The Seventh Hook

Part 2

THREE WEEKS LATER

Dixie walked the quiet halls of Rampart Emergency. Days like this were few and far between. She sighed as she sat at her desk and stared into space, enjoying the peace and quiet of the moment. Kelly Bracket stopped and waved his hand in front of her face.

“Earth the Dixie!” he said, with a smile in his voice.

“Stop that!” Dixie said as she swatted at his hand. “I was enjoying a rare moment of peace and you just spoiled the mood!” she growled in mock seriousness.

Dr. Brackett laughed his deep-throated laugh. “I guess you don’t want any lunch today, then?” he asked.

“You buying?” Dixie asked.

“Who else?” he teased.

“Where to, oh big spender?” Dixie said with a grin.

“Oh, how about we dine on tuna-a-la sandwich with coffee in a cup at out local cafeteria?” he said.

“Oh, please!” she laughed at his wise cracking.

He held out his arm to her. Dixie looped her arm through his said, “Oh gallant, sir, I would be delighted to share your lunch with you.”

“Carol, would you watch the desk until I return?” Dixie said to the nurse at the reception desk.

“Sure, Miss McCall.”

Dixie and Dr. Brackett entered the cafeteria. Dixie was telling Brackett about a new patient in the geriatrics ward when she noticed Tracy, the Head Day Nurse from Pediatrics, sitting alone in one of the corners. Her eyes were red from crying and she looked depressed.

“I’ll be right back, Kel,” Dixie said, and went over to Tracy.

“Tracy?” Dixie asked as she laid a hand on the older nurse’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Tracy looked up at Dixie and shook her head. She sniffed then said, “No. I just received word that my brother was killed when a building collapsed a few weeks ago. I don’t know how they managed to identify him. I guess because I reported him missing. He was so young!” Tracy cried into her handkerchief. “I have to make arrangements for the funeral, but I don’t know where to start.”

“Do you have anyone you can call?” Dixie asked, ashamed of the fact that she had never gotten to really know the head nurse from the other floor.

Tracy nodded and said, “Oh my, yes. I’ve called my sisters and told them. They should be here by tomorrow. But, Dixie, I am so devastated! He was the youngest of all of us, and the only boy of the family!”

Dixie patted the older nurse on the shoulder. She did not know what to say. Any platitudes she used would sound empty and possibly condescending to the older woman.

“Tell you what,” Dixie said, sitting down, “I’ll call up administration and tell them you will need several days off. That way, it will be one less problem for you to deal with.”

“Oh, Dixie, thank you!” wailed Tracy.

Dixie patted her on the arm, “You just get yourself home, and don’t worry about coming in to work for now. You can call and let them know when you feel like returning.”

“Thank you, Dixie. You are sweet,” Tracy gave her a watery smile.

Dixie smiled and patted her on the arm again before walking over to join Dr. Brackett at his table.

“Problem?” he asked.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Dixie smiled and picked up half the sandwich from Brackett’s plate.

“Hey!” he said and laughed. Dixie cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I was going to buy you one of your own,” he said.

“So, I’ll share,” she told him with a twinkle.

Johnny came sliding in to the station and charged into the locker room to change clothes, “Man! Why can’t I ever make it on time?” he complained to himself. “If it isn’t one thing, it’s something else!” Johnny was muttering and throwing clothes around wildly when Roy walked in.

“What’s the problem, Junior?” he asked as he opened his locker to change into his uniform.

“Awww, nothing!” Johnny grouched, then noticed Roy was taking his time changing into his uniform.

“Man, you better get hopping! It’s almost five after! Cap’ll have our heads if we’re late!” Johnny exclaimed.

“Relax, Junior. You’re not late,” Roy told his partner calmly.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Johnny asked, puzzled.

“I changed your clocks to read twenty minutes fast the last time I was at your place. I wanted to see if you would notice,” Roy explained.

“You WHAT!” Johnny yelped at his partner.

He looked at his watch, then back at his partner. “Why’d you do a thing like that for?” he asked.

“You’re on time, aren’t you?” Roy said calmly.

“Man!” Johnny said in disgust. “I did all that hurrying for nothing!”

Roy just smiled as he changed his shirt. He kept his face averted until he could control his expression better.

“I just wanted to see if it would work,” Roy said. “And I think it did.”

“Roll call, five minutes!” they heard Cap call.

“Come on, let’s get some coffee, Junior,” Roy said, and strolled from the room.

Johnny slouched into the day room and pulled two cups from the cabinet. He handed one to Roy then filled the cups with the freshly brewed coffee. He was standing leaning on the counter when Chet Kelly came flying through the door, late. He made a mad dash to the locker room. Johnny nearly choked on his coffee when he saw Chet’s rapid fly through. Man, he thought, that was me just ten minutes ago! He could not pass up the opportunity.

“Hey, Chet,” Johnny said as he strolled into the locker room, “Hot date keep you out last night?”

“Can it, Gage,” Kelly said as he quickly changed into his uniform. “For your information I was over at Marsha’s house helping her out with some furniture and stuff.”

Johnny straightened up, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, and I’m going back over there tomorrow after we get off shift to help some more.”

“How’d you get so lucky?” Johnny asked, miffed that Chet had gotten one over on him.

“Luck of the Irish, me boy. Luck of the Irish!” Chet rubbed it in.

“Roll call!” Cap called. “Let’s not keep people waiting!”

“I hear Cap’s back,” Chet said with a grin.

“Yep,” Johnny said, “Sure is nice to have the ‘family’ back together!”

