A Season and a Time

 

by Linda2

 

 

 

 

Part 1: A Time to Die

 

“To everything there is a season,

And a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die;”

 

Sitting beside his former partner he contemplated the verses he was reading. It had all started the night they had been called out too late for a suicide. The irony of it struck him as he thought back….

 

Crushed and broken on the sidewalk, lay the body of a woman.

 

“What do we know about her?”

 

“Not much.” Two uniformed men stood looking down at the body, both wore a melancholy expression. “No one seems to know anything about her.”

 

“Any idea who she was?”

 

“No, no ID so far.”

 

Sirens sounded in the darkness, growing louder until an LA county rescue squad pulled up to the curb, followed by an engine. Both men turned to watch as six firefighters climbed out of their respective vehicles. Followed closely by two paramedics, the Captain approached them.

 

“What do you have?”

 

“Nothing you can do anything about, I’m afraid.”

 

One of the paramedics walked over to the body and gave it a cursory examination, showing no surprise at what he found. “No pulse, she’s dead,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless.

 

“Why did you call us? Surely you could tell she was dead.” Hands on his hips, an expression of exasperation on his face, the Captain addressed the two uniformed officers.

 

“We didn’t call you. The manager must have, when he called us.”

 

Climbing back into their vehicles, the firefighters left the scene. Pensively, the paramedic in the passenger seat contemplated the view from his side window. His partner threw him several concerned looks, but did not say anything as he steered the squad through the nearly empty streets with the engine close behind.

 

“I’d offer you a penny for them, but they look a lot more expensive than that,” he quipped after a few minutes, breaking the heavy silence in the cab, but the other man paid him no heed. “Johnny?”

 

“What?” Distracted, the other man turned from his contemplation of the passing scenery.

 

“Your thoughts…you haven’t said anything…”

 

“Oh.” The word came out flat and he turned back to the window, not bothering to answer his partner.

 

Continuing to drive, keeping his gaze on the road, except for an occasional glance at his passenger, he sighed inwardly. Bad as it was when they lost a victim, it was in many ways worse when the victim was already beyond help before they ever got to them. He knew his partner took death hard, almost as a personal affront. It was hard enough coming to grips with the loss when it was because of illnesses or accidental injuries. But, when the injuries were self-inflicted, it seemed like such a waste. He could not count the times the other man had ranted about how unfathomable it was that people allowed themselves to come to the point where suicide was even an option. Much as he dreaded his partner getting wound up and spouting off, he dreaded the silence even more. Silence from the other man was never a good thing, and he had a feeling this time was no exception.

 

Though only a year older than his friend, and senior paramedic by only a few months, he often felt years older. Occasionally, however, the other man showed a more mature side. He was always surprised by it, even though he had seen it many times over the years they had worked together. Usually the other man was lively and animated, filling the squad with speculations, tirades, or even just nonsense for its own sake. But tonight he was ominously silent. Backing the squad into the bay, followed by the engine, he waited for the silence to be broken.

 

“Why?” The other man finally spoke. “Why do you suppose she did it?”

 

“I don’t know.” Turning off the engine, he shook his head. Neither man made a move to exit the squad. The engine backed into the bay beside them and the engine crew climbed off, heading back to their bunks, before either man opened his door.

 

“What could be so bad that jumping off a ledge would even be an option?”

 

Shaking his head again and shrugging, the driver once more said, “I don’t know.”

 

Wearily they climbed out of the squad. Rounding the back of the vehicle on his way to his bunk, he nearly collided with his partner who was headed toward the dayroom.

 

“Think I’ll get a glass of milk.”

 

“Ummm.” He acknowledged the comment and continued on to his bunk.

 

Waking before the klaxons sounded the next morning, he was not surprised to find his partner’s bunk empty. Rising, he stepped into his bunker pants. Pulling them on he shuffled out of the bunkroom and across the bay, into the dayroom. His partner was seated on the couch, holding an empty milk glass, staring blankly ahead.

Shuffling over to the couch, he shifted the dog, lying with his head in the other man’s lap, and sat beside his friend.

 

“Want to talk about it?”

 

“No.”

 

“Look, I know it was senseless…”

 

“What I don’t get is, here we are trying to save people and then someone does something like that. It just doesn’t make sense.” When Johnny turned his brown eyes towards the other man, they were filled with pain and anguish. Suddenly, he realized the pain he saw in the other man’s eyes was not simply a result of the suicide last night, something else had to have happened. Thinking back over the day before, he realized his partner had become uncharacteristically quiet after receiving a phone call early in the afternoon. Before, he had attributed it to girlfriend problems, but no simple problem with a girlfriend could have put such a look of anguish in his partner’s eyes.

 

The morning klaxons sounded, breaking the silence. Though it was a familiar sound, its suddenness caused both men to jump slightly. It seemed to act as a catalyst, propelling the distressed paramedic to stand and cross to the stove. “I’ll make coffee.”

 

Joining his partner beside the stove, where the other man was busy with the coffeepot, he leaned against the counter.

 

“Want to tell me about it?”

 

“No.”

 

Crossing his arms and leaning back, he waited. Usually his partner would be talking his ear off by now. Something was bothering him and when something was bothering him he usually talked a blue streak. But now he remained silent, the expression on his face, grim.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah, Roy, I’m sure.” Setting the coffeepot down on the cold burner with a snap, he turned to his partner in exasperation. “I said I don’t want to talk about it and I meant I don’t want to talk about it.” Turning on his heal, he strode out of the dayroom colliding with a shorter man coming in. Yawning and running his hand through his mop of curly hair, the other man was unprepared for the collision. Without a word of apology, the paramedic continued on out the door, crossing the bay with long strides.

 

“Hey, Gage. What’s wrong with you?” The firefighter called after the retreating figure. Getting no answer, he turned to the other man still leaning against the counter. “What’s with him?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Last night got to him, huh?”

 

“I guess so.” Shrugging, he frowned pensively. “I think it’s more than that though.”

 

“What’s that?” the Captain asked, entering the room. “What’s more than what?”

 

“Johnny, we think last night really got to him,” the shorter man said.

 

“Yeah, I guessed it would.” The Captain picked up a cup and the coffeepot, pouring some of the contents into the cup, not paying attention to what he was doing.

 

“Why’s that, Cap?” the paramedic asked, frowning in puzzlement.

 

“Didn’t he tell you?” The Captain’s expression was clearly surprised. The other man shook his head. “His best friend from high school died, John’s leaving to go to the funeral today.” Taking a sip from the cup, he frowned and continued. “It was suicide.”

 

“His best friend committed suicide?” the firefighter exclaimed. The Captain nodded.

 

“Yep, jumped off the ledge of a building.” After another sip of coffee, the Captain frowned into his cup. “What’s with this coffee? This isn’t coffee….”

 

Ignoring the Captain’s question, the paramedic covered his eyes with his hand. Now he understood what was bugging his partner. What he did not understand was why the man had not said anything about it to him.

 

********

 

“Johnny, are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

 

In the locker room, changing clothes to leave, John had heard the door open and, out of the corner of his eye, saw his partner enter. Buttoning the last button on his shirt, he tucked it into his pants. After a moments hesitation he closed his locker door, sighing. Then he sat on the bench and began to change his shoes without saying a word.

 

His partner sat down on the bench next to him, a concerned expression on his face. “Cap told us what happened… about your friend.” Continuing to change his shoes, he didn’t even glance at the other man. “I’m really sorry to hear about what happened.”

 

“That makes two of us,” he snapped, tightening the laces on his shoe with an unwonted violence. The moment the words left his mouth, he was sorry. His partner was not to blame for any of this, and did not deserve to be snapped at. “Look, I’m sorry…it’s just….” He paused, at a loss for words.

 

“You’re upset. I understand that.” The other paramedic stood and rounded the end of the bench to open his locker as he spoke.

 

“Yes, but…that’s no excuse to be rude.”

 

“Apology accepted.” The other man gave a slight smile before turning serious again. “Would you like some company? I could come with you…to the funeral.”

 

He knew his friend’s offer was genuine. Glancing at him over his shoulder he saw the other man’s expression was a study in misery, and he knew it was his fault. Hell, this whole situation was his fault. If only he had been there…

 

“No, thanks. I’ll be okay,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to sound reassuring. He knew he had not succeeded when the sadness remained in his friend’s eyes, even though he smiled and nodded. “It’s not that far and you didn’t know him so….” Letting his voice trail off when he realized how lame his excuses sounded, he realized he should have left it at a simple ‘no.’

 

“I could still go…to keep you company.”

 

“No. I’d just as soon do this alone.” Standing he crossed to the door leading to the parking lot.

