haywire ever since he died.  I'm not sure about anything anymore.  I loved my father, but I hated him sometimes, and I hated me for hating him."

His voice began to waver as he continued.  "If only I had agreed to take a six-month leave of absence like he wanted me too, maybe we would have been on good terms and I could have been at my father's side when he passed away.  The coroner might as well have listed 'Kel's failures as a son' as the official cause of Dad's death instead of a massive coronary thrombosis."

Dr. Hauser didn't agree with his patient's assessment of the situation, and offered a gentle reminder of reality.  "Kel, it's not uncommon for people to develop selective amnesia after a loved one dies.  Somehow it seems disrespectful to the dead remember their faults, so we tend to magnify ours and forgive theirs.  Did it ever occur to you that your father was just as responsible for that final rift between the two of you?"

"But he begged me to take some time off," Brackett insisted.

"That may be true," Dr. Hauser countered.  "But didn't he have a choice, too?  Couldn't he have said, 'Gee, Kel.  That's such a darned shame that you can't take off for six months.  We could have had a lot of fun going fishing and SCUBA diving everyday and exploring all these cool little islands, but I understand.  How about we go on a few weekend trips instead?  That way we can spend some father-son time together and you don't have to worry about jeopardizing your position at the hospital?'"

Brackett's eyes glistened as tears began to form.  "I never really looked at it that way before."

Rising slightly from his chair, Dr. Hauser retrieved a nearby box of Kleenex and handed it to Brackett before sitting back down.  Then he rested his elbows on his knees and leaned closer toward his now sobbing patient.  "Kel, if your father hadn't died after that last fight, would you be beating yourself up like this?"

"Probably not," Brackett sniffed.  "I'd be pissed at him for trying to run my life."

"Then why did his death change everything?"

"Because I can't tell him I'm sorry this time."

"Are you mad at him because he's not here to forgive you?"

Brackett numbly stared at his Kleenex as warm, salty tears spilled onto his face.  "Yes."

The room was eerily silent for a moment.  Then the psychiatrist suggested in a compassionate voice, "Then since he's not here to do that, maybe it's time to forgive yourself."

Several minutes passed while Brackett cried uncontrollably.  However, this time he mourned not for his father, but for himself.  For all practical purposes, he had lost a year of his life -- a year in which his physical and emotional health had suffered terribly, all because of some warped sense of guilt.  Eventually Brackett's weeping ceased, and exhaustion wracked his debilitated body.  He wiped at his eyes, and then blew his nose again as he struggled to regain some tenuous control over his emotions.  The patch of skin near his right nostril was still sensitive from the tape that had secured the NG tube in place only a few days ago, and his crying jag had only made the area even more tender and puffy.  Brackett lightly traced the area with his fingers, and almost seemed startled when the psychiatrist's face once blurred by his tears swam suddenly back into focus.

Dr. Hauser sensed that his patient seemed totally oblivious to the amount of time that had elapsed, and chose not to call his attention to the matter.  Instead, he opened the chart and re-read the gastroenterologist's notes.  "I see that Bob plans to let you go home tomorrow.  How do you feel about that?"

Brackett shrugged.  "Scared, I guess."

"Of?"

"I'm scared because I've forgotten what it's like to wake up every morning and not feel guilty about something.  And I'm scared because I'm forty-two years old and have to rediscover the path I was meant to take, not the one I thought my father had envisioned for me.  Change terrifies me, even if it's supposed to be a good change."

Dr. Hauser closed the chart and tucked it under his arm as he stood up.  "Tell you what.  I'll stop by in the morning, and we'll talk some more, okay?"

"Sure, that would be great."  Oddly enough, Brackett actually looked forward to the psychiatrist's next visit.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

On Friday morning, Johnny was in good spirits as Early conducted yet another neuro exam.  There was only a slight improvement from the day before, but the paramedic was grateful for any sign of progress.  Johnny grinned as he pushed his feet against the doctor's hands.  The effort was exhausting and his range of motion was extremely limited.  Nonetheless, he could finally exercise some control over the lower half of his body, and to Johnny, that's all that mattered.

"See, Doc?" Johnny beamed proudly.  "I told you I could do it!"

Early was pleased with the development, but he didn't want to get the paramedic's hopes up, only to see them cruelly dashed again a few days later.  Johnny had a very long and grueling rehabilitation period ahead of him, and there was no assurance that he would regain any further sensation or movement.  The neurosurgeon had seen too many cases like this that had ended with tragic consequences.  But as Brackett had pointed out earlier, Johnny had a remarkable ability to defy even the most overwhelming odds.  Surely there could be no harm in a little cautious optimism.

The corners of Early's mouth twitched before turning upward into a slight smile as he started to pull Johnny's covers back over his legs.  "That's great, Johnny."

Johnny vehemently shook his head.  "Please don't do that Dr. Early, at least not yet.  I want to leave my feet uncovered for a while.  Maybe it's just my imagination, but every once in a while, I think I can feel it when the air conditioner blows across the bed."

"No problem."  Early rearranged the covers so that only Johnny's legs were exposed from the knee down.  Then he sat down in the chair beside the bed and flipped to the appropriate section of Johnny's chart to record his findings.

Johnny couldn't help but notice the doctor's solemn expression, but he refused to let Early spoil his euphoric mood.  "It's okay, Dr. Early.  I know that wiggling my feet a little bit doesn't mean I'm on the road to a complete recovery, but it's more than I could do yesterday.  It's sort of like what Dr. Brackett said about eating an elephant."

Early's right eyebrow lifted.  "Oh?"

The convalescing paramedic pointed toward a thick yellow legal pad sitting on his bedside table.  "Dr. Brackett was here a couple of times yesterday.  It's a long story, but he's trying to help me sort out my finances and a bunch of other stuff.  I'm toying with the idea of taking a college course or two, but first I have to figure out how I'm going to pay for basic necessities like rent and utilities, plus any part of my medical expenses that won't be covered by insurance.  It looks like I'm only going to draw sixty percent of my salary while I'm out on disability, so I have to budget carefully to make it go as far as I can."