Tracy sighed as she went through her brother’s belongings. It had been a long three days for the older woman. Her sisters had come long enough for the funeral, then had left without saying as much as a goodbye. She and her brother had been close; closer than any of her sisters, or her parents. None of them had forgiven the two for moving away from the family homestead in the Ozark Mountains. They had realized in order to better themselves they would have to move and find jobs that would allow them the freedom to travel. The rest of the family had been content to stay in the mountains and let life pass them by.

Tracy had tried to explain to her sisters why the police were sure it was Jimmy. She had called in a missing person’s report three days after the fire that had almost claimed the life of a fireman. Jimmy always went to the fires to watch the men at work. He had last been seen entering the building, but no one had seen him come out. The firemen had searched the building, but had not found any sign of the man and assumed he had escaped. It was not until the fireman had come up missing that anyone gave thought to the man who had been spotted earlier in the day. It was speculated as to whether or not the mysterious man had set the fire.

When the fireman had been rescued, a partial description of another man had been given. A police artist had sketched the man’s likeness as the fireman described him, but his memory was vague and it was hard for him to be certain of exact details. When Tracy made her report she was shown the drawing and she was able to identify the John Doe as her missing brother. Tracy had been unable to give a reason for her brother’s presence at the fire, or why he would have been in the basement that had collapsed.

Tracy pulled a small book from the bottom of the drawer she had been emptying. She opened it and scanned the contents. A list of items was neatly written in her brother’s fine penmanship. The list contained items he had apparently been collecting over time. A lot of the items, she saw, were fire or police related. Mostly fire related, she noted absently.

Tracy sat back on her heels and stared into space. Her mind reeled at her discovery. Something in Tracy’s mind slowly bent, she gazed blankly at the book. Her brother had died in a collapsed building accident. The police had told her where he was buried, but because of the mountain of debris they had decided to leave his body where it lay. She had accepted their decision at the time and had only held a small memorial for him at the site.

Her sisters had, of course, been upset that she had not demanded the city extricate the body for them, but she had reasoned with them that it would be better to leave him where he was. They could go home and tell the parents he was resting peacefully and add a marker in his name to the family plot.

Tracy looked down at the book again. In it was a list of coats and helmets her brother had been collecting before he died. Something told her he had been the one stealing the coats from the fire stations, since he never wanted to buy them from a second hand store. He had told her once, “I get only the ‘real’ thing, not that crap they sell in the Second hand stores.”

Tracy’s mind bent a little more as she tried to reason out why he had stolen the items, if indeed they had been stolen. She would have to find out for sure. Tracy put the little book in her pocket. Only one person she knew could give her the information she so desperately needed.

Marsha, she decided, would help her find out. Tracy finished packing her brother’s belongings and marked them for either storage, or donating to the local charities around the city. She slowly left the apartment, making a note to herself to return the key to the landlord as soon as her brother’s stuff had been removed.

Marsha was talking to Carol when Tracy walked up. She smiled at the two women as she stopped and asked, “Marsha, could I speak with you?”

“Sure, Tracy,” Marsha answered. “Would you excuse me, Carol?”

Carol smiled at Tracy and said, “I am so sorry for your loss, Tracy. If there is anything I can do for you, just let me know.” She gave the older nurse a hug.

“You are so sweet, Dearie. Thank you,” Tracy said.

Carol walked away. Marsha led Tracy to one of the lounge chairs. They sat down and Tracy said, “I’m not sure where to start,” Tracy sat quietly. “I think my brother has stolen some things that need to be returned. I don’t know where to go or who to contact, so I thought maybe you would know?”

Marsha rubbed the bridge of her nose and thought for a moment, “It would depend on what he stole, who you would contact.” Marsha looked at the distraught woman for a minute, then asked, “What did he steal, Tracy?”

Tracy chewed her lower lip trying to decide exactly what to tell her friend. She looked everywhere but at Marsha before deciding to hedge a little about the stolen items.

“Well, it’s a bunch of clothes and some hats and shoes, mostly,” Tracy said. “I thought maybe I could give them back without people being any the wiser.”

“Do you know who the things belongs to?” Marsha asked.

“Land sakes, yes. It would be hard not to know when you see them!” Tracy exclaimed, a little irritated.

Marsha was surprised at her friend’s attitude swing. She smiled and offered in a soothing voice, “Hey, it’s alright, Tracy. Don’t get upset. I was just asking so I’d know what to advise you.”

“Humph!” Tracy said through the sudden haze of her mind. The darkness tried to interfere with her thinking. Her mind twisted and bent again. She rubbed her temples at the sudden pounding her head was giving her.

“Tracy, you okay?” Marsha asked with concern.

“Yes!” Tracy snapped. She rose from the chair and stomped from the room.

Marsha sat and thought about Tracy’s actions. It was not like her to be so moody. The sudden swing in emotions worried Marsha enough that she though about asking Dixie to check on Tracy. Shaking her head, she decided to wait before taking any action.

Tracy sat at the desk and stewed over her conversation. She would have to be very careful about how much she told Marsha. She knew from the hospital grapevine Marsha would not talk about her experience in the old sub-basement where the fireman had been found.

A haze covered her mind. The twisting became more pronounced in her mind and the voices she had been trying to ignore became a little more forceful. She shook her head, clearing her mind. A young student nurse was asking her a question and she had to concentrate to understand her and answer the question.

By five o’clock Tracy was exhausted. She left the Nurses’ Lounge and headed for her bus stop. Marsha caught up with her and asked, “You look tired. Do you want someone to drive you home? Pete lives in your direction; he said he could give you a lift.”

“No, thanks, Love. I’ll just ride the bus and be home in no time,” Tracy assured her.

“Tracy, I’m worried about you. Please let me help,” Marsha said. She had never felt like helping someone as much as she wanted to help her friend today.

Tracy patted her arm, “I will get home and relax a little, then take the old truck out for a spin. I haven’t been driving in a long time. It might be nice to get out in the open for a while.”