 

“You’re sure?” His friend looked at him from beside his locker, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked from his pants. The concerned expression no lighter than before.

 

“Yeah. I’m sure.” Suddenly, he grinned. “Hey, don’t look so worried, I’ll be all right.” If his grin had reached his eyes, he might have convinced his partner. But his friend knew him too well, knew he was deeply hurt. Though they both knew he had not been convincing, neither one acknowledged it and he left giving a mock cheerful wave.

 

********

 

A knock sounded on his door. Opening it, he felt his heart sink. Standing in the doorway was a young woman, holding a grocery sack. “Oh no.” His moan and the look on his face brought a frown to hers.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I forgot.” Running his hands through his hair, he stepped back from the doorway, allowing her to enter. “I completely forgot we had a date for brunch.”

 

“Oh.” Disappointment sounded loudly in that one word.

 

“I’m sorry. It’s just…I have to go to a funeral.”

 

“A funeral? Who died?” She stood just inside the doorway, still holding her sack.

 

“My best friend…from school…guy I grew up with,” speaking haltingly, hands on his hips, he avoided her gaze as he searched for the right words, “…um…he…uh…died… yesterday.”

 

“The funeral’s today?”

 

“No, tomorrow, but its in a small town a couple of hours north of here. I’m driving up today. I’ll come back tomorrow, after the funeral.”

 

“So, you’re leaving soon?”

 

“Soon as I finish packing. I need to be there.” Nodding his head, he continued to avoid looking her directly in the eyes.

 

“Well then, I’ll see you…later?” Backing through the doorway, sack clutched in front of her, she exited the apartment.

 

“Yeah, we’ll have brunch…some day.” They both knew how hard it had been, with their schedules, to get together on the date and time for this brunch. Nodding and giving him a half smile, she turned to walk next door. He watched her enter her apartment, returning her small half-hearted wave.

 

Closing the door, he let his mind drift back over the last few weeks to the first time he had seen her, the day she had moved in. She had been arguing with the movers, who seemed to feel they could simply dump her furniture and boxes in the middle of her living room floor. Unable to resist a damsel in distress, he had gone next door and waded into the melee. Several hours later, after helping her arrange the furniture, he had taken her to a fast food restaurant. Since then they had talked often and had been out a few times. Finding mutual time off had been harder than he would have imagined. As an assistant to a VP, she often worked long hours and weekends. Who knew when they would find another time to get together? Sighing, he went back to his interrupted packing.

 

********

 

Because he had let him down, had not been there when he needed him, his lifelong friend was dead. Lying in a casket at the front of the church. His so-called friend’s mother was weeping quietly beside him on the hard bench facing the casket. If only he had been there, he could have talked him out of it, he was sure of it. He could have prevented it. But, having returned just a short time earlier from vacation, he had felt he could not take more time off. So, he ignored his friend’s plea for help, put him off; reasoned that whatever his friend’s problem was, it could wait. But, obviously, it could not.

 

Only half listening to the preacher delivering the eulogy, he let his mind wander backward into the past. Remembering his interview with the Captain, he frowned.

 

“You sure you don’t need more time off?” his superior had asked, with a concerned expression.

 

“Yeah, Cap, I’m sure.” If he had asked for time off to go and talk with his friend, would the other man have been as accommodating? Would he have offered to let him take all the time he needed, as he had when he heard about his friend’s death? He doubted it.

 

His frown deepened as he remembered the scene in the locker room with his partner. Neither of them had been fooled by his act.

 

And then there was Jenny, the girl on the ledge. When the klaxons had sounded early in the morning, the whole station had scrambled for their vehicles as the report of a possible jumper came over the speakers. A jumper, his heart had sunk at the words. All the possible scenarios ran through his mind. There were so many ways a situation with a jumper could go bad. When the vehicles pulled up outside the apartment building, they could see the woman perched on a ledge between two windows, and his heart sunk further.

 

Not easily accessible from either window or the roof, they decided to try and talk her back into the building. Talking to her would allow them to assess her mental status and decide how to proceed. It was his turn to do the talking. Leaning out the window, he spoke to her.

 

“Hey, whatcha doin’ out there?” he questioned, trying to keep his tone light. Unresponsive, she stood flat against the side of the building. He could see her terrified expression as she stared down at the street below. “You don’t really want to do this, do you?” he asked after a few moments silence. She did not turn her gaze, but continued to stare down at the street.

 

“N..no.” She finally managed, shaking her head in short, sharp movements.

 

“Why don’tcha come on back in then?”

 

“I c.can’t.” Her voice quavered.

 

“Sure you can, you walked out there, all you have to do is walk back and climb in the window. I’ll help you.”

 

“No.” She shook her head in frantic denial. “I can’t move.” He could hear the panic in her voice. Her gaze was still focused on the street below. “I’m scared.”

 

“How about if I come out there and help you back in?”

 

“Can you?” Hope sounded faintly in her voice.

 

“Sure, no problem. I’ll be right out.” Turning to his partner he secured his own lifeline and belt. Taking another lifeline and belt with him he climbed out onto the ledge with his partner’s admonition to be careful ringing in his ears. Approaching the woman standing stiff legged on the ledge he tried to reassure her. “See, here I am. Hey, my name’s Johnny, what’s yours?”

 

“Jenny.” Instantly reminded of his favorite little girl, his heart lodged in his throat. Her resemblance to his partner’s daughter was marked. With her blond hair and fair complexion, she could be her namesake all grown up.

 

“Jenny, huh?” When she nodded, he continued, “Well, the first thing you need to do is look at me.”

 

“I c..can’t.” Eyes fixed on the street below, she shook her head. After trying to coax her to look at him, he gently but firmly took hold of her chin and physically moved her head to face him. Her eyes, last to turn, were dark with fear and suddenly he was certain she had not climbed out on the ledge to jump.

 

“What are you doing out here?”

 

“I came out to get this.” Slowly, she moved the hand farthest from him a fraction and he saw she had something clutched in it. “It’s the only one I have.” He did not question her more about it then. She started to turn her eyes away from him.

 

“Keep your eyes on me,” he insisted, afraid she would look down into the street again. “Look across at the other building or up, but keep your eyes off the ground. Do you understand? Looking down at the street will only frighten you. Just keep your eyes off the ground. Okay?” She nodded and he let her chin go. Showing her the safety belt he explained what he was going to do. Placing the belt around her waist, he continued to talk in a soothing tone of voice and she continued to stare at him.

 

He could feel her trembling with fear. The first few steps were difficult, but then as she began to feel more secure, she moved with him toward the window. With only a step or two to go before she could climb in the window, he felt her go limp. Her weight as he caught her carried him off the ledge. While his helmet plunged to the ground, his partner and other crewmates held the lifelines firm, keeping them from falling all the way to the ground. Somehow the others had dragged them back up onto the ledge and through the window, into the apartment.

 

Wincing at the memory, he surreptitiously reached up to touch the sore spot where his head had connected with the ledge. No one had noticed his light-headedness, the skin had not been broken and there was no blood, not even a knot had formed. Glad to have escaped serious injury, he evaded scrutiny by his partner and captain, by saying nothing about having hit his head.

 

When they were inside the apartment, they removed her life belt and laid her down on the floor. A brief assessment confirmed that she was diabetic. Under the direction of Rampart, they had started an I.V. and transported her to the emergency room. In the ambulance, he noticed that she was still clutching the object she had climbed out the window to retrieve. Suddenly curious, he pried it from her fingers. It was a picture of a soldier in fatigues and a helmet, with a rifle slung over his shoulder, a grin on his face.

 

When she was able, she explained that it was the only picture of her brother she possessed. When it had blown out the window, she saw that, rather than having blown away, it was trapped against the side of the building between the windows. Climbing out to retrieve it, she had not thought about her peril until after she had the picture in hand. When she turned to go back inside, she looked down at the street and was frozen with fear.

 

“It’s funny,” she said, “but it didn’t seem half as far or half as high going out there, as it did coming back in.”

 

When they returned to the station later, he received the phone call telling him his friend had died. It was uncanny to think that at almost the same moment he had been helping this young woman back into the building, his friend had been jumping off another one many miles away. If only he had been there, he could have stopped him. If only he had listened, had taken him seriously, had gone to talk to him, he could have prevented him being out on that ledge. And he would not be dead, would not be lying in a casket at the front of the church.