The neurosurgeon was still confused.  "That's good to hear, but I still don't understand what an elephant has to do with all of this."

Johnny's eyes shone with excitement.  "You see, when Dr. Brackett and I first started talking about me going to college to get started on a degree, the whole thing seemed so overwhelming.  I was looking at in terms of the total number of years it was going to take, and how many thousands of dollars it was going to cost.  But as Dr. Brackett sat down with me and broke everything down into smaller chunks of time and money, it didn't seem impossible anymore.  That's what I meant about eating an elephant.  You have to tackle it one bite at a time."

Early nodded in approval as he made some notations in Johnny's chart.  "That makes a lot of sense."

Johnny became increasingly animated as he eagerly explained how his newfound philosophy applied to his current situation.  "Last night after Dr. Brackett left, I got to thinking that maybe I should approach rehab the same way.  If I break everything down into smaller goals, hopefully I won't get discouraged so quickly.  For example, I know I'm a long way from being able to return to work as a paramedic, if ever.  But right now, I just want to work on regaining some dignity and being more independent.  I'd like to get to a point where I have better control over my bladder and my bowels so I feel more like a regular person again.  Okay.  Once I manage that, I can move onto another item on the list like getting dressed by myself, or taking a bath or a shower on my own.  Shoot, I'd even settle for going downstairs for a cheeseburger instead of lying here all day in bed and getting this goop pumped into my stomach through my nose.  See what I mean?"

This time, the physician's smile wasn't forced out of a sense of professional obligation.  Early was genuinely pleased with Johnny's attitude.  Perhaps he could offer some tangible form of encouragement.  Early peered over the rim of his reading glasses and looked up at Johnny.  "I think that's a terrific way to look at it.  The sooner we get you up, the sooner you can start checking a few things off your list."

"Oh, yeah?  When?"

Early closed the chart and tucked the retractable ballpoint pen back into his front pocket.  "It's been four days now since your surgery.  Your fever's down, so we'll go ahead and discontinue the Tylenol, as well as the heparin.  But I want to keep you on the Prednisone for a few more days to help reduce the residual swelling around your spinal cord.  You can start sitting in a chair for short periods of time later today, and I'll talk to Angela about stepping up your physical therapy.  Then on Monday, I'll pull the subclavian line, put in the PICC, and then we'll cap off your NG tube and let you go downstairs to the cafeteria and get a hamburger.  I'll even buy.  Fair enough?"

"Cheeseburger," Johnny teasingly corrected.  "Without onions.  I hate onions.  And if you're paying, I want fries, too."

Early stood up and patted Johnny on the shoulder.  "Consider it a done deal.  I'll see you tomorrow."

There was a pronounced lilt in Early's step as he left the room.  Johnny's body might never fully recover, but his broken spirit appeared to be on the mend.  It wasn't a total victory, but Early would gladly accept whatever increments of good fortune came his patient's way.  Perhaps like Johnny, he too needed to learn to how to eat an elephant, one small bite at a time.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Still tired from his late night cleaning frenzy, Roy stretched out on one of the patio's two chaise lounge chairs.  He knew that he had allowed the house to fall into a deplorable condition, but he didn't realize just how bad it looked until he got back home from the doctor's office yesterday.  After his pathetic attempt to cover his tracks by lying to Mrs. Murphy about a non-existent appointment, Roy called Dr. Parker's office from a hospital pay phone.  He thought if he could actually get in to see the doctor, then technically he wouldn't have told a lie.  Fortunately, their schedule was extremely light, and the receptionist said they would be more than happy to work him in that afternoon.

So an hour later, Roy found himself crying and spilling his guts to the kind, elderly physician.  He didn't know if Dr. Parker was that understanding, or the gentle lecture simply paled in comparison to the verbal lashing that he had suffered at the hands of his partner two days before.  In any event, the visit proved to be a cathartic experience.  It had been a tremendous relief to be able to unload all of his burdens to the same sympathetic person about his separation from his wife, his worsening depression and dependence on alcohol, as well as his recent argument with his best friend.  Dr. Parker had patiently listened until Roy collected himself, and then outlined his recommendations.

First of all, Roy had to swear off the booze.  That was non-negotiable.  Secondly, he suggested that the paramedic attend some Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.  Dr. Parker didn't believe that Roy had already become a full-fledged alcoholic in a little over three weeks.  However, the physician thought that by talking to other people who had been in similar circumstances at some point at their lives, Roy could better appreciate what he stood to lose if he continued to drink.  Thirdly, Dr. Parker recommended short-term psychotherapy to help Roy get his life back on track, and provided him with the names of a couple of psychiatrists.  And finally, the aging physician prescribed a two-week supply of an antidepressant and something for anxiety to tide Roy over until he could get in to see one of the other doctors.  Because of the possible interactions, both medications were contingent upon Roy not touching another drop of alcohol.  He readily agreed, and even volunteered to submit to random tox screens as proof of his compliance.  Dr. Parker didn't feel that was quite necessary, but it did help to allay the physician's concerns.

Later that evening while Roy picked at a Salisbury steak Swanson TV dinner, he thought about his conversation with Mrs. Murphy in the hospital cafeteria.  It was strange how that one chance encounter with a virtual stranger had done more to enlighten him than any argument Joanne had ever made, no matter how compelling.  Roy wasn't sure he wanted to know what terrible things Mrs. Murphy had resorted to in order to provide for her family, but he knew that he never wanted Joanne to have to make those same choices should she ever find herself in a similar situation.  Given the nature of his profession, Roy had taken out a generous amount of life insurance over the years in case anything should happen to him.  But would it really be enough?  How long would the money last?  Or what happened if he became disabled, like Johnny?  There was no way he could support his family on a disability pension, not in the lifestyle they had become accustomed to anyway.  Joanne could become the primary breadwinner in the family at a moment's notice, and without any marketable job skills, work experience or a decent education, if would be extremely difficult to make ends meet.  No matter how painful it was, Roy knew he had to swallow his selfish masculine pride and encourage his wife to become more independent.