Marsha smiled, “Oh, Tracy, that does sound nice. You be careful and enjoy yourself. Call me if you need anything.” Marsha gave Tracy another hug, then hurried away when she heard her name being paged to report to Emergency.

Tracy sighed and left the hospital.

Tracy closed and locked her doors. She pulled the shades over her windows and proceeded to make herself unavailable to the outside world for a while. She unplugged the phone.

She sat in her rocking chair and stared into space. Her head ached and her eyes were sore and dry from all the crying she had been doing. She tried to think about what she would do with her brother’s stuff when the voices in her head came to fore. She pounded her temples, trying to dislodge them, but they kept on.

The voices were insistent. She went to the kitchen and made herself some tea, then sat staring into space, the tea forgotten. The voices grew louder and more insistent.

She was so tired, maybe a nap would help, she decided. Rising from the table she poured her tea down the sink. Slowly she wandered into the bedroom. She closed the curtains, making the room a dusky twilight, and lay on the bed. She drifted into a fitful doze.

“Tracy,” the voice called. It sounded like her brother. “Tracy!” the voice cried again, sounding lost and frightened. “Help me, Tracy! Don’t leave me here!”

Tracy tossed on the bed, caught in the nightmare.

“Tracy! Don’t let them have my collection!” the voice had turned angry. Her brother’s face swam before her eyes. “Help me finish my collection, Tracy!” he said.

“No!” she wailed, “I can’t!”

He was angry, she could tell. “You brought me out here! I didn’t want to come! You can at least do this for me so I can rest!” he cried.

“No!” she moaned. “Jimmy, please! Don’t ask this of me!”

“No, no, no!” she cried and jerked herself awake. Sweat covered her body and fear clouded her mind. She knew it was just a dream, but even though she had left the Ozarks behind, her superstitions had followed her to LA She trembled, uncertain what to do, or how to go about doing it.

“I can’t!” she moaned, “I can’t do it, Jimmy!” Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard the mocking voice of her brother, “Yes, you can!”

Tracy left the house and went to the storage building Jimmy had built. She unlocked the door, not sure what she would find. Jimmy had been very insistent that no one go in but himself. She pushed open the door and stood gaping at the contents of the building.

Piled around the room were coats, helmets and boots. There was an extension ladder, hoses and other paraphernalia stacked haphazardly around the building’s interior.

Tracy just stood, not moving. She shook her head. “Oh, Jimmy, what did you do?” she cried silently.

A shadow ran across her face and she shivered. It dawned on her how late in the day it was. The sun was starting its downward slide. Tracy decided to wait until full darkness had set in, before putting the plan she had half-formed in motion.

She went to her small garage and unlocked the door. Jimmy’s truck was parked where he had left it the last time she saw him. She took the keys and started the truck, then parked it next to the storage building. As darkness settled in she loaded the truck with all the things she thought she might need.

Tracy had slipped over the edge of sanity into the world of the insane, quietly and painlessly. .Marsha, she knew, would be working late, but for Tracy, it proved to be no obstacle.

Marsha made a face at the paperwork she had to finish. She hated the stuff, but knew it was part of the job. Sighing, she returned her mind back to the pile in front of her.

She looked around; the lounge was empty. The night had been quiet so far and it seemed as if it would be that way for the rest of her shift which, she glanced at her watch, still had several hours to go. She sighed again. “Oh, bother!” she thought and threw her pen down, “I need some coffee!”

Marsha had her back to the door so she did not see the person who entered. She jumped in surprise when Tracy said, “Quiet night, Love?”

“Tracy?” Marsha was astonished at her friend’s appearance. Dirt and mud caked her face and plastered her hair to her head. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, my, yes, I just had a little gardening accident. I thought I better come in and be checked over before going back home,” Tracy’s laugh was high pitched.

Marsha looked at her friend; an uncomfortable feeling started in her chest and spread rapidly down her spine.

“Here, let me help you to a treatment room. I’ll call Dr. Morton to check you out,” Marsha said, gingerly approaching her friend.

“Thank you. You are so sweet,” Tracy said.

Marsha noticed a strange look in her friend’s eyes. “Tracy, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, dear,” she answered and patted Marsha’s arm.

Marsha guided her friend down the hall and into Treatment Room One, “You just sit here and I’ll have Dr. Morton paged.” Marsha helped Tracy up on the bed then went to the phone. “Please page Dr. Morton to Treatment Room One,” she told the operator. She heard Tracy moving around and turned in time to see her approaching with a syringe in her hand. She was not sure of the drug Tracy had filled the syringe with, but she backed away with her hand out, trying to ward the older nurse away. Tracy made a lunge and caught Marsha’s arm. With the strength of the insane she held on and jabbed the needle hard into Marsha’s arm. Marsha managed to swipe the needle away, but not before Tracy had managed to inject her with half the contents of the syringe.

“Tracy, no!” Marsha cried, not sure what was happening, was real. “ Please, don’t do this!”

Tracy was not listening; she heard only the voice in her head. When Marsha’s struggles started to cease she proceeded to guide the drugged nurse out he door. She quickly glanced around to be sure no one saw them, then guided Marsha to the parking lot and into the old truck. Marsha tried to resist, but the drug kept her movements slow and sluggish.

Dr. Morton hurried to the treatment room. When he entered, he looked around and frowned in annoyance. If this was a joke, he was not happy. He left the room and looked around for the duty nurse. The desk was empty, as was the lounge. He checked the roster. Nancy was supposed to be at the desk.

Dr. Morton glared as Nancy hurried back to her post.

“Is something wrong, Doctor?” she asked.

“Did you have me paged to Treatment One?” he snapped.