 

As it was, he was attending the funeral of the man who had been his best friend for nearly eighteen years. Remembering the first time they had met in kindergarten, he did not know whether to laugh or cry. The two of them had engaged in an ill-fated paste-eating contest. Not only had the teacher been angry with them, but they had both found out the paste did not agree with them. A bond had been formed then, which had only strengthened over the years. Not even years of separation had been able to break it. Though Tommy had gone off to college on the East Coast and he had stayed in L.A. and become a firefighter, they had remained close. Visits had decreased over the intervening years, but when they were together, it was as if no time had elapsed. They had always been able to pick up where they had left off with their friendship. He had known the other man was having a difficult time since his wife had left him, but he had never thought it was bad enough to have resulted in this.

 

Even when his friend’s mother had hugged him and told him it was not his fault, he still blamed himself.

 

“No, dear,” she assured him, wiping at the tears in her eyes. “He wasn’t the same…after Lorrie left him…he just wasn’t the same…the light just…went out.” She shook her head at loss for words to explain.

 

“If only I’d been there for him...”

 

“You couldn’t have done any more than anyone else.” She shook her head, her mouth trembling, holding back tears.

 

As the service drew to a close, he stood and sang the final hymn with the rest of the congregation. Mostly, he sang from memory as the words blurred when the tears once again gathered in his eyes. Acting as a pallbearer, he took his place among the other men to help carry his friend’s coffin to the waiting hearse.

 

********

 

“Johnny?” He heard the other man’s voice calling from a distance. “Johnny, wake up.” Reluctantly, he woke and rolled over on his bunk, groaning at the disturbance. “What are you doing in here?” His partner sat on the side of his own bunk across from him.

 

“Trying to take a nap. I didn’t sleep real well last night, and I thought I’d try to get some shut-eye.” Rolling back over, he faced the wall, his back to his partner.

 

“You’ve been sleeping quite a bit lately.”

 

“So,” he said, without bothering to turn over. “I’ve been tired a lot lately.”

 

“You want to talk about it?”

 

“No.”

 

“Maybe it would help.”

 

Reluctantly, he rolled over on his bunk and sat up rubbing his eyes. Talking about it was the last thing he wanted to do. Whenever he thought about it, he felt so guilty, he just could not face his friend. He knew his partner’s offer, though genuine, was as hard to make as it was for him to accept. But not talking about it was not helping, maybe talking to his partner would help. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I just wish there was something I could have done. I wish…”

 

“Come on, Johnny,” the other man interrupted him. “There was nothing you could do, you shouldn’t still be beating yourself up over this.”

 

“But if I’d only been there…” he started to protest, but was interrupted once again.

 

“But you weren’t. And if you had been, how can you know for sure your being there would’ve made any difference?”

 

“I can’t…but…Roy look…it’s just…I.…” Letting the sentence trail off, he dropped his head into his hands, moaning.

 

“Johnny, you have to stop beating yourself up over this.” He could sense Roy’s worried frown, though he could not see it, the other man had begun to wear it almost constantly.

 

“Yeah, you’re right. I do…I do.” He continued to press his hands to his eyes, wishing there were something he could do to ease his friend’s worry, but knew there was nothing.

 

Sitting across from the distraught man, Roy watched him, a frown knitting his brow. Worried about his friend, he wished there were something he could say or do to snap him out of his depression. Seeing the normally ebullient man so depressed was more than he could handle. A helpless feeling came over him now as he watched his friend sitting on his bunk, obviously tired and dejected. Slowly, the other man lay back down, this time on his back with his arm draped over his eyes.

 

“Johnny?”

 

“Could you please just go away? I want to get some rest.”

 

“All right, if that’s what you want.” Sitting on the side of the bed a little longer, he finally got up and slowly left the room when he got no further response.

 

John knew his partner was worried about him. Knew they all were. But there did not seem to be anything he could do about his depression. So far, his attempts to snap himself out of it had failed. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to worry about him. Worrying did not do him, or them, any good. They were not listening to him, or attempting to understand what he was going through; they were simply worrying. And their worrying did not help, it simply added to his burden. Not only was he in pain and depressed emotionally, but his head ached, and now he was causing them to worry. The only way to stop them worrying was to snap out of this depression and return to his old self. Hard as he tried he found he just could not do that. No power or will in the world seemed to be strong enough to make his pain and depression go away.

 

He had spent the night before, as he had so many since the funeral, lying awake, his mind whirling with thoughts. Memories from his childhood, things he had not thought about in years came back to him, and always they involved Tommy. The letter he had received shortly after he returned home also haunted him. Arriving in a plain white envelope addressed to him in handwriting he recognized instantly, it had struck dismay into his heart. Realizing mailing it must have been one of the last things his friend had done, he stood contemplating it for a long moment. At first he had not wanted to open it, but then had realized he had to. He had to know what was in the letter. Sliding his finger under the flap he ripped the envelope open, and, with trembling fingers, removed the letter. Meant to be comforting, the letter had heaped more guilt on him. If only he had known how bad it was, if only he had been there, if only he could have done something. But he had failed his friend, had let him down, and now Tommy was dead because of that failure. Those thoughts haunted him, making it impossible to sleep.

 

Now he was beginning to be afraid he would let Roy down. Sleeplessness and distraction were beginning to take their toll on him. Several times now he had fumbled, making rookie mistakes. Roy had not commented on them, aside from saying it was no big deal, but they worried John. Lying there at night, sleepless, he began to worry that he would make a big mistake some day. A fatal mistake, at the cost his friend’s life.

 

********

 

When the klaxons sounded, he reluctantly got up and made his way to the squad. Climbing into his seat, he found his partner already in the driver’s seat with the engine running. The Captain acknowledged the call and replaced the mic. Taking the piece of paper with the pertinent information scribbled on it from the other man, he noted that the Captain gave him a worried glance before he trotted across the bay and climbed into his seat in the cab of the engine.

 

A multiple MVA kept them busy for several hours. Finding it hard to concentrate, he was annoyed with himself when he handed his partner a splint only to have it handed back to him, and the fact that it was a leg splint when an arm splint was needed pointed out. By the time the squad pulled into the station again, he felt like a fumbling idiot, he had made so many dumb mistakes. Only the fact that the aroma of Marco’s chili met them and made his stomach growl, reminding him he hadn’t eaten in awhile, kept him from heading back to his bunk.

 

********

 

The Captain was worried about his second paramedic. At supper, the man had just sat with his chin in his hand after gulping the first few spoonfuls, staring into his bowl and stirring his chili occasionally. Ignoring his crewmate’s conversation, the man had looked as if he had lost his best friend; which of course he had, but it had been months now. Why was he still moping? Also worrisome was his performance in the field, his heart did not seem to be in his work anymore.

 

After the meal was finished and the dishes were being cleared from the table, the Captain came to a decision. “John, pal, come into my office. I’d like to talk to you.” Standing, he walked out of the room.

 

Frowning, the other man rose from his chair and followed the Captain to his office. “Have a seat.” Indicating the chair beside his desk and sitting down in his own chair, he waited until the paramedic was seated before he spoke again.

 

With a puzzled expression, the paramedic sat in the chair indicated. “What is it, Cap?”

 

“I just thought maybe you’d like to talk.” Cap, leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped between his knees, continued, “would you like to talk about it?”

 

“Talk about what?” Cap was surprised when the expression on the paramedic’s face darkened and his eyes narrowed.

 

“Whatever it is that’s bothering you.” Shrugging, he ignored the other man’s darkened expression and continued, “I just think it might help.”

 

“It won’t.” John crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. His usually brown eyes, now black, glittered between narrowed lids.

 

“Why don’t you give it a try?” The Captain urged. How could he help the man if he was not willing to talk?

 

“Look, Cap, it won’t help….” Johnny’s tone bordered on belligerence.

 

“Give it a try.” Though his tone was friendly, Cap knew the other man understood the implied command.

 

Sighing, the paramedic seemed to resign himself to the inevitable. Uncrossing his arms, his shoulders slumped and a hand waved in the air. “It’s just…I just can’t help but think…if only I had been there…maybe I could’ve…”

Frowning, the Captain interrupted his halting speech. “John, the fact is you weren’t there. You just have to accept that and move on.”

 

“But if I had been there….”

 

“But you weren’t there. There’s nothing you can do for your friend now and….” Looking at the young man sitting beside his desk, he wondered if he was as despondent as he looked. Softening his tone, he continued, "John, you weren't there for Tommy. There's nothing you can do for him now. But you do have patients who need you." He paused, trying to find the right thing to say. "I've been watching you…lately...lately your heart just hasn't seemed to be in it. You’ve seemed distracted, you haven’t been giving them your full attention…you’ve been making mistakes…" Pausing again, he could see he had made his point. “You need to give your patients 100% of your attention, when you’re working you need to have your full attention on your work.”

 

"Yeah, you're right, you're right…." The tones sounded before either one of them could say anymore, sending both men scrambling for the door. The Captain had been going to say more, but it would have to wait until after the run.