Besides, by limiting Joanne's dreams, he was in effect limiting Jennifer's as well.  Times were changing, and whether he liked it or not, fewer women were full-time homemakers these days, either out of choice or by necessity.  How in good conscience could he tell his son that he could be anything he wanted to be when he grew up, but his daughter could only be a mommy, or if she really set her sights high, a nurse or a teacher?  Didn't he want both of his children to be happy?  And what about Chris?  Did he really want to raise his son to believe that a woman's only place was in the home?  How could Roy possibly say one thing, and yet set an entirely different example?

Roy finally realized that change had to begin with him if he wanted to save his marriage.  He desperately wanted his family to come home, and he'd do anything to win them back.  If money was an issue, he'd take the engineer's exam again or take on a second job to pay for Joanne's college tuition if that's what she wanted to do.  And if she chose to be a career woman and support the family all by herself, then he'd have to learn to be a househusband, or whatever men were called who stayed at home and took care of the children.

As Roy contemplated a lifetime of housework, he was suddenly reminded of his near criminal neglect in that department.  How could he possibly expect Joanne and the kids to come back to this pigsty?  In his prolonged alcohol-induced haze, Roy had let the house fall into an appalling condition.  He immediately jumped to his feet and became a dervish of activity.  By two o'clock in the morning, Roy had the place reasonably presentable.  Then when he was satisfied with his progress, he collapsed into bed and enjoyed the first restful night's sleep in more than three weeks.

When Roy woke up, a brand new day had dawned in more ways that one.  He resolved to determine the status of his marriage once and for all.  Roy planned to drive to his sister-in-law's house in San Francisco to see his wife and children, and hopefully persuade them to come home.  If Joanne refused to see him or threatened to follow through with her plans to file for divorce, so be it.  He'd have to accept his fate and move on.  However, if there was any chance of being reunited with his family, he had to try.

But before he left for San Francisco, Roy needed to make his peace with Johnny.   That was, of course, assuming Johnny would be willing to see him at all.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Brackett removed his electric razor and other personal effects from the top drawer of the nightstand and stuffed them into his suitcase.  He could hardly believe that after fourteen days, he was finally going home.  Normally Brackett would be ecstatic about his impending release from the hospital, but this time his emotions were mixed.  He was an intensely private man, and had felt extremely uncomfortable with so many witnesses to some of his most humbling moments.  On the other hand, his confinement had become a peculiar kind of security blanket.  Part of him was actually going to miss the routine, as annoying as it could be sometimes.  He was even going to miss his daily sessions with Chris Hauser.  A weekly appointment at his shrink's office now seemed insufficient for his needs.  In fact, Brackett was seriously considering intensive outpatient psychotherapy to help him sort out a few other issues before Dr. Chan and Dr. Mueller officially cleared him to return to work.

His recent conversations with Early and Dr. Hauser had helped him to re-evaluate his often-troubled relationship with his father.  He hadn't completely put the ghost of James Brackett to rest, but he was making progress.  At least he no longer felt solely responsible for his father's death.  As Brackett began to let go of his guilt, his sense of pessimism about his future waned, and he began to look forward to reclaiming his life.

Brackett was about to close his suitcase when Early appeared in his doorway.  He was momentarily taken aback by the other man's casual attire, and started to wonder if he had slept a lot longer than he realized.  This was still Friday, right?  Brackett lifted a questioning eyebrow.  "Did I miss an important memo while I was gone?  Has the dress code been relaxed, or are you playing hooky today?

Early grinned.  "Oops.  You caught me.  I'm playing hooky."

"Figures," Brackett grumbled good-naturedly.  "While the cat's away, the mice will play."

"This little mouse decided to take a vacation day," Early explained as he sat down in one of the chairs by the window.  I figured I might as well since I was going to miss a couple of hours of work anyway to have my CT scan done."

"So how did the films look?"

Early rolled his eyes.  "Bill Henderson wouldn't let me see them, and said I'd have to follow up with my doctor.  Can you believe that?  For Pete's sake, I'm a neurosurgeon, and he's going to make me wait for the results like any other patient."

Brackett found his friend's predicament oddly amusing.  "What's the matter, Joe?  You mean it's not as much fun when you can't call the shots, or when your fancy medical degree doesn't earn you any special privileges?"

"No, and so help me, if you say one word about how it's probably a good idea for doctors to have the tables turned on them once in a while, I swear I'll smack you clear into the middle of next week."

"A little testy this morning, are we?"

"That depends.  Are you referring to the plural or the royal 'we'?"

Brackett laughed.  "I guess I don't have any room to talk.  I'm itching to get out of here, and Bob won't be here for another couple of hours to sign off on my release.  One of the nurses relayed his flimsy excuse for the delay.  Something about a patient with a bowel perforation who needed emergency surgery."

"Look at the bright side, Kel.  You'll still be here for lunch, and today is green Jell-O day!"

"Oh, no.  I'm not sure my heart can handle that much excitement!" Brackett joked.

No longer sensitive to light, Early allowed his gaze to drift toward the window.  He thought it was a pity that Brackett had gotten stuck with a room on this side of the hospital.  The employee parking lot wasn't exactly Rampart's most scenic view.  There was scarcely a tree or blade of grass in sight.  No wonder Brackett was depressed.  He'd be depressed too if his only glimpse of the outside world was a small ocean of parked cars.  Early squinted his eyes as he scanned the parking lot to see if he could spot his overpriced sports car.  After some effort, he finally located the red Ferrari...parked right across from Brackett's navy blue Lincoln Continental.  An uncomfortable thought suddenly struck him.  "Uh, Kel?  How exactly do you plan to get home?  You're not planning to drive, are you?"

"I was going to take a cab," Brackett replied as he closed his suitcase and set it on the floor.  "Damned driving restrictions.  David won't let me get behind the wheel for another month or so.  But at some point, I suppose I'll need to impose upon you or Dixie to drive it over to my apartment, assuming my car still starts.  It's been sitting out there for two weeks now."

Early heaved a small sigh of relief.  He was glad that for once in his life, Brackett was going to comply with his doctor's orders.  Or was he?  Was it remotely possible that Brackett intended to sneak off in his own car as soon as he thought no one was looking?  Early didn't think his friend was that foolish, but stranger things had happened.