“No,” she answered. “I just stepped away to check some records. I was only around the corner.”

“Did you see anyone or hear anything unusual?” he asked, calming a little.

“I did hear Marsha talking to someone. I thought they went towards one of the rooms, but I didn’t see anything,” Nancy said. She thought for a minute, “I did hear someone call out just before you showed up, but I didn’t think anything about it. I thought maybe I was hearing things.”

Dr. Morton sighed. He was not happy about the lack of judgement some of the nurses showed, and this was one of those times.

“So, you didn’t even bother to investigate?” he asked.

Nancy shook her head nervously. Dr. Morton was not real patient with people he thought were incompetent in their jobs. Dr. Morton glared at her , or through her, she was not certain. He shook his head.

“I expect you to correct the problem if you ever hear something like this again, and investigate immediately, do you understand?” he scolded.

“Yes, sir,” she answered, glad of the reprieve.

The men at Station 51 sat around watching one of their favorite shows, Adam 12. They were leaning forward to catch everything when the tones sounded. They jumped and ran for the truck, but Roy and Johnny turned back to the day room when it was evident that only the engine was needed. It was a dumpster fire, the second of the day.

Johnny hurried back and switched the TV back on. He and Roy went back to watching the program. As the final credits rolled across the screen the engine returned.

“Aw, man!” Chet whined, “We missed the big finale!” His face was covered in soot and sweat.

“Look at it this way, Chet,” said Johnny, “It’ll give you something to look for in rerun season.”

Chet glared at the lanky paramedic. “Gee, thanks a lot, Gage.”

Stoker and the others walked in during the exchange and glanced at each man. They were used to the haranguing between the two men and ignored the jibes being tossed back and forth. Chet stomped off to the showers and Johnny just stood grinning.

“Who’s cooking, tonight?” Cap asked.

“Chet’s turn,” Marco said with a grimace. Chet was on one of his health food kicks, and all the guys had to pay for it.

“Any idea what he’s planning to cook?” Stoker asked, halfway interested.

“No telling with Chet,” Roy said.

Chet walked back into the day room. He finished drying his face, then tossed the towel at Johnny. He scowled at the men when he saw them watching him.

“What?” he asked defensively.

“We were just wondering what you were planning for dinner, tonight,” Cap said.

“Oh, nothing special,” Chet answered. “I picked up some cold cuts at the market today. I figured sandwiches and soup would work. I even bought some ice cream for dessert.”

“All right!” came the chorus from around the room. “What flavor of ice cream?” they asked.

“Chocolate and strawberry,” Chet answered.

The tones sounded, interrupting the men.

“Station 51, house fire. 1323 Bloomingdale Lane. Time out 19:22.”

The men dashed to the trucks and with lights flashing and siren wailing they were off. The house was fully involved by the time they arrived. It was abandoned, according to Vince; no one was inside. Roy and Johnny were assigned to help with the hoses and the fire was quickly brought under control.

“LA, this is Station 51. The fire is under control. Time out, approximately one hour,” Captain Stanley told the dispatcher.

“10-4 Station 51.”

Once back at the station the men showered and changed into clean uniforms. Dinner was laid out and the station became quiet as the hungry men wolfed their food.

“Paff the milf,pwease,” said Johnny to Roy.

Roy looked at his partner, amazed his friend did not choke on the mouthful of sandwich he was chewing. He sighed and passed over the jug of milk.

“How do you do that, Gage?” Chet asked in disgust.

“What?” Johnny asked in surprise.

“Talk with your mouth full. Man, I’d choke if I did that!” Chet answered.

Johnny shrugged and continued to eat. “Talent, I guess,” he said and swallowed a large gulp of milk. The men all shook their heads in wonderment. The rest of the meal was finished in silence.

By nine o’clock the men were turning in. Roy turned off the TV set and went to the locker room where Johnny sat staring into space.

“You okay, Partner?” he asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, just tired. I was trying to decide if I should take my uniforms in tomorrow for cleaning or wait one more shift. Still have three clean outfits,” Johnny said distractedly.

“Uh huh,” Roy said. He knew something else was bothering his partner. “So, what else is bugging you?”

“Nothing,” Johnny said, then burst out, “Man, how’d Chet get so lucky?”

“What do you mean?” Roy asked.

“Marsha invites him out to help on her new place, and I can’t even get a glance out of her,” Johnny grumped.

“Maybe she likes little short Irishmen,” Roy teased.

Johnny glared at his partner, “Yeah, right. Some help you are.”

“Why don’t you call her up and ask? She might like having you come over,” Roy advised. “Maybe she doesn’t know you’re even interested in her.”

“Yeah,” Johnny grinned, “Good idea. I’ll give her a call tomorrow!” Johnny slammed his locker and proceeded to prepare for bed.

The station quieted down as the men settled in. The night was cool and each man drifted off easily into sleep.

Tracy drove the old truck to the site where her brother’s body was buried. She parked in the shadows then lead Marsha to a hole that was freshly dug. Marsha looked down when Tracy shined the light into the opening. She saw a bed had been placed on one side of the hole, and something else was lining the walls. She slowly looked at Tracy with horror dawning in her eyes, but because of the drug in her system she could only move in slow motion.

Tracy moved Marsha over to one side of the hole. “Climb down, Dearie. We are going to finish up Jimmy’s room.”

Marsha knew Tracy had slipped over the edge, but was unable to do anything about it. She was caught helplessly in the grip of the drug.

“What did you give me?” she asked, slurring her words.

“Just a little sedative, Hon, nothing that will hurt you. Now, just get you down the ladder like a good little girl and Auntie Tracy will tuck you in.

“We are going to finish Uncle Jimmy’s collection tonight. Then his room will be finished and you and he can spend some time together.” Tracy told her in a reasonable voice.