 

********

 

Station 51 responded to a structure fire with several other stations. Luckily the building was empty, so no victims awaited the paramedics. The only casualty was Chet, who managed to burn his hand. As it was only a second-degree burn, John applied burn ointment and wrapped the firefighter’s hand with kerlex.

 

"Hey, don't you think that's enough?" the other man exclaimed. The paramedic frowned, noticing for the first time that he had wrapped far too much gauze around the burned hand. It looked more like it had a turban on it than a bandage. After considering and discarding the idea of just leaving the kerlex as it was, he unwrapped half of it and cut it with his bandage scissors, then secured it. A mumbled apology drew a concerned look from the firefighter.

"That's okay, man. We all make mistakes." A puzzled frown crossed his face when he saw the paramedic’s frown deepen.

 

The paramedic put away his supplies, thinking about what had just happened. While it was true that everyone made mistakes, and he was certainly no exception, he wondered how long it would be before his inattention caused him to make a fatal error. One thing he could never live with was the thought that he could be the cause of further injury, or even death, for his patients. The Captain was right, his patients did deserve his full attention and by not giving it to them, he was endangering them. That being the case, he could think of only one thing to do.

 

********

 

“Cap, can I talk to you?” The look on the paramedic’s face sent a wave of foreboding through Captain Stanley.

 

“Sure, John, come on in.” When the other man closed the door behind himself as he entered the office, the Captain knew something very bad was about to happen.

 

“Cap, I’ve been thinking.” Sitting down in the chair next to the Captain’s desk, the paramedic leaned forward studying the floor. “You were right when you said I haven’t been giving one-hundred percent to my patients.”

 

“I didn’t mean you were doing a bad job, I just…”

 

“I’m resigning.” He raised his eyes from the floor and the Captain could see the misery there.

 

“John, I didn’t mean for you to…”

 

“I know. But I can’t do this any more. It’s only a matter of time before I make a fatal mistake. I couldn’t stand it if I caused someone’s death.” Judging by the man’s reaction to his friend’s death, Cap could easily believe this.

 

“Look, you’re in no condition to make a decision like this.” His mind raced, looking for a way to stop what was happening. “You’re still distressed over your friend’s death. Why don’t you just do what I suggested in the first place and take some time off. Get some things sorted out, and then after you’ve done that we can…”

“No. This is more than just needing time off…”

 

“Look, take a leave of absence, if you still want to resign after you’ve had some time off, we’ll talk about it then.” He could not believe his talk with the paramedic had produced these results. All he had wanted was for the man to snap out of his doldrums and pay more attention to his job. He had never thought he would resign.

 

Shaking his head adamantly, the other man rose and began to pace. “I want to resign, effective at the end of this shift. I can’t do this anymore.”

 

“I won’t accept your resignation, not like this. Take a leave of absence, if at the end of that time you still want to resign, then resign.” Watching the other man continue to pace, he held his breath without realizing it. The paramedic stopped pacing and pushed his hand through his hair, several emotions played across his face before acceptance settled there.

 

“Okay. But I am going to resign.”

 

“If that’s what you want.” Shrugging, he tried to sound as nonchalant as he could, he did not want to push the man any more than he already had.

 

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

 

Arriving home after his last shift as a firefighter/paramedic, John walked slowly into his bedroom. Depositing the box he held on the floor of his closet, he sighed. The box contained everything from his locker. Fresh uniforms, his second pair of shoes, socks, his badge and nameplate, none of which was ever going to be used again. Tired beyond belief he walked over to his bed and lay across it on his back with his arm covering his eyes. Waiting for a feeling of relief that never came, he continued to lie there.

 

Tired as he was sleep would not come. His head ached, the aspirin he had taken earlier was having little effect. Memories kept marching through his mind. Memories of playing with Tommy as boy. Memories of the feeling of his hand as it grasped the handle on the casket. Memories of playing basket ball with Tommy….

 

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

 

Roy drove into the parking lot of the station and wheeled his car into his usual space. Climbing out of the car he walked across the lot to the station, noting that Chet and Captain Stanley’s cars were already in the lot. Nothing unusual there. John rarely got to the station before him. A car he didn’t recognize was also in the lot. He knew most of the guys from the other shifts cars but one of them could have gotten a new one, or driven his wife’s car. But it could also be his temporary partner’s.

 

With John out indefinitely headquarters had assigned him a temporary new partner. He was looking forward to meeting the man. He knew little about him, only that he had been recently graduated from the paramedic-training course. Having trained men before he wondered if the man would be an egotistic know-it-all or a timid mousy young man who would have to be brought along slowly. With any luck at all he would be somewhere between the two extremes.

 

Pushing open the door to the locker room Roy entered to find Chet sitting on a bench, tying his shoelace. There was nothing unusual about that, but on the other bench sat a man he did not know, in almost the same exact place John would have been…. He had to get this melancholy feeling under control. Shaking his head at his own thoughts he walked across the room to his locker.

 

“Morning,” he said to no one in particular.

 

“Morning,” the other two replied distractedly. Chet switched shoes and tied the lace hurriedly.

 

“Hey, Roy, have you met your new partner?” Chet asked.

 

“No, not yet.” Roy paused in reaching for something in his locker.

 

“Walt meet Roy, Roy, Walt.” Chet made the introductions quickly. The other two men nodded to one another and shook hands.

 

“Walter Sims.” The other man extended his hand to shake Roy’s.

 

“Roy DeSoto.” Roy smiled and shook the other man’s extended hand.

 

Chet plucked a photo off the seat beside him and stood. “Walt here has been telling me all about his six-month-old.” Passing Roy on the way out the door he handed him the photo. Roy could see Chet had a slight deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes. “She’s a cutie,” floated back to the two men in the locker room.

 

Walt began to chuckle. Roy realized that Chet, being single and without children, was not even remotely interested in the finer details of the care and feeding of infants. Which apparently Walt had treated him to this morning. Though he was past the stage now Roy could remember how proud he had been of his children. He had told anyone who would half way listen all about them. He was especially enthusiastic about his first. The photo was of a cute six-month old.

 

“She is cute, she your first?” Handing the picture back to Walt he looked an inquiry.

 

“No.” Walt continued to chuckle. “I have a two year old too. He’s not so cute anymore he’s a little terror right now.” Seeing Roy’s puzzled expression he gave a short laugh and then continued. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my children. But most of that,” he indicated the door through which Chet had left, “was for him. I’ve heard about him you see, about “the phantom,” and thought I’d get mine in first. Don’t worry I don’t usually go on and on about my kids. Though the look on his face was worth it.” Walt chuckled again.

 

The bulk of the shift was devoted to runs, with a few chores and getting acquainted tucked in-between. Roy found himself making comparisons between Walt and Johnny, but quickly stopped himself.

 

He quickly got used to having a conversation with Walt without the other man going off on a tangent. Also, he soon came to realize that Walt’s silences were not brooding but simply because he had nothing to say. Roy was willing to talk on any subject save one. His former partner. Any time the other paramedic introduced the subject he would give a curt answer and turn the subject. Walt soon took the hint and did not bring up the other man.

By the end of the shift both paramedics were working well together and had developed a mutual respect for one another. Following Roy’s lead, the other men quickly accepted Walt.

 

The next shift started off fast and hot. As soon as the paramedics walked out of the dressing room the klaxon sounded sending them off on the first of four consecutive runs. C-shift paramedics hopped out of the squad they had just parked and tossed the keys at Roy.

 

“It’s all yours and good luck,” the driver commented as both A-shift paramedics headed for the squad.

 

A man down with a heart attack was followed by a two-car collision with injuries. In quick succession a near tragic child down call followed a gunning cleaning accident. Arriving on scene the men found a distraught soaking wet babysitter working on a toddler beside a pool. The babysitter was performing rescue breathing on the child. The toddler was lifeless and soaking wet as well, giving silent testimony to what must have happened. Taking over for the babysitter the paramedics assessed the child and began CPR.

 

“I only took my eyes off him for a minute. When I turned back around, he was gone.” The teenager who up until then had been dry-eyed began to sob.

 

“How long was he in the water?” Roy asked.

 

“It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. I got him out just as soon as I found him.”

 

Walt set up the biophone and other equipment. Contacting Rampart base in crisp clipped tone he relayed the pertinent information in a detached voice.

 

Roy heaved a sigh of relief as the toddler took a breath and began to wail. Roy loaded the child up in the ambulance to accompany him to the hospital. After turning the child over to the doctor’s care he went to find his partner.

 

He found Walt talking on one of the pay phones and soon realized the man was talking to his wife. Seeing Roy approach the other man quickly began to end his call.