"Kel, why don't you let me give you a ride home?" Early proposed.  "I've already made rounds, so my schedule's wide open.  I can stick around for a while."

Brackett shook his head.  "No, thanks, Joe.  I appreciate the offer, but I'd rather take a cab.  I know this probably sounds crazy, but I need to regain a sense of independence, and making my own arrangements helps me feel like I'm making the first step in that direction."

Early slowly nodded.  He understood all too well what it was like to lose one's autonomy during a lengthy hospitalization.  It seemed that everything was done on the medical staff's schedule, not the patient's.  Sometimes little acts of rebellion were necessary to maintain a semblance of sanity.

"So have you made any decadent plans for your newfound freedom?" Early asked.

"Not really.  I mostly want to be alone for a while so I can sort some things out."  Noting his friend's concerned expression, Brackett quickly added, "But I promise not to shut everyone out, okay?  It's just that after the past two weeks, I'd like to be able to finish a train of thought without being interrupted half a dozen times.  Give me at least until tomorrow evening before you start calling to check up on me.  And if you're that worried about my welfare, you and Dixie can come over for dinner tomorrow."  He added with a playful wink, "That is, of course, assuming you'll spring for take-out."

Early smiled as he rose from his chair.  "Sure.  I'd like that very much."

"And Joe?"

"Yes?"

"I need for you to promise me something before you go."

"Anything, Kel."

Brackett cleared his throat.  "Uh, I know I have some problems I need to work through, but if it looks like I'm starting to slide back into a self-pitying depression, I want you to whack me upside the head.  Promise?"

Early knew how difficult it had been for the often brash, younger physician to make that request, even if it had been done in a light-hearted manner.  He had to clear a growing lump in his own throat before he could respond.  "It would be my pleasure," Early croaked in a quiet voice.

Both men were products of their generation, uncomfortable with overt displays of emotion.  But on this occasion, their walls of reserve crumbled as they embraced one another in friendship.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Roy's pulse was racing as he walked toward Johnny's hospital room on the neuro ward.  He was tempted to turn around and head back toward the elevators, but his feet seemed to have a mind of their own as they closed the distance between him and his partner.  Roy wasn't sure if that was a sign of bravery or sheer stupidity, and he sincerely hoped that his feet knew what they were doing.  How did that saying go?  Feet don't fail me now?

All morning long, Roy had mentally rehearsed several different versions of his apology.  However, they all boiled down to two simple words:  I'm sorry.  A grand total of three syllables.  That was all.  Then why were they so difficult to say?  Would they be difficult to accept as well?

Roy had been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he momentarily lost track of his surroundings until he was standing right in front of Johnny's room.  For some reason, he hadn't expected the door to be open, and he momentarily panicked.  Roy had assumed that he would have the luxury of standing outside a closed door for a minute or two while he summoned his tenuous courage.  Now he had been deprived of that last minute of mental preparation.  But had Johnny actually seen him?  Roy stopped dead in his tracks while he contemplated his course of action.  Should he heed his instinct to turn tail and run?  Or should he try to project an aura of confidence that he didn't feel and go on in anyway?

Unfortunately, Roy's split-second of indecision and fear had cost him the opportunity to made a hasty retreat without being seen.  He held his breath as Johnny turned his head toward the open doorway and stared directly at him.  The two men's eyes locked on each other, and time seemed to stand still while Roy waited for any kind of a reaction.

Johnny was the first to break the awkward silence.  "Hey."

"Hey."

Okay, so it wasn't exactly Shakespeare.  At least Johnny hadn't told him to go to hell or threatened to have security escort him out of the building.  Roy slowly inched closer toward the doorframe.  "I...uh...I'm sorry, Johnny."

"About?"

Unable to meet his partner's penetrating gaze, Roy looked down at the floor.  "About everything.  I'm sorry that I lied to you.  I'm sorry that I'm a coward.  I'm sorry that I thought I could solve my problems with a bottle of booze instead of swallowing my pride and asking for help.  And I'm sorry that I wasn't around when you needed me.  You were right, Johnny.  Drinking didn't solve anything.  Joanne and I are still separated, and now I've messed up and created a whole bunch of new problems."

When Johnny didn't immediately respond to his apology, the corners of Roy's mouth twitched as he nervously massaged the back of his neck.  "Johnny, I hope that you'll forgive me.  I didn't mean to lie to you, or abandon you like I did.  I just got so scared that I was going to lose my family that I went off the deep end.  But I'm finally getting some professional help so I can get my life straightened out.  I'm also going to drive up to San Francisco today to see Joanne.  Hopefully I can convince her to come back home, but if not, I need to find out where I stand once and for all.  I can't stand the uncertainty of what she might do somewhere down the line.  I guess this is my way of reasserting some control over the situation.  But before I left town, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am, and that I'll do anything it takes to make things right between us again."

"So you really saw your doctor, huh?" Johnny asked.

"Yeah.  I went to see Doc Parker a couple of days ago.  He prescribed some medication for depression and anxiety, and recommended that I see a psychiatrist for a while.  I've already made an appointment for next Wednesday with Dr. Nielsen.  He also thought that I should start attending AA meetings, too.  Doc Parker said it might help me put things in perspective if I talk to people who ruined their lives with alcohol, and see where I'm heading if I don't stop drinking."

"Have you stopped?"

Roy leaned heavily against the doorframe.  "I dumped everything down the kitchen sink on Monday, and I haven't touched another drop since.  I don't trust myself to ever drink again, not even an occasional beer at a barbeque or something.  I don't like who I become when I'm not sober."

Johnny mutely nodded.  He was glad that Roy now understood what was at stake, and had at last arranged to get the professional help he so desperately needed.  Now it was his turn to swallow his pride and accept his friend's apology, and to offer one of his own.

"Roy, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed in what you did," Johnny began, "but I understand what led you to drink and then to lie to cover it up.  Just don't do it again, okay?  Joanne and the kids need you, and as selfish as this sounds, I need you."  He reached over the metal railing and extended his right hand.  "Friends?"