Marsha tried to fight the drug and resist climbing down the ladder, but Tracy had become angry. “Now stop fighting, child or I will have to give you some more medicine!” Tracy gave Marsha a shove.

“Oh, my!” Tracy cried when Marsha slipped over the edge. “That wasn’t supposed to happen!” Tracy climbed down the ladder and stooped next to Marsha’s still form. “Oh my!” she cried again. “Poor dear, sweet child!”

She shook Marsha, trying to get her to respond. Marsha lay still and pale. “Wake up, child!” Tracy screamed at the still form.

Frustrated, she grabbed Marsha around the chest and dragged her to the bed. She carefully placed the still form in the middle of the bed then crossed the room to a chest where she pulled out a length of chain. She fastened one end of the chain around Marsha’s foot then the other end to the metal frame of the bed.

“There, just in case you decide to wake up from your nice nap,” Tracy said.

Tracy faced the wall with the other objects. She patted the coats, making sure they were straight. She fiddled with the helmets, straightening them as well, before she climbed from the hole. Calmly she pulled a piece of plywood over the hole, then covered it with dirt. She smoothed the area then left, to finish the rest of the tasks she had planned for the night.

Tracy parked close to the abandoned warehouse. Her head was spinning and her breathing was difficult.

“No, Jimmy,” she said to the night, “Please don’t make me do this!” The voice in her head drove her on. Tracy whimpered. She opened the trunk of her car and pulled out several cans with rags soaked in gasoline in them. Carefully she carried them to different spots in the old building, making sure none were too close to an open window where a casual passerby would see them. All the while she muttered and argued with an unseen antagonist that was prodding her on. She struck the first match and tossed it into the can. The soaked rags caught immediately. Tracy back away from the flaming can and went to the other cans and repeated the process.

She went ran to her car, “Lordy she was too old for this!”

Tracy waited until she saw the flames take hold of the building. She sat, trying to get the sudden shaking she felt under control. She started the truck and slowly drove to a nearby all night convenience store. A muffled explosion occurred behind her, but she kept driving. Pulling up into the parking lot, she jumped from her car and dialed the emergency number to the fire department. When the operator answered she quickly and breathlessly gave the address of the fire. She hung up before she was asked to identify herself and from where she was calling.

Tracy went into the store, finally calm, and bought herself a sandwich and a drink. She watched with the store clerk as the fire truck went blazing by. The wail filled the air with a mournful sound, causing chills bumps to crawl over Tracy’s arms and up her spine.

“Wow!” the clerk said, “Wonder if that was the explosion I heard?” he looked at Tracy. She shrugged as she stood calmly eating her sandwich.

“I bet it is. I feel so sorry for those men, risking their lives like that,” she said sadly.

“I’d like to be a fireman,” said the store clerk. “I’m planning on taking the exam this Fall at the college.”

“Well, I hope you make it,” Tracy said. Tracy left the store and headed to the fire. She would need to get a coat and helmet without being caught. She hoped no one lost their life because of her, but the voice in her head kept urging her on. She parked and walked around the corner to stand off to the side.

A triage had been set up away from most of the action. She saw a fireman take his coat off and place it to the side. It was a paramedic who was getting ready for any victims. He laid his helmet on top of his jacket then turned to the squad and started pulling equipment from the truck. Tracy edged closer to the squad. She watched closely, and when the man went to the other side of the vehicle, she grabbed the coat and helmet, and ran.

Tracy sat in her car, shaking hard and panting. “Lordy,” she groaned, “at 54 I am too old to be doing this kind of thing! Jimmy, please leave me alone!”

The voice in her head laughed. “Almost there!” it cried.

Tracy started the truck and pulled away from the curve. She headed for the 405 and back to where she had left Marsha chained to the bed. She threw the coat and helmet behind the seat.

Tracy drove up the on ramp from the Pasadena entryway. She was concentrating so hard on not being caught that she did not check for oncoming traffic before pulling up on the highway. The last thing she heard was the blaring of a horn and the horrible screech of air brakes before pain flared and blackness took her under.

Dr. Morton stood watching as the young deaf woman finished writing her note. He scowled at the note then wrote an answer. Finally he wrote, “Wait, I have an interpreter on staff, let me get her.”

The woman brightened and nodded her agreement.

“Carol!” Dr. Morton called, “Have Marsha paged to Treatment Room Two. I need her to interpret for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Carol said. She reached over and called the operator, “Please page Nurse Prentiss to Treatment Room Two,” she waited for the acknowledgement then hung up the phone.

Morton continued his examination of the woman while he waited for Marsha to appear. After five minutes he went to the hallway and looked around. Carol looked up and asked, “Can I help you, Dr. Morton?”

“Where is Marsha? I need her!” he said impatiently.

“I don’t know. They paged her five minutes ago,” Carol said. “I will have them page her again.”

Morton sighed and went back to his patient. He was finally able to make a diagnosis and treat the woman before releasing her to her husband’s tender care. Morton left the room in a fit of temper.

“Where is she?” he barked at Carol.

“I don’t know,” she said near tears. “I called security and they are doing a floor by floor search right now.”

Morton saw the concern on Carol’s face for her friend. His brow creased with mild trepidation.

“Let me know when you hear from security,” he told Carol.

“Yes, sir,” she said quietly. Carol watched the young black doctor stride down the hall to the lounge. He was a good doctor, just lacking in bedside manner. Carol sighed. The phone rang and she reached quickly to answer it.

“Rampart Emergency, Nurse Coker speaking.” The voice on the other end of the line did not sound promising. Security had searched all the floors and were starting to search the stairwells and parking areas, but it did not look good for the missing nurse.