 

“…well I just wanted to touch base.” He listened for a moment then said, “I’m glad everything’s okay. See you tomorrow, bye.” Hanging up the phone he walked out of the hospital with Roy.

 

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

 

Part 2: A Time to Mourn

 

A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal;

A time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and time to laugh;

A time to mourn, and a time to dance;

 

Loud knocking on the door awoke John. At first he couldn’t figure out why he was sleeping on his couch with the TV on. Then he remembered he had had trouble falling asleep the night before, and had come into the living room to watch the late show. Running his hand through his unkempt hair, he sat up and reached for the TV remote. After searching through the debris on the coffee table, he finally found it. Pushing a button, he turned the TV off. Tossing the remote back onto the table, he wondered what had awakened him. As if in answer to his silent question, a loud rapping sounded on the door.

 

He had no idea what time it was, only the faintest glimmer of sunlight showed through the tightly drawn curtains. But he knew who was at the door and he wished she would go away. Rubbing his eyes with his hands and wishing the now almost constant headache would go away, he made no move to get up and answer the door. Maybe, if he ignored her, she would go away this time. But the knocking sounded again, louder this time.

 

“Come on, John, I know you’re in there.” He could hear the disembodied voice through the door and knew she was not going to just go away. “Open the door, let me in.” Her insistent voice was growing louder.

 

“All right, all right, I’m coming,” he grumbled, then when she called and knocked again he raised his voice, “I’m coming.” Pushing to his feet, he swayed as his head began to swim. Stumbling, he crossed the room to the door. His neighbor stood on the other side, as he had known she would. “What are you doing here?” he grumbled though, he knew the answer.

 

“Checking up on you; I haven’t seen you in a while.” As she spoke, she pushed past him into the dark room.

 

“I don’t need anyone checking up on me. I’m a grown man, I can take care of myself.” He shut the door, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at her.

 

“It’s so dark in here.” Ignoring his comments, she walked over to the window and fumbled behind the curtain for the drawstring. As she yanked down on the drawstring the curtains swooshed open letting in the morning sunlight. “There, that’s better.” Her heart sank as she looked around the unkempt apartment. Trash was piled everywhere. Dirty dishes overflowed the sink in the kitchen and were scattered on tables, chairs and the floor. Dirty clothes were scattered around as well.

 

“I don’t want that open.” She noticed when he crossed to the curtain, that he was as unkempt as his apartment. In dirty undershirt and shorts, with his hair looking like it hadn’t been combed, mush less washed, in days, he was a mess. He yanked on the cord and the curtains swooshed closed again, blocking the sunlight. The apartment was once again plunged into darkness.

 

“It’s no wonder you’re depressed, you’re light deprived.” She crossed to the window again and reached for the cord to open the curtains.

 

“No.” Blocking her way, he glared at her. She glared back at him for a few seconds then backed down, realizing it wasn’t worth the effort.

 

“When was the last time you were out in the sunlight?”

 

“Just yesterday.” She followed as he walked to the kitchen. “Had to make a beer run.” Opening the refrigerator door he pulled out a beer, holding it up he asked, “Want one?” When she shook her head no, he shrugged and closed the door, but not before she had seen that all he had in the refrigerator was beer.

 

“Have you had breakfast?” She asked, as she crossed to the cabinets and started opening doors. All that greeted her were empty shelves, with only a stray can or two to attest to the fact that they had once contained food. The freezer was completely empty.

 

“John, when was the last time you ate?”

 

“I’m having breakfast right now.” As if to prove his point, he took a large swig of beer.

 

“That’s not food. You need to eat.”

 

“Eating is highly overrated. Besides, I don’t have any clean dishes.”

 

“So, wash the dishes.” Surveying the kitchen sink, she saw that what he said was probably true. A further examination of the cabinets confirmed it. “You have plenty of dish washing soap. How about I wash, you dry?”

 

“No, leave them alone. I don’t want you washing my dishes.” Glaring at her, he continued harshly, “I don’t want you in my apartment…”

 

“Well at least let me get you some groceries, or better yet come with me…”

 

“No!” Scowling, he moved closer to her before he continued, “When I want groceries I can get my own, and when I want clean dishes, I’ll wash them. Now leave me alone, I can take care of myself.”

 

“Oh, really. Well, I don’t see….” She was interrupted by the sound of knocking on the door.

 

“This place is turning into a regular Grand Central Station.” Rather than answering the door, he plopped down on the couch taking another swig from the bottle. The knock sounded again and she opened the door. On the other side stood a large, blond haired man she did not recognize. A puzzled look crossed the man’s face.

 

“Is Johnny here?”

 

“What do you want?” the other man asked belligerently before she could say anything. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I was on my way home and I thought I would just drop in and check on you.” Stepping into the room, he addressed the man still slumped on the couch.

 

“What is this, ‘check on Gage day’? I don’t need all you people checking on me.”

 

“Well, I just missed you at work and thought I would come by and see how you’re doing.”

 

“I’m doing just fine, that’s how I’m doing. Now you’ve found out what you wanted to know, so leave.”

 

“The other guys said to tell you ‘hi.’” She had to give the man points for persistence. “We’re all hoping you’ll be back soon.”

 

“Roy, I told you before, I’m not coming back. Why can’t you and Stanley get that though your heads? I know Cap put me on leave, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s terminal leave. I’ll never go back to being a firefighter, or a paramedic.”

 

In quick succession she saw several emotions play across the blond man’s face. Pain, remorse, and guilt flitted across his face before anger settled there. “So you’re just giving up? You’re just going to sit around the rest of your life and sulk?”

 

“I’m not sulking.” If the situation had not been so grim, she would have laughed. He sounded exactly like a little boy who was, indeed, sulking.

 

“Then what are you doing?”

 

“Look, why don’t the two of you just go away and leave me alone? I’m a grown man, I can take care of myself, and I don’t need either one of you checking up on me.” In the dim light it was hard to tell, but she thought his eyes were black with anger. Standing up, he swayed slightly but shook off the other man’s attempt to help steady him. Opening the door to the outside he issued, a clipped command, “Get out. Both of you. Now.”

 

His lips pressed together in a thin line, the blond man seemed to decide against continuing the argument and exited the apartment. She followed, and the door was slammed behind her. Eyeing the man she had followed out of the apartment, she thought he seemed stunned.

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know you,” she said. “I gather you work with John?”

 

“Yes, I’m…I was…I am…his partner.” Coming out of his distraction, he seemed to notice her standing there for the first time. “I’m sorry. Let me introduce myself, I’m Roy DeSoto.”

 

“I’m Rose…John and I were just starting to date when all this happened.” She paused a second and sized up the man before her. Hoping she had an ally in him, she beckoned him to follow her to her apartment. “He’s not doing fine you know.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” He nodded as he followed her inside.

 

“He doesn’t have any food, he was having a beer for breakfast. I’m worried about him, and I don’t know what to do.”

 

“I don’t know, either.” He rubbed his forehead in distraction, looking perplexed. “I guess the best thing to do is to give him time, let him get this out of his system. He always bounces back from these things. It just takes time.” She could not tell if he was trying to convince her or himself. “Here, let me give you my home and work phone numbers. Then, if you need to get in touch with me, you can.” She handed him a pen and a pad of notepaper and he wrote the numbers down.

 

Taking the notebook back from him, she flipped to another page and wrote her numbers on it. She ripped it out of the book and handed it to him. “My numbers, just in case….” He nodded as he took the paper from her. “I’ll keep an eye on him and let you know if there’s any change,” she assured him.

 

“Okay. I’ll be looking in on him from time to time, too.” Still looking somewhat dazed, he turned to leave. Putting out her hand, she stopped him. When he turned back, she attempted to give him a reassuring smile.

 

“Between the two of us, we’ll get him through this?” She had meant for it to be a reassurance, but her voice quavered and it came out a question instead.

 

“I hope so.” Patting her hand resting on his arm, he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Turning, he left the apartment.

 

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

 

After slamming the door behind his friends, he leaned against it. Part of him wished he could cry, but another part of him knew he would never cry again. He was too tired to cry, too tired to think, too tired to stand there, and too tired to walk back across the room to the couch. Leaning his back against the door he slid down to sit on the floor with his aching head on his knees.

 

Regret washed over him. Why had he pushed his partner away? The man was his best friend in the world. Maybe that was the problem; he did not want to end up failing this friend as he had his other friend. Too tired to think about it, with his legs still folded up against his chest, he slipped slowly onto his right side. He lay there for a long time, staring into space, before he fell asleep.