It wasn't until Roy started to walk across the room did he realize how badly he had been trembling.  His gait was slightly unsteady as he traversed the short distance to Johnny's side and took his hand in his.  "Friends," Roy replied in a voice choked with emotion.

Johnny's forehead creased as he noted the slight tremor of Roy's hand.  "Looks like your hand is shaking all by itself.  You need to sit down before you fall down."

Roy gratefully accepted the invitation, and practically fell into the faux leather chair.  "Sorry.  I guess that was more nerve-wracking that I thought it would be," he half-joked.

A faint trace of a smile graced Johnny's features.  "I can imagine.  It's hard to admit that you've behaved like an ass, especially to your best friend.  I guess maybe there's a silver lining to being laid up in bed like this.  At least I won't go all wobbly in the knees."

Roy's confusion was clearly evident on his face.  "I'm not sure I understand."

Johnny pushed himself up with his arms and resituated himself higher in the bed.  "Roy, it's my turn to apologize.  I've been doing a lot of thinking over the past couple of days, and I'm really sorry that I yelled at you the last time you were here.  I'm scared about my future, too.  So I really resented it when you walked in here the day after my surgery, on two perfectly good legs, and complained about how rough life was treating you.  Considering that I may have to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair, it seemed like a real slap in the face at the time, and I totally lost it.  I'd give anything to be in your shoes, marital problems and all, and I was furious because you didn't seem to appreciate what you have.  But after you left and I cooled off, I finally realized that we were taking our frustrations out on each other because we were scared.  I wanted to call and apologize to you later that afternoon, but I couldn't work up the nerve.  Then the more time that passed, the harder it was to pick up the phone.  I can't tell you how glad I was to see you standing in the doorway a few minutes ago.  Thanks for coming, man."

Once their apologies were out of the way, Roy relaxed slightly and settled back into his chair.  "So how have you been?  Are you doing okay, all things considered?"

Johnny broke into a wide grin.  "I have something cool to show you."  He bit his lip in concentration as he flexed his still uncovered feet back and forth.  "Roy, look at this.  See?  I can move them!"

Roy's face lit up with pride at his friend's accomplishment.  "Johnny, that's terrific!"

"I know it might not seem like a lot, just being able to wiggle my feet about an inch or so.  But I'm happy I can move them at all, you know?  The fact that it's more than I could do yesterday gives me hope that I'll make some more progress with rehab."

"So does that mean that you've reconsidered about going to that facility that Early recommended?" Roy asked cautiously.

"Oh, yeah.  Dr. Brackett's been down here to see me a few times.  He's been helping me put a proposal together to pitch to HQ."

"What kind of proposal?"

"Well, a lot of this is still on the drawing board, but we're trying to figure out a way for me to custom design my own job within the department, preferably something with flexible hours so I can go to school.  Boomer gave me the idea, and Brackett's all gung-ho about it.  So is Cap."

"School?  You mean like college?"

Johnny slapped his forehead.  "Oh, man!  I forgot that I hadn't told you about that yet.  Yeah, one day when I was bitching and moaning about my job prospects if I couldn't be a paramedic anymore, Boomer said that I ought to go to college and get a degree.  I thought he was crazy, but Brackett talked me into it.  He said that even if I made a complete recovery, a degree might come in handy somewhere down the line.  And it's like you said the other day, I already have about ten years with the department, so I might as well try to hang in there long enough to collect my pension.  I could still be pretty young when I retire, and a college degree would give me an opportunity for a second career."

After he recovered from his initial surprise, Roy was intrigued.  "What kind of career did you have in mind?"

The younger man blushed.  "Promise you won't laugh?"

Roy traced an X over his chest with his finger.  "Cross my heart."

"I was thinking about majoring in something like biology."

"What would you do with a degree in biology?"

Johnny hesitated.  "Well, you know how much I've loved being a paramedic, right?"

A smile crept across Roy's face.  "Are you thinking about going to med school?"

"Not exactly.  I was thinking about becoming a veterinarian."

"You want to be a vet?"

A corner of Johnny's mouth curled upward into a full-fledged crooked grin.  "Yeah, but not a city vet who treats mostly dogs and cats.  I'd prefer to work with larger animals like horses and cows.  You see, I love Los Angeles, but it's not where I want to spend my retirement.  Some day I'd like to buy me a little plot of land in Montana and put down roots.  If I was a vet, I could have the best of all worlds.  I could be sort of like a pet paramedic, and combine my love for the medical profession with my love for animals and the great outdoors."

Johnny's smile faded as he smoothed a wrinkle in his blanket.  "I know it would take years to finish school, not to mention a whole lot of money, and I don't know if I'm even college material.  I might flunk out before I finished my first semester.  Right now, this is nothing but a pipe dream.  But sometimes dreams are all we have to keep us going, you know what I mean?"

Roy understood perfectly.  Maybe it was only a vain hope that he'd be able to persuade Joanne to come back home, but it was a dream worth fighting for.  He pushed himself from the orange vinyl chair and reached into his pants pocket for his keys.  "Well, speaking of dreams, I need to get going.  It's a long trip to San Francisco.  Do you need anything before I go?"

Johnny's smile returned.  "Nope.  I have everything I need now that you're back."

Roy had made to halfway to the door when Johnny called out after him.

"Hey, Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"Good luck.  I hope you and Joanne can work everything out."

"Thanks, man."

"And Roy?"

"Uh huh?"

"If it will help your cause, tell her I'll help you repaint the entire house in lilac as soon as I get out of here, all right?"

Roy laughed as he recalled their conversation at the station a couple of weeks ago.  "Periwinkle, Johnny.  It's periwinkle."

There was a bounce in his step as Roy headed toward the elevators.  Even if his trip to San Francisco didn't go as well as he hoped and Joanne utterly rejected him, he found comfort in knowing that he still had a friend in Johnny when he got back home.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Running his fingers through his thinning hair, Roy paced back and forth on Eileen's front porch.  Joanne's station wagon was parked in the driveway, so he knew his instincts had been right.  She was here.  But why wasn't anyone answering the door?  Had they all gone out for a late dinner?  Or had Joanne or one of his in-laws called the police like her parents had?  Roy couldn't decide whether he should ring the doorbell one more time or not.  The longer he remained on the premises, he greater his chances were of possibly being arrested.  Did he really want his children to see him hauled away in handcuffs?