Carol thanked the security officer and hung up the phone. She headed for the staff lounge.

“Station 51, Station 36, Truck 110, truck 45; MVA on 405, Pasadena entry ramp. Time out 4:45”

The men of 51 jumped and ran. Captain Stanley called in the confirmation of receipt, “Station 51 KMG 365.”

“What a mess!” Johnny said as the squad pulled up to the sight. Cars were strung out up and down the highway. People were helping each other from wrecked cars. Others were trying to help those trapped in their vehicles or using fire extinguishers to keep fires from flaring up. One man saw the squad stop and came running over.

“A woman is trapped under the tanker in a truck. Several of us tried to get her out, but she wouldn’t budge. We didn’t want to hurt her any more than she already is, so we stopped trying to move her!”

Johnny nodded at the man, “You did the right thing. Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No, I’m fine. I stopped in plenty of time, but that lady is hurt really bad!”

“Roy!” Johnny called, “I’m going to check out the woman in the truck”

“Okay!” Roy called in answer. He trotted over to the closest car and checked for victims. Captain Stanley came up behind him and said, “Go help Johnny. We’ll check for victims. Station 36 and 110 are at the other end of this mess. 45 is locked in a traffic jam because of this!”

Roy acknowledged the Captain’s orders and went to join his partner.

“What do you have, Johnny?” Roy asked as he came up to the car.

“A woman, about her early to middle fifties is trapped under the tanker. We are going to need the jaws to get her out. She’s conscious, but weak,” Johnny told him.

Roy pulled out his handy talkie, “HT 51 to Engine 51. We’re going to need the jaws here. We’ll also need the drug box and bio-phone.”

“10-4, HT 51,” said Captain Stanley. “Chet, get the equipment from the squad! Marco, grab the jaws! Let’s move!”

The men grabbed the equipment and ran to Roy and Johnny and began the rescue of the woman.

“Are you the driver of the truck? What’s in that tank?” Captain Stanley asked the man standing by the crushed truck.

“Milk!” the man answered. “But just ahead of me is a gas tanker, and I think it has a broken valve because I was smelling gas just a minute ago.”

Stanley looked beyond the milk truck and saw another rig with the flammable symbol on the back. He spoke into his handy- talkie, “Station 36, we have a gas tanker with a leaking valve at the 215 marker. Get a line on it and keep it cool!”

“10-4, Station 51,” came Captain Howard’s voice.

“How’s she doing, Johnny?” Roy asked his partner.

“Not good, Roy,” Johnny said. “We release the pressure from the cab and she will go sour on us real fast. I couldn’t get down to feel below her waist, but I suspect she has massive internal injuries.”

“Roy nodded, “I’ll contact Rampart. Stay with her.”

Johnny nodded and went back to the truck. The woman looked up at him.

She smiled and gasped out, “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention!”

“It’s going to be okay, ma’am. We’ll get you out of here as quickly as possible. I need you to stay calm. I’m going to get your blood pressure and pulse, so try and be as still as possible, Okay?” He gave her his best smile. He placed the BP cup around her arm. Pumping it up quickly he was able to get the reading, then he checked her pulse and respiration. He looked over to Roy and said, “BP is 100/60, pulse is 85 , respiration 18 and shallow. Pupils are equal and reactive.”

Roy wrote down the vitals then activated the bio-phone, “Rampart, this is squad 51, how do you read?”

“Go ahead, 51,” came Dixie’s voice.

“Rampart, we have a female trapped inside a truck under a tanker. Approximate age 55. Vitals are, BP 100/60, pulse 85 and respiration’s 18 and shallow. Pupils are equal and reactive.

“Rampart. The victim is trapped by her dash-board. It is causing a tourniquet effect on her lower torso. We have the trauma suit ready.” Roy told the listening doctor at Rampart.

“10-4, 51. Start an IV D5W. When victim is released get new vitals. Be ready for instant shock and place the trauma suit immediately on the victim. Also, start IV Ringers. Will stand by,” Dr. Brackett’s voice ordered.

“10-4, Rampart,” said Roy, and repeated the orders to Johnny.

“Roy!” Johnny called, “We need some oxygen here, now!”

Tracy began to struggle against the paramedic. She pushed him away and tried to climb from the truck.

“Ma’am, be still!” Johnny cried as he climbed back up beside her. She fought him.

“Ma’am, please!” Johnny was trying to hold her still. “Roy I need some help!”

Roy went to the other side of the truck, but could not get the door open. Suddenly the woman gave a push that caught Johnny off guard. With his balance already compromised, Johnny fell backwards. His helmet flew from his head and Roy heard a sickening crack as Johnny landed.

“Johnny!” Roy called, racing back around the truck. Chet was already bending over the fallen paramedic.

“He’s out cold!” Chet said. Roy was torn. His first priority was the victim, but now his partner was also a victim.

Bryce and Jim from 36s came up on the scene. Bryce went to Johnny then told Roy, “You take care of the victim in the truck. I’ll take care of Johnny!”

Roy turned back to the woman who had become still. He knelt beside her to check her vitals once more when he heard her speak.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do it! Please tell Marsha I am sorry!” Tracy said.

Roy looked up at the woman and for the first time took a good look at her.

“Tracy?” he asked.

Tracy smiled at him. She spoke again, more softly as her breathing became more labored, “Please, don’t leave her in the hole. She was hurt. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Jimmy kept making me do things!”

Roy was not sure what the injured woman was speaking about. She continued, “You’ll find the coat and helmet behind the seat.” Her eyes were glazing over.

“Tracy?” Roy said loudly, “Stay with me!”

Tracy’s laugh was cut short by a coughing spell. Her breath gurgled in her lungs as she kept talking, no longer aware of any pain or the confusion around her. Her head rolled on her shoulders as she tried to focus on her rescuers.