 

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

 

“Let’s go bowling.” She sat at the kitchen table, which was littered with dirty dishes. She had tried several times to clean the table off, but he had growled at her to leave it alone. Knowing he did not want her there, and afraid of what he might do, given his state of mind, she was careful not to cross him. Several suggestions had already been rejected, and her hopes of getting him out of his apartment were quickly dimming. If she could get him out of his apartment and doing something besides moping, she hoped it would lift his spirits.

 

“I don’t want to go bowling.” He had not growled at her, she took that as a good sign.

 

“Why not? It would be fun, and you told me you liked…”

 

His hand hit the table with a resounding smack. “Why don’t you just leave?” Standing with a suddenness that over turned his chair, he continued, “Don’t you get it? I don’t want you here. I don’t need you. I don’t love you.” Leaning towards her, he scowled into her face.

 

Startled surprise turned to indignation as she stood to face him, closing the distance between them. “Well, I’m not terribly sure I love you either right at this moment. But I don’t think you’re in any shape to know what you need or how you feel, and until you are, I’m going to stick to you like glue.”

 

“That’s the stupidest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

 

“Stupid or not, I mean it, and you’re stuck with me.” They stood staring at one another for a long moment. He was the first to lower his gaze.

 

“Fine.” Spitting out the word, he turned away from her. “Do what you want.” Walking with long strides into the living room, he flopped down on the couch, picked up the remote, and aimed it at the TV, pushing the on button with unnecessary force. When she followed him into the living room, he ignored her. Relieved he had backed down, she realized that if he had held her gaze two seconds longer, she would have given in and left. As it was, she merely walked into the living room and sat down in the chair next to the couch, and began to watch TV.

 

********

 

Feeling uneasy about his state of mind, it became a part of her routine to check on him before she left in the morning and when she came home in the evenings. Some evenings he let her stay and chat or watch TV, others he growled almost as soon as he saw her and insisted she leave. She became very well acquainted with the vagaries of Roy’s schedule and knew when to call him at home and when to call him at the station. She, also, became well acquainted with JoAnne. At first Roy’s wife had been puzzled by her frequent calls, but when she realized the other woman’s calls concerned John, she began to chat with her before handing the phone over to her husband.

 

She knew Roy visited his friend occasionally on his days off. And also knew, he had had no more success drawing the other man out of himself or his apartment than she had. One day as she was about to leave she saw Roy in front of the other man’s door.

 

Opening the door John stared balefully at his friend.

 

“May I come in?”

 

“Sure. Why not?”

 

“How’re you doing?”

 

“Look, Roy, what do you want?”

 

“Nothing. I don’t want anything, Johnny.”

 

“Well, then what are you doing here?”

 

“I just came to see how you’re doing.”

 

“I’m doing just fine. I told you before, I can take care of myself.”

 

“If you’re fine, then why, in the middle of the day, aren’t you dressed?”

 

“What are you, my keeper?”

 

“No. No of course not…Johnny I…I just thought we might go somewhere…do something.”

 

“Oh? Like what?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe you could come over to the house, visit with JoAnne and the kids. They’d love to see you. We hardly ever see each other since you’ve been off. I was just hoping to spend some time with you.”

 

“Oh really, Roy? Or were you hoping to talk some sense into me, again? Convince me Tommy’s death wasn’t my fault.”

 

“No. That isn’t why I came at all. Though….”

 

“Good, because I’ve heard all I want to on that subject.”

 

“Johnny, you can’t keep blaming yourself….”

 

“So, how’re the guys?”

 

“Good…they’re all good. Marco…”

 

“That’s great, glad to hear it. If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”

 

“Sure, I’ll see you later.”

 

“Sure.”

 

Feeling like a voyeur, she listened to the exchange through her open apartment door, then watched in dismay as Roy left.

 

********

 

Closing the door with a snap in his friend’s face, he crossed to the couch, sighing. Flopping down on the couch he reflected on how incredibly easy it was to push his former partner away. That was what he wanted; to be left alone, wasn’t it. So, why did he feel so lonely? If only Roy would listen to him instead of trying to convince him how wrong he was. There had to be something he could say or do to convince his former partner that he was, at least in part, to blame for Tommy’s death. If only Roy would listen and try to understand how he felt. But so far he had not listened, had not understood. And he was tired of trying to make him understand.

 

********

 

Roy walked to his car and climbed in. He hated to see his friend hurting. But until the other man was ready to listen to reason, there was nothing he could do. He could not help but think there must be something he could do or say to get him to listen to reason. Then maybe, he would understand what happened was not his fault. Sighing, he started the car and drove home.

 

*********

 

Shortly after Roy’s visit, Rose came home to find John standing on the second floor walkway, looking over the rail to the ground below.

 

“Hey, John,” she said lightly, wondering what he was doing there. Standing on the walkway barefooted and bare chested, his expression hard to read, he held his ever-present bottle of beer. Lounge pants hung on his hips; the tie, cinched at his waist, the only thing keeping them from falling down. In the sunlight, he looked haggard and unkempt. She barely kept herself from wincing as she noticed how prominent his ribs were.

 

“You know someone could really do some damage to themselves,” he waved the bottle of beer, indicating the ground below, “falling off this walkway.”

 

“Oh?” Wondering where he was going with his comment, hoping it wasn’t where she was afraid it was, she didn’t say anything more, but waited for him to speak again.

 

“’Course it’s not guaranteed they’d be killed. Not falling from this height.” She knew he must have seen the results of such falls in his line of work and did not doubt him. “No,” he continued before she could think of anything to say, “they’d have to fall from a lot higher than this to be sure they killed themselves.”

 

Chills began to work there way up her spine as she struggled to answer him calmly. “How high up would they have to be?”

 

“Three, four stories at least.” He had yet to look at her, his gaze remained fixed on the ground below. “Top of a building would be best, though. Somewhere out of the way where no one would see you and try to stop you.” As he spoke she could not tell if he even knew she was there.

 

“Like where?” she asked after a few moments silence, curious as to how well developed his plan was.

 

“I don’t know. An abandoned building, maybe.” He turned to look at her, then gave a soft snort of laughter. “You know what would be poetic?”

 

“No, what?” Seeing the look in his eyes, she felt the chills chasing each other up and down her spine.

 

“A hospital. That old abandoned hospital those kids tried to burn down. Where so many people have already died.” Turning he started toward his open apartment door. “Now that’d be poetic.”

 

“You wouldn’t really do that, would you?” Much as she feared the answer, she felt compelled to ask the question. Watching him as he entered the apartment and turned to look at her before he closed the door, her mouth began to feel as if it was stuffed with cotton wool. When he finally answered she did not know whether to be comforted or even more alarmed.

 

“Now, would I do something like that?” he asked, then closed the door before she could fully process what he had said.

 

When she got inside her own apartment, she still felt apprehensive, but she did not know what to do. She knew Roy was working that day, so she called the station, but got no answer. Deducing that the crew must be out on a run, she replaced the receiver and debated whether to call JoAnne or not. Picking up the receiver once more she dialed the number, but got no answer there either. She decided she would call back later.

 

But she never did. That evening she had to go back to the office. When she checked on him the next morning, she was pleased to find that his spirits seemed to have improved. Though he kept the curtains drawn tightly, he had started to pick up the apartment. His mood seemed to steadily become better and his apartment steadily became cleaner. She began to hope that the crises had passed and that he was on his way to recovery.

 

***********

 

A few days later, as she was preparing to leave her office, a co-worker she frequently had lunch with stopped by her desk.

 

“Hey, Rose, want to go to lunch?” the other woman asked, as usual.

 

“No, sorry,” she answered, shaking her head. “I left some things at home and need to go pick them up on my lunch break.”

 

“Going to check up on lover boy?”

 

“No.” She frowned at the implication, beginning to regret she had said anything to her friend about the situation.

 

“I’m going to get some things from home.”

 

“Umhmm, see you later.” The other woman’s expression was one of patent disbelief as she waved and breezed out of the office.

 

Of course she was not going to check up on John. She might go by his place and look in on him, but she was not checking up on him. Repeating this same litany to herself the whole way there, she found herself standing in front of John’s door. Her knock received no answer. Noticing the curtains were open, she tried the doorknob and felt it turn in her hand. John rarely left his apartment in the middle of the day. She tried to tell herself there was nothing to worry about in his being gone and the door unlocked, but it did not work. Chills began dancing up and down her spine, a sure sign something was amiss.