After a split-second of deliberation, Roy decided that he had to take that chance.  His wife might not want anything to do with him, but he couldn't let Chris and Jennifer think that he didn't love them anymore.  If he got arrested in front of his children, then at least they would know that he had made an effort to see them.  Roy took a deep breath and pushed the doorbell for the fourth time.  Several seconds passed without any sign of activity on the other side of the door.  Then suddenly, the squeak of rubber-soled sneakers on the hallway's marble tile announced someone's imminent arrival.  There was a quick hitch in his breathing when he heard the unmistakable sound of the deadbolt being unlocked.  Would it be Joanne who answered the door?  One of his children?  His sister-in-law?  Brother-in-law?  The suspense was positively killing him.

Finally, the door opened, and Roy thought he was going to faint with relief when he saw Joanne.  Her shoulder-length brown hair was dripping wet and she wasn't wearing any makeup, but in his eyes, Roy had never seen her look so beautiful.  His head dipped toward his chest as he cleared his throat.  "Uh, hi."

Joanne eyed him with suspicion.  "How did you know where to find me?"

There was a slight shrug of his shoulders as he stuck his hands in his pockets.  "No one told me.  I just knew."

When she didn't start yelling at him or slam the door in his face, Roy felt emboldened to plead his case.  "Jo, all I ask is five minutes of your time, and if you still don't want to talk to me, I promise I won't make a scene.  I'll turn right around and go home, and I won't bother you anymore.  Okay?"

Joanne appeared to relax, and she slowly nodded her consent.  "Okay."

Roy squared his shoulders and took a deep breath.  "Jo, I was wrong.  I was wrong about a lot of things.  I had no right to tell you how to choose your friends, and I had no right to keep you from getting a job or going to school if that's what you really want to do.  I was scared, Jo.  Scared of change, and scared that if you became more independent, you wouldn't need me or love me anymore.  I thought our life was perfect the way it was, and I was afraid of losing that.  Obviously I screwed everything up anyway.  But I want another chance to make our marriage work.  If you want to go to college, I'll find a way to come up with the money.  I'll take the engineer's exam again, or even take on a second job to pay for it.  Or if you'd rather go to work, that's okay, too.  Hell, for that matter, if you want to be the sole breadwinner, I'll stay at home with the kids and take care of the house."

Joanne's features softened, and moisture began to collect in the corners of her eyes.  "You mean that?  You'd do that for me?"

"Anything, babe.  I love you, and I'm sorry that I've been acting like such a jerk.  I just want you to be happy, and if that means..."  Roy's voice wavered with emotion as he tried to put his worst fears into words.  "If that means you'll be happier without me, then I'll have to learn to accept that.  I won't give you any trouble if you want to file for divorce.  Of course, I'd want you to have the house.  It's the only home Chris and Jennifer have ever known, and I don't want to disrupt their lives any more than necessary.  And as far as alimony and child support goes, I'll quit the department and get a better paying job if I can't afford what you need on my current salary.  All I ask is that you let me see the kids more than just a couple of weekends a month."

"Roy, you can't quit the department.  You love being a paramedic."

"But I love you and the kids more."

Joanne bit her trembling lower lip as tears began to stream down her cheeks.  "Roy, I don't want a divorce.  I want you.  I'm sorry that I went and messed everything up.  I should never have listened to Cynthia.  It's just that her life seemed so glamorous and exciting compared to mine, and she had me convinced that you wanted to deny me the same chance at happiness.  It's like you were supposed to be some kind of evil slave master trying to keep me on the domestic plantation.  But now I understand that you weren't being mean at all.  You were just trying to hang onto your family in the only way you knew how.  I'm so sorry, Roy.  After the first week, I realized that I had made a big mistake by leaving you, but I was too ashamed to come crawling back to ask for your forgiveness."

Roy gently placed his finger over her lips.  "Shhhh.  There's nothing to forgive, babe."

Joanne threw her arms around his neck and began to sob.  "Oh, Roy.  I want to come home...but not yet.  The kids don't have a clue about why we're really here.  They think this is just their usual summer trip to visit my folks.  Can you give me a couple of days?  Tomorrow is Eileen's birthday, and they've been working so hard on the decorations."

He brushed her damp hair from her face and kissed her on the forehead.  "It's okay, honey.  Take as much time as you need.  As long as I know you'll be back, I can wait."

Roy was so happy that his family would soon be home, he wanted to jump up and down and shout for joy.  Instead, he pulled Joanne's body closer to his in a tender embrace.  He wasn't sure who was comforting whom as they whispered sweet words of devotion to one another.  All that really mattered was that he had been given a second chance, and he fully intended to make the most of it.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

An utterly dejected Mike Morton struggled with his emotions in the relative privacy of the doctor's lounge.  It was never easy to lose a patient, especially when the death was so senseless and preventable.  Although he had done everything medically possible to save the young woman and her unborn child, he found little comfort in knowing that they were both too far gone before they ever reached the hospital.

The young woman had been a month shy of her nineteenth birthday, unmarried and nearly eight months pregnant.  She had been somewhat coherent when the paramedics arrived on the scene, and had told them how she contacted her family physician when the vaginal bleeding first started several hours ago.  The doctor had returned her initial call about an hour later, and explained that spotting was normal at this stage of her pregnancy.  The bright red blood had frightened her, but since she wasn't experiencing any cramping or other symptoms, she tried not to panic.  After all, the doctor had assured her that it was nothing to worry about, and she trusted his judgment.  Then the bleeding stopped as abruptly as it had started, and she felt pretty foolish for bothering her doctor on such a beautiful Saturday morning.  Still, she was concerned enough to stay off her feet for a while.  However, a few hours later, she suddenly began to bleed again, this time more heavily than before.  After several unsuccessful attempts to reach her physician, she finally called the fire department for help.  Her condition rapidly deteriorated en route to the hospital, and by the time she arrived, there was nothing Morton could do to save her or her unborn baby.  She hemorrhaged to death within ten minutes after she made it to Rampart.