“No!” she whispered urgently, “Go get Marsha! She’s hurt. Please, Jimmy will hurt her!”

Roy shook his head, “I can’t leave you. We will have you out in a minute.”

Tracy tried to push the paramedic away. “NO!” she said, “Leave me!” desperation caused her to spray spittle over the paramedic’s uniform. Blood and saliva covered the front of his shirt as she tried to get him to understand.

“Go to the hole! Find her before Jimmy hurts her!” she cried deliriously. Suddenly the dashboard of her truck released her as the jaws did their job.

“Awwwwwww!” she screamed as the pressure was released.

Roy had turned to get the trauma suit ready.

“Roy, stop!” Chet cried. “Roy, she’s gone!”

“No!” Roy said, “We’ve got to get this on her!”

A hand fell heavily on his shoulder, and he was forcibly pulled from the victim he was trying to help. He swung around to snap at the person pulling him away. He realized it was Captain Stanley.

“Roy, it’s too late!” Captain told him in a hard cold voice.

“What?” Roy was stunned.

“Don’t look, Pal,” Stanley gently told the paramedic.

Roy tried to see around the Captain, but Hank stayed between him and the victim.

“Take your equipment back to the squad. Don’t look back,” Hank told him.

Roy did as his commanding officer told him. From behind him he could hear some of the men retching. “It must be bad,” he thought.

“Johnny. How’s Johnny?” Roy asked as Hank came over to where he was standing. Roy looked around the captain. The woman’s had been body covered by a yellow blanket

“Johnny is being transported to Rampart. He’s still unconscious,” Captain Stanley told the senior paramedic. “We’re finished here, why don’t you go ahead and follow the ambulance in? Keep us informed.”

Roy nodded, then stopped, “Cap, she said Marsha was down a hole. Said she was hurt and someone named Jimmy would try to hurt her. What hole and where is it?”

Captain Stanley frowned. “I have a good idea.” He pulled his handy-talkie from his pocket and spoke into it, “LA, this is Engine 51. This scene is secure. We have been notified of a possible victim at 2661 Watchtower Drive. Engine 51 is available and will respond. Please have an ambulance and police meet us at the scene. Squad 51 will also be responding, but we will require another squad. ”

“10-4, Station 51.” The tones sounded for backup to Station 51 as Captain Stanley and his men climbed aboard the big engine. Roy dashed back to the squad and followed them from the scene.

Captain Stanley and his men combed the area. Chet and Marco were digging through the rubble along the north wall. Stoker and Roy were digging around where they knew the old door had been.

“Roy,” said Mike Stoker. “I think I found something.” He bent over and shoved dirt aside, revealing a piece of plywood.

“Cap!” Stoker called, “We found her!”

Roy and Mike moved the plywood. Captain Stanley flipped his light on and pointed the beam into the hole. On the bed at the bottom of the hole lay the still form of Rampart’s missing nurse.

“Roy, get a safety line. Chet, Marco, make sure we have a secure place to tie off the line.”

The men went to work. The second squad pulled up. The two paramedics jumped out and ran over to the scene.

“What do we have?” asked James, the senior paramedic from Station 24.

“Not sure yet,” Roy told him, “but it looks like she may have fallen from here.”

James looked over the edge into the now lighted hole. “Okay, I’ll get Rampart and advise them of the rescue in progress.”

Roy “Let your partner contact them. You give me hand down there?”

“Will do,” James answered. “Bill, set up the bio-phone.” He fastened a safety harness around his waist.

“We’re ready,” Roy said to the men anchoring the ropes. The two men carefully slid over the edge of the opening and began their decent into the hole. Roy kept his eyes on the young nurse laying on the bed. She had not moved. Her head was tucked at an odd angle and her arms were splayed as if trying to catch something. She was breathing, that much he could tell.

The two men quickly unsnapped the lines and went to the unconscious woman. Her breathing was shallow, but sounded clear. Roy quickly checked for any signs of trauma. He felt a large bump on the back of her head and saw a small cut across her right temple.

The drug box came down along with the stokes. Roy grabbed the BP cup and took her vitals. “BP is 130/80, pulse is 65, respiration’s are 10 and slow. Pupils are slightly dilated. Not reacting to light real well.”

James was checking her legs for any signs of trauma when he exclaimed to Roy, “Her leg’s been chained to the bed. We’ll need the bolt cutters!”

Roy called up, “ We need the bio-phone and the bolt cutters!”

“Coming down!” called Chet.

Roy watched as the orange box was lowered, followed by the bolt cutters. He grabbed it and released both items from the rope. Quickly he established contact with Rampart and gave them Marsha’s vitals.

“51, start an IV D5W, also start an IV with Ringers. Put on a c-collar and place on backboard. Transport as soon as possible.”

“Rampart, be advised that victim has not regained consciousness. She is very relaxed and unresponsive to any stimulus.”

“10-4, 51. Keep an eye on her vitals and transport,” Dr. Early told the paramedic.

Roy and James rolled Marsha onto a backboard and gently placed her in the stokes. They fastened the straps in place then Roy called, “Okay, take her up!” He and James held the guide rope as the stokes slowly raised to the lip of the opening, then several pair of hands grasped the basket and pulled it to safety.

Roy looked around and saw the coats and helmets hanging on the wall. They were different from the others, he could tell. The coats looked cleaner, plus this hole was smaller and neater than the one where Hank Stanley had been found. This one had been prepared ahead of time. Roy and James looked at each other. James reached out and grasped Roy’s shoulder. He had heard of the rescue of Station 51’s Captain and knew Roy was experiencing a sense of deja´ - vu. He motioned up. Roy silently agreed and both men were pulled from the hole.