 

Slowly she pushed open the door and peered into the living room. John was no where in sight. She listened and heard only silence. Walking into the room she looked around. “Johnny,” she called, but received no answer. The apartment was clean, almost sterile in its appearance. She had no idea where he could have gone; he had said nothing about going anywhere when she had spoken with him that morning. Then she saw the note propped up next to the lamp on the table, addressed to her. Through her mind flew the conversation they had had earlier that week out on the walkway and her heart began to race. Picking up the note, she opened it with trembling fingers. Surely he would not have…

 

*********

 

“Station 51, Captain Stanley speaking.” Cap answered the phone on the second ring.

 

“Captain Stanley is Roy there?” The voice on the other end of the line sounded frantic.

 

“Sure, just a minute.” Cap laid the receiver on his desk and walked to his office door. “Roy, phone.” Both paramedics were working on straightening the drug and trauma boxes after the last rescue. Roy stopped what he was doing and followed Cap into his office. Picking up the phone he identified himself and then listened with a growing expression of dismay on his face.

 

“When?” he asked tersely. “Where?….what makes you think that?” Listening again he began to nod his head.

 

“We’ll be there. Yes…just as soon as we can.”

 

“What’s up?” Cap had recognized the voice on the other end of the phone line and had a sinking feeling he was not going to like what he heard.

 

“It’s Johnny. Rose thinks he going to jump off of a building.” Roy went on to explain what she had told him.

 

“You think she’s right?”

 

“Yes, I do.”

 

“Well then let’s go. I’ll call it in.” Minutes later both the squad and the engine, lights flashing and sirens blaring, roared from the station.

 

********

 

Feeling morosely pleased with himself, Johnny stood on the roof of the building surveying the city below. This old abandoned hospital, where healing was supposed to be the goal, and where so many deaths had already occurred, was, in his mind, the perfect place for one more.

 

Condemned by damage during an earthquake years before, the building had become an eyesore. He remembered when he and the others of the A-shift crew had assisted in fighting a fire some kids had started thinking it would be a service to the community to burn the building down. They had ended up trapped in the building and had had to be rescued.

 

No one was going to rescue him. He had all afternoon to accomplish his self appointed task. Rose would not find the note he had left until evening, when she came home from work. Smiling to himself at his cleverness, he thought back on the past several weeks.

 

The people who had visited him had been so easy to push away. If they had really cared about him wouldn’t they have tried a little harder? Oddly, other than Roy, Chet had proved to be the hardest to push away, the man was nothing if not tenacious. Or maybe it was just hard headedness. But finally even he had given up.

 

He felt truly sorry about what this was going to do to Roy. But he couldn’t let that stop him. He had to end the emotional and physical pain he was feeling constantly now. Neither beer nor aspirin had touched his headache for the past few weeks. He had agonized over his decision, wishing there was some other way, something else he could do. But once he had made the decision and laid out his plans he had felt a measure of relief, at least emotionally. Not wanting to leave a mess behind he had straightened his apartment. Rose had taken it as a sign his depression was lifting and he deliberately let her continue to think so. A note left for her and Roy was meant to reassure them that none of this was their fault. He alone bore the burden of his decisions and actions and the resulting outcome. The irony that it was just such a letter he had received from Tommy, reassuring him that what Tommy did was not John’s fault, never occurred to him.

 

At the thought of never seeing Roy, JoAnne, the kids, or Rose again a wave of sadness overwhelmed him. If only there was another way, some thing else he could do to end the pain. But there wasn’t, he was doing what was best for them all. They would all be better off without him. When he thought about his partner working with someone else, he had come closest to wanting to go back to work, back to the way things had been. But then he thought about the danger he would have been putting his friend in if he had continued to work and made a fatal error.

 

The horror of the thought that he could have killed a patient was eclipsed only by the horror of the thought that he could have killed his partner or one of the members of the engine crew. Yes he was doing what was best for all of them. He was responsible for one friend’s death he couldn’t bear the thought that he might in any way be responsible for another.

 

He knew beyond doubt that Tommy’s death was his fault. It didn’t matter what anyone else said. At the very least he should have gone to visit Tommy when he asked him to. Being busy with his own life was no excuse, he should have gone, should have been there for his friend. Somehow he should have known there was some thing dreadfully wrong. Surely he should have sensed it in the other man’s voice, even if his words told him otherwise.

Now it was his turn, he had to die before he caused anyone else’s death.

 

For so many years he had asked himself and his partner how anyone could allow themselves to come to the point where suicide was even an option. Now he knew. Now he knew suicide was not just an option, one of many, it was the only option. It was the only possible way to ever put a stop to the guilt and pain he felt. Nothing else could touch it. Not alcohol, not drugs…nothing.

 

So he had carefully laid and carried out his plans, then he had driven to the site and made his way into the building. The ravages of the earthquake and fire were evident everywhere. Ignoring the signs that said the building was condemned and dangerous, he picked his way through the debris up to the roof.

Now he stood on the roof and congratulated himself on getting there with no one the wiser. Even when he had all but told Rose what he planned to do, she had not seemed alarmed except for that first evening. It was all so easy, and proved just how right he was in thinking no one would miss him, they would even be better off without him.

 

His reflections were interrupted by the sound of sirens. At first they were in the distance and he did not pay much attention to them. Then he realized they were coming closer and as he watched, they drew up on the pavement below him. Anger surged through him. How had they known? Rose would not be home for hours, would not find the note until after he had done what he came here to do. Watching in disbelief, he saw his former partner enter the building.

 

*******

 

The crew of station 51, arriving at their destination, found that Rose had been right. Between the earthquake and the fire the building looked ready to cave in on itself. Why it had not already the Captain did not know. On the roof stood a lone figure, his worst fears were confirmed, it was his former paramedic.

 

Watching as Roy entered the building, he had to admit the man certainly knew his rescue techniques. He had chosen a location where it would be totally impossible to rescue him physically. Roy was the only hope they had of getting John down off the roof without bloodshed.

 

********

 

Heart racing, mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton, Roy climbed the stairs quickly. Suddenly rounding a bend in the stairwell his foot landed on something that rolled. Nearly loosing his balance, he pitched forward. The only thing keeping him upright, was his grip on the railing. Hearing a ringing sound farther down the stairwell he surmised he had stepped on a piece of pipe. After debating for a millisecond whether to go back down and find the pipe and make sure it was out of the way or to continue up to his friend, he continued toward the roof. Deciding he needed to get the situation with his partner resolved first, he made a mental note to look for the pipe on the way back down. Then promptly forgot about it as his mind turned to his friend.

 

When he reached the top of the stairwell, he slowly opened the door leading onto the roof His heartbeat raced. At the best of times situations like these were tricky, but when it was someone you knew, it was all the more harrowing. In addition he knew the other man knew every trick in the book, so the likely-hood of being able to talk him off the roof using those techniques was slim. It was even possible his very presence would be just the catalyst to send the other man off the roof. With that in mind, he opened the door to the roof slowly.

 

The door opened so that he could see his partner from the stairwell. The other man had to know he was coming. From where John stood he could see the engine and squad below. And most probably had seen him enter the building. But the other man continued to stand facing away from him. So he eased his way out of the stairwell and onto the roof itself, his feet crunching slightly on the roofing material. Holding the door so it would not slam shut he let it close quietly.

 

“Johnny?” he said softly, as he walked toward his partner. The other man did not acknowledge him, so he took a couple of steps closer.

 

“That’s close enough,” the other man said tiredly without turning around, just before he was close enough to be able to touch him.

 

“Johnny, what are you doing up here?” he asked, trying to keep the tone in his voice light.

 

“We both know what I’m doing up here,” the other man said, his tone flat.

 

“I’m not sure I do know,” he said. “I know you’ve been depressed ever since your friend died but…is this supposed to help?”

 

“Yeah. It’ll help,” John said. Finally he looked toward his friend. “It’ll end the pain and guilt.”

 

Roy could see the anguish in his friend’s eyes that had become an all too familiar sight. “Johnny, you know this isn’t the way to solve your problem.”

 

“Yes it is, Roy. It’s the only way.” He shook his head, sighing. “Drugs won’t touch it, neither will alcohol. The only thing to do is end it.”

 

“End what? The pain or your life?”

 

“Both. It hurts too much to go on this way.”

 

“Okay, jump,” Roy said suddenly. He hoped he was not pushing his friend off the roof with his words, but he had to get through to him somehow. The other man had apparently made up his mind and no amount of reasoning on his part was going to talk him out of it. John turned to face him, a questioning look in his eyes. “But,” he continued, “just know that I’ll be right behind you.”

 

“What!?” John asked his tone incredulous. “What do you mean you’ll be right behind me?”

 

“When you jump…I’m jumping, too.” Watching his friend, he saw several emotions pass over his face and was relieved to see anger settle there.

 

“You can’t do that!”