Morton had already performed the unpleasant task of notifying her parents by phone, and they were already on their way to the hospital.  It would take them about two hours to drive down from Bakersfield, so that gave him some time to get a tighter rein on his emotions.  However, Morton feared that the short span of time would hardly be sufficient.  Tact and sensitivity weren't exactly his strong points, and this was definitely an occasion that required both attributes.  Perhaps if he talked to someone who understood how he felt, it would help to diffuse his anger and frustration before he had to meet with the distraught parents.

Normally Morton's first impulse would have been to contact his immediate supervisor, but since Brackett was out on medical leave, Early was the next logical choice.  As he picked up the phone, Morton prayed that the more experienced physician could help to calm his seething rage before he had to face the parents of Nathan Grant's young patient and her unborn child.

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Brackett dejectedly picked at the bland-tasting meal that Dixie had prepared.  Baked chicken breast with the skin removed, some strange concoction called rice pilaf, asparagus spears sans hollandaise sauce, decaffeinated iced tea and unsweetened baked apples for dessert hadn't exactly been what he had in mind when he invited Early and Dixie over to his apartment for dinner.  He hated to appear ungrateful since she had gone to so much trouble, but Brackett had hoped for something that tasted like real food.  This tasted suspiciously like the hospital fare to which he had recently been subjected.

Early wasn't enthusiastic about the repast either.  After managing to eat a couple forkfuls of rice, he placed his napkin on the table and stood up.  "Excuse me, I'll be right back."

Dixie stared at him in confusion as he walked toward the kitchen.  "What's the matter?  Did I forget something?"

"The salt and pepper," Early replied as he scanned the countertop for the missing items.

She immediately snapped her fingers three times and pointed toward his empty chair.  "Sit back down.  Kel isn't supposed to have salt, and you shouldn't have it either."

"But Dix," he whined.  "That crummy salt substitute tastes awful!"  However, all it took was one menacing look from the strong-willed nurse to threaten him into submission.  "Okay, okay," he complained as he sat back in his chair.  "You're ruthless."

"No, I'm just a concerned friend."

Despite his disappointment over the meal, Brackett couldn't help but be amused by the other man's reaction.  "What's the matter, Joe?"

Early placed the napkin back on his lap and reluctantly picked up his fork.  "I told her this was a bad idea.  I wanted to pick up Chinese takeout or some fettucini alfredo from Enzo's for dinner, but a certain person threatened to inflict great bodily harm upon my person if I did."

The source of the accusation was wholly unrepentant.  "I'm just trying to do you a favor.  Do you have any idea how much sodium and cholesterol is in that stuff?  No wonder your lab work was the pits."

Brackett's professional curiosity was piqued.  "How bad was it?"

"Bad enough," Early admitted.  "My cholesterol and triglyceride levels are even higher than they were on my last physical less than a year ago, and now my glucose level is elevated.  Sam wants me to have a GTT done before my appointment with Josh Goldberg on Thursday."

"Have you been symptomatic at all?  Excessive thirst, frequent urination, fatigue..."

Exasperated by the direction the conversation had just taken, Early rolled his eyes.  "Kel, I'm familiar with the symptoms, and the answer is no.  But I've gained about fifteen pounds over the past couple of years.  Hopefully if I lose some weight, I can lower my glucose level without having to resort to medication."

Brackett's forehead creased as his eyebrows knitted together.  "Just how elevated was your blood sugar, Joe?  Are we talking borderline or full-fledged type 2 diabetes?"

"I'd rather not say, not until I get the results of the glucose tolerance test anyway.  On the bright side, at least my medical credentials hold a little more sway with the lab techs than they do with Bill Henderson in radiology.  I should be able to get the results fairly quickly, and without having to go through one of my doctors."

"That reminds me, did Sam ever get in touch with you yesterday about your CT results?"

Early grinned as he flashed the OK sign with his right hand.  "No new lesions."

"That's terrific!" Brackett exclaimed.

"Yeah, it looks like I just need to get my migraine meds straightened out, and the sooner the better.  I can't keep taking time off so I can sleep off a headache or see one of my doctors."  Early added with an impish grin, "You see, this guy I work for can be a real bear, and I don't want to get on his bad side if he finds out I've been goldbricking."

Brackett huffed in pretended indignation.  "Looks like I better hurry and get back to the work then!  I can't have my staff taking advantage of my absence.  Maybe I'll start dropping by the ER on my way to cardio rehab, just to remind everyone what a tyrant I can be."

Dixie shrugged her shoulders in feigned nonchalance.  "I have no idea what you two are talking about.  I hear that this ER doctor is a real marshmallow."

"That's not true!" Brackett protested.  "Just ask Matt Connors.  He said I'm as vicious and tenacious as a pit bull."

She frowned as she tried to place the name.  "Matt Connors.  That sounds familiar, but I can't remember where I've heard it before."

Early cast a furtive glance in Brackett's direction as he set his glass of iced tea back down on the table.  "He's Kel's friend with the Los Angeles Times."

"Oh, that's right.  He's the guy who helped you unravel the mystery of our missing funds."

Brackett nodded grimly.  "Well, he's trying to help me sort out a new mystery."

Dixie buried her face in her hands, although she allowed a slight space between her fingers to cautiously sneak a quick peek.  "Uh oh.  Please don't tell me we're about to have another staffing crisis.  If we are, I'll quit right now.  I'm not going through that again!"

"No, I'm afraid it's a different kind of staffing crisis."

She removed her hands from her face, although her expression remained guarded.  "Such as?"

Early propped his elbows on the table, and then rested his chin on the back on his hand.  "He's referring to Nathan Grant.  A very upset Mike Morton called me this afternoon.  One of Grant's patients died shortly after she was brought to the emergency room, an eighteen-year-old pregnant girl."

Horrified, Dixie's hand flew to her mouth.  "Oh, my God.  What happened?"