 

“Yes I can and I will,” Roy said in all sincerity. For this to work, he knew he had to be totally honest with his friend, he could not bluff. He had to be willing to do exactly what he said he would, because the other man knew him well enough to know when he was bluffing.

 

“Look, your best friend didn’t jump off a building,” the angry man said hotly.

 

“No…but he’s about to,” the paramedic replied. Hazel eyes met brown ones and held their gaze. “So, if this is what you do when your best friend jumps off a building, then it’s what I’m going to do. Only I’m not going to wait and stew for months, I’m just going to get it over with and jump with you.”

 

“Roy, that’s ridiculous.” John’s eyes were dark with anger. Seeing the sincerity in the expression on his friend’s face, he continued, “You have JoAnne and the kids to think about. You can’t just go and leave them like that.”

 

“That’s just it, JoAnne and the kids. What am I supposed to tell them? What do I tell Chris and Jenny?” Roy threw his arms in the air in a gesture of exasperation. “That I let their Uncle Johnny jump off the roof because things got hard to take? And what about JoAnne, she loves you like a brother, what do I tell her?” Roy sidestepped toward the short wall surrounding the roof and gestured toward the street below. “And what about those guys down there, our crewmates, what do I tell them? And Rose, what would I tell Rose?”

 

“What does she have to do with this?” John’s dark eyes flashed anger.

 

“How do you think I knew you were here? She found your note and called the station frantic with worry that it was too late. How do you think she’ll feel if I have to tell her I didn’t do everything I could to keep you from jumping?” Shaking his head he continued, “No, I couldn’t face her or them. If you go, I go.”

 

“You have done everything you can. It won’t be your fault if I jump.”

 

“Yes, it will! If I don’t stop you from jumping, then I won’t have done everything I could. I wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt anymore than you can live with the guilt you’re feeling.”

 

“They wouldn’t blame you.” John turned away from his friend and contemplated the horizon.

 

The other man could see that his friend was still stiff with anger. He had taken heart when he had heard John use the word if rather than when. Knowing he had to push, but afraid he might push too hard, he steeled himself to continue. When he had been in these situations before he had been aware that it was a life or death situation.

 

Now he was not only aware of it, it was his friend’s and his own life he was fighting for. His heart raced, he could hear its pounding in his ears, his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. After a few moments he answered his friend. “Maybe they wouldn’t blame me, but I would.”

 

“Roy.” He gritted the word out between clenched teeth. “I know what you’re doing. It’s not going to work. If I jump, you won’t follow me. You’re not that stupid.”

 

“Well, then I am that stupid. Because if you jump,” Roy emphasized the last few words, “then I’m jumping right behind you.” In that moment he knew did mean it, with all his heart. If this did not work, if his friend jumped, he would follow him. There was no doubt in his mind about it. Determination shone in his eyes as he stared into his partner’s anger darkened ones.

 

The two men stared at one another for a long moment. Finally, John’s eyes dropped and he turned from him.

 

“Damn you, Roy,” he said through clenched teeth. “Damn you.” Turning towards the wall surrounding the roof, his back stiff with anger, his hands clinched into fists.

 

“So, what’s it going to be? Over the side or down the stairwell?” The paramedic asked. He could hear John cursing him under his breath and somehow knew he had won, at least for now. After several moments he saw the other man’s shoulders sag. A sullen expression on his face, the still angry man turned and stalked toward the stairwell. Yanking open the door, he stalked into the stairwell and down the stairs.

 

When they were about a third of the way down the stairwell, Roy saw the other man stumble on a landing. His feet going out from under him, he tumbled down the stairs to the next landing, where he lay unmoving. Hearing the ring of metal on concrete, he knew what John had stumbled over; the same piece of pipe he had tripped over earlier. Only then did he remember his intention of looking for the pipe on his way back down. And now his laxity might have cost his friend his life. All of this flew through his mind as he ran down the stairs after his fallen friend, fear making his heart pound.

 

Examining his unconscious friend, he found he was still alive though his arm was definitely broken and Roy strongly suspected he at least had a concussion, given that he was unconscious and totally unresponsive to stimuli. Pulling the HT from his pocket, he radioed down to the engine crew.

 

“Cap, I need some equipment and help up here…”

 

When the Captain heard the near panic in his senior paramedic’s voice he knew something was terribly wrong. Having seen the two men turn toward the stairwell, he had assumed the situation was resolved, but now it appeared it was not. His only consolation was that Roy was asking for equipment, so he knew John was still alive.

 

Walt and Chet carried the requested equipment up the stairwell. When they saw Roy kneeling beside John they hurried up the last flight of stairs to the landing above.

 

“What happened?” Walt asked.

 

“He fell. Tripped on a piece of pipe and fell from that landing to this one.” Indicating the landing above, Roy grabbed the trauma box while Chet set up the biophone. The two paramedics began to check the fallen man for any further injuries than the obviously broken arm. There was no sign of a skull fracture, no fluid in either his ears or his nose, and no decrepitous at the site of injury. A large bump formed itself on the side of his head and he remained ominously unresponsive to any stimuli.

 

Acting like an automaton, he started to work on his friend. Drawing from his long years as a paramedic he did and said all the right things. Making assessments and relaying information with part of his brain while the other part was watching the proceedings, horrified to see his friend lying on the landing, hurt because of his carelessness.

 

*********

 

“I’m afraid Johnny has a bad head injury. He’s in a comma. We don’t know when or if he’ll come out of it.” Dr. Early’s face reflected his distress.

 

“We’ve done what we can for him, the rest is up to him. He’ll be in recovery for a while, then they’ll move him to ICU.” Dr. Brackett picked up where Joe had left off. Still in their scrubs, both doctors stood before the six distressed firefighters.

 

All Roy could do was stand and stare blankly at the doctor’s before him. He wanted to do something to help his friend, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing any of them could do.

 

“Does anyone know what he was doing on the roof of that building?” Roy heard Brackett ask, but was unable to respond, his voice wouldn’t come.

 

“He was going to jump.” The Captain’s words sounded distant and surreal to him. He could barely hear the other man’s explanation to the doctors over the rushing sound in his hears. The room began to spin slowly and he felt hot and cold at the same time. One thought filled his mind. If Johnny died it would be his fault. He had convinced his friend not to jump only to watch him trip on a piece of pipe that he, himself, should have discarded rather than ignoring.

 

“Roy!”

 

“Catch him!”

 

He hadn’t realized he was falling, but suddenly he felt strong arms wrap around him, steadying him. Still somewhat dizzy and confused he allowed himself to be led to a chair. Feeling his legs give way under him, he sat down heavily on the chair. Only then did Mike release him. Mike sat on one heal before him as the others surrounded them, looks of concern on their faces. Roy sat forward and buried his face in his hands, elbows on his knees.

 

“You all right, Roy?” Mike asked.

 

“Yeah, I’m all right.” Roy said into his hands, not daring to look up. He did not know which was worse, the dizziness or the looks of concern on his friend’s and co-worker’s faces.

 

“What’s wrong?” Mike asked the question for all of them.

 

“If Johnny dies, it’ll be my fault.” Roy voiced the thought that was consuming him.

 

“How can you say that, Pal.” Cap joined Mike in front of Roy. “You saved him, you talked him out of jumping.”

 

“Yeah, man,” Chet said from behind the Captain. “It’s not your fault that piece of pipe was on the stairs.”

 

“But it was my fault.” Roy finally looked up at them. “I tripped over the pipe on my way up the stairs, I didn’t go down then and take care of it. I was going to take care of it on the way back down. I forgot about it. And Johnny tripped over it. If I had taken care of it on the way up…”

 

“Roy, don’t start this,” Cap said, near despair himself.

 

“You sound like Johnny.” Mike added. “It was an accident, you didn’t cause it.”

 

“I didn’t prevent it either.” Roy buried his face in his hands once again. Waves of tiredness swept over him. If only he had gone back down and taken care of that pipe. After all he had done to keep Johnny from jumping, then to have this happen. It was too much for him and he began to weep quietly into his hands. Mike moved to sit in the chair next to him and laid a hand on his back.

 

“He’s going to be okay. Johnny’s strong, he’ll pull through this.”

 

“Yeah, Pal, you know Johnny he always pulls through.”

 

Roy lifted his tear stained face. “I’m not so sure he will this time. I talked him out of jumping, not out of wanting to die.”

 

“Doc?” Cap looked at the doctors who stood nearby. He didn’t know how to voice the question in everyone’s minds.

 

“It could affect his recovery. At this point it could go either way.” Dr. Brackett frowned and shrugged. “The will to live goes a long way in cases like this, if he doesn’t have it….” There was no need to finish the sentence. A profound silence descended on the room and hung there.

 

Page 2