"Placenta previa.  She was about thirty-six weeks along, and started having some vaginal bleeding early this morning.  Somehow she was able to get in touch with Grant, who assured her that spotting is normal during the last trimester.  Unfortunately, she was young, naïve, scared and blindly trusted the son of a bitch.  The bleeding eventually stopped or subsided for a while, but when it resumed, she didn't call for help right away since she had just been told it was normal.  But at some point, she got worried enough to make several unsuccessful attempts to contact Grant.  By the time she got around to calling the fire department, the hemorrhaging was too severe.  The paramedics said she was pretty shocky when they arrived.  She lost consciousness in the ambulance, and died about ten minutes after she made it to the ER.  The baby didn't survive either.  Mike called me at home.  He was really shaken up, and needed to vent some of his frustration before the parents could drive down from Bakersfield.  Considering how furious he was with Grant, Mike was afraid that he'd lose his cool and say something that could come back to haunt us from a liability standpoint, so I volunteered to be there when he met with the parents."

Dixie sat in stunned silence for several moments while she tried to process her jumble of emotions.  She was deeply saddened by the death of the young woman and her unborn child, and she felt sorry for the parents who now faced the terrible ordeal of burying their daughter.  But most of all, Dixie was furious that such a senseless tragedy had occurred.  The ER staff had been grumbling about Nathan Grant for months, and felt it was only a matter of time before one of his patients paid the ultimate price for his drug addiction.  Now two people were dead, and Johnny might not ever walk again.  It was totally unfair and unnecessary.

She ruefully shook her head.  "We all knew this was going to happen some day, but those idiots in Administration and the state medical board wouldn't listen.  But what does Matt Connors have to do with this?"

Brackett's expression was resolute as he outlined his plans.  "I want to do whatever I can to prevent this from happening again.  I can't keep him from moving to another state to set up shop, but I fully intend to run Nathan Grant out of business in California, especially at Rampart.  I want to find out how he managed to slip through the usual credentialing procedures to get full admitting privileges here, and I also want to know where Grant has practiced before, and if he left a string of dead bodies or a slew of malpractice suits in his wake.  Matt's one hell of an investigative reporter who doesn't mind getting his hands dirty.  If there's slime under a rock somewhere, he'll find it.  Then we'll work on a coordinated approach.  Joe and I will spearhead the juggernaut through the legal channels to have Grant's license revoked, and Matt will handle the media side of our campaign."

The intensity of Brackett's resolve made her uneasy.  "Kel, you sound like you've personally declared war on Grant.  I hope you're not planning to do anything foolish."

"All I've done is toss a few breadcrumbs in Matt's direction," Brackett explained.  "It's his job to see where they lead.  Then, if his investigation pans out like I believe it will, Matt will break the story.  That way, if we can't stop Grant from practicing medicine we can at least warn people about him."

"Okay, I agree with you in general principle, but aren't you crossing an ethical line here?  And have you given any thought as to how this girl's parents are going to feel when they see their dead daughter's name splashed all over the news?  Or are they part of your little scheme?"

"I haven't talked to them about this yet," Brackett admitted.  "But I swear I didn't say a word to Matt about Tina Wolters."

"So are you trying to tell me that if he finds out on his own, it's perfectly all right to put her parents through even more emotional torture if it serves your devious purpose?"

Before Brackett could respond, Early's interrupted in a calm voice.  "Dix, we'll do everything we can to make sure their privacy is protected.  But after spending a couple of hours with Mr. and Mrs. Wolters this afternoon, I feel confident that they'll want to help when they learn more about the circumstances surrounding their daughter's death.  They're very devout people, and seem to be searching for some meaning in her death.  Perhaps if sharing their pain will help to prevent someone else's child from suffering the same terrible fate, they might feel that some good can some out of this senseless tragedy."

"I suppose that's true," Dixie conceded.  "But it has to be their choice."

"Agreed."

Dixie aimlessly pushed her food around on her plate for a moment before a thought suddenly occurred to her.  "What about Johnny?  Are you planning to drag him into this mess, too?"

Brackett's mouth twitched as he and Early briefly locked eyes.  "I plan to tell him when Joe feels the time is appropriate, if for no other reason than to help him decide whether or not he wants to initiate any legal action against Grant.  Johnny could be facing a lifetime of disability, and a malpractice settlement or award could go a long way to help him with medical expenses not covered by insurance, career retraining, living arrangements and other needs."

"I don't know, Kel.  You're running a big risk.  I'm no lawyer, but I would think it would be difficult to get a charge of malpractice to stick in this case.  It's not like Grant left a hemostat in Johnny's abdomen during surgery or something that obvious.  And to be perfectly honest, I'm more concerned about how the news could affect his emotional state.  You know how Johnny tends to blame himself for half the world's problems.  What if he believes he's the one at fault here?  He's just turned a major corner in coming to terms with his situation.  What if he retreats back into his shell and gives up on rehab?"

"Joe and I have discussed that, but we don't feel it's going to be an issue."

Dixie threw up her hands in surrender.  "Oh, all right.  But you have to promise me that you'll take good care of yourself while you're fighting this personal crusade.  That means you have to eat properly, get plenty of rest, take your medication, faithfully go to rehab and do everything your doctors tell you to do.  I don't want you to get so stressed out and run down that you jeopardize your recovery and end up back in the hospital with another ulcer or a heart attack.  Is that clear?"

Brackett reached across the table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.  "I promise.  But don't worry about me, okay?  I'll be fine.  Besides, I feel this is a good form of therapy for me.  By helping someone else, I can help myself at the same time."  Then he added with a wry smile, "Now if I had become a lawyer like my dad had wanted me to, I could have personally handled any legal matters that might arise from this investigation.  Unfortunately, I was so darned stubborn that I had to go and become a doctor instead of an ambulance chaser!  I suppose it's just as well, though.  A decent guy like me would have been a source of constant embarrassment to the legal profession."

Dixie's heart swelled with pride as she grasped the significance of what he had just said.  It was the first time since his father's death that Brackett had been able to joke about their peculiar relationship, and more importantly he seemed to be truly at peace with his chosen vocation.  Perhaps the ghost of James Brackett would soon be finally put to rest.

 

Part 5