Captain Stanley was standing by the stokes. He was watching the paramedics as they worked on the unconscious woman. He chewed his lower lip in consternation. If she had only been more forth – coming, this situation might have been avoided. Roy looked up at his captain and frowned. He shook his head in answer to Hank’s silent question. Hank sighed and stepped back out of the way as the ambulance rolled on to the scene and the gurney was brought over.

“Cap,” Roy said, “I think she’s been drugged. Her responses aren’t good, but the trauma she experienced isn’t enough to keep her out of it like she is. James is riding in with her and Bill is following. I’m going to follow in, and check on Johnny, if it is alright.”

Captain Stanley agreed and told Roy, “Keep us informed. I’ll stand down the squad.” Roy acknowledged the command and headed for the squad.

The ambulance pulled away. Hank helped the men clean up the area. They used the plywood to recover the hole then the police officer, who had responded to the call, placed the bright yellow caution tape around the area. He spoke rapidly into his shoulder microphone then approached Captain Stanley.

“She going to be alright?” he asked.

“We don’t know yet. It seems to be touch and go, according to the paramedics,” he answered.

The police officer accepted the answer, “Officer Howard wants to talk with you and your people before you leave for home later this morning.”

Hank looked around in surprise. The eastern sky was starting to change colors as the sun slowly rose. He rubbed his tired eyes and looked at his crew.

“Sure thing,” he answered tiredly. “We’ll be at the station getting cleaned up.”

The officer nodded and trotted to his car. He was filling out some paperwork as the engine pulled away. Captain Stanley sighed. He had paperwork to do now, too.

The ambulance back into the parking space. The doors flew open and the injured woman was quickly moved into the treatment room. Dr. Early and Dr. Brackett met them at the door. Dr. Morton came up behind the gurney and entered the treatment room with the other two doctors. Marsha was transferred from the gurney to the treatment bed. Dr. Brackett started calling out tests he wanted performed and x-rays that needed to be done. Dixie helped in making the patient ready for examination. She watched with worried eyes as Marsha was poked, prodded, pinched and forced to move.

Roy and James stood aside and let the doctors and nurses perform their duties. Roy kept an eye on Marsha, hoping to see some sign of returning consciousness. She remained stubbornly still.

“Pupils sluggish and barely responsive,” Dr. Morton said. He moved to the end of the bed and moved the sheet away from the patient’s legs. He bent her leg at the knee and tested for reflex action, but the leg did not respond. He shook his head, “Negative to the Babinski,” he said.

Brackett was listening to her chest. “I’m hearing rails in the right lung. Dixie, call the lab, see if those test results are ready yet.”

Dixie walked over to the phone and dialed the lab. “This is Dixie McCall. Dr. Brackett needs to know the results of the tests he sent up.” She listened for a minute then hung up the phone and joined the crowd around the unconscious woman again.

“Tests show moderate concentration of Phenobarbital in her system. All others are coming back in near normal range,” Dixie told him.

Brackett kept up his exam, “How long has she been gone? I need to know how long she may have been under the influence of the drug before we try anything to counter act it.”

Dr. Morton answered in a quiet voice. “She’s been missing for at least three hours. Possibly a little longer.” Morton paused as he thought back. “I was paged to Treatment One around 9:30 or 10:00 tonight.”

Brackett looked at his watch and frowned, “It’s 1:45 now. We’ll keep an eye on her and see if we can let her sleep it off for now. Her vital signs are stable and I don’t see any adverse reactions to the drug.”

“Doc,” Roy asked as the room began to empty, “she going to be okay?”

Brackett’s face twitched, “It looks like it, Roy. But she will have a nasty hang - over when she wakes up.”

Roy’s smile was tight, “If she had only told us the name of the person on the wall, this may have been avoided.”

“Somehow, Roy, I don’t think so. Just by knowing who the next victim was supposed to be, didn’t tell us who the person was that committed the crime,” Brackett told the paramedic.

Roy just shook his head, “But we would have known to be on the lookout for something like this.”

“Would we, Roy?” Dr. Brackett asked.

Roy sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He pushed away from the wall and walked with Brackett to the base station.

“How’s Johnny,” Roy asked Dixie at the base station.

“He’s doing fine. He finally came around. In fact he was worried about you. Had it stuck in his head that you had been hurt,” Dixie smiled at her recollection of the younger paramedic. “He insisted we contact you on the horn and tell him your vitals. He was a little confused, I think!” Dixie said with a chuckle.

“I’ll go up and see him for a minute, if it’s okay. Then I have to get back to the station for the next shift to take over. What room’s he in?” Roy asked.

“312,” Dixie told him, “but I think you need to go get some rest before you try and visit him. You might scare him with the way you look now.” Dixie’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled to remove the sting of any criticism.

“Guess you may be right,” Roy chuckled. “I do smell pretty bad. Well, if you check on him before I get back let him know I’ll be stopping by on my way home.”

“No problem, Roy,” Dixie told him. “As soon as Marsha is settled in ICU I’ll go by and see him. You go on and get cleaned up.”

Roy waved tiredly at the head nurse as he left the hospital and headed back to the station.

The door to Treatment Room One opened and two orderlies were pushing the gurney Marsha’s still form was on. Dixie took Marsha’s hand in hers and held it until the elevator arrived. As the doors opened Dixie lay the small still hand back on the gurney.

“Take good care of her, guys,” Dixie said to the two orderlies.

“We will, Miss McCall,” said Pete as they entered the elevator.

The rest of A shift surrounded Roy as he left the squad. They had waited for his return so they could find out any information on Johnny and Marsha’s condition. Roy parked the squad and headed for the day room with the men hot on his heels.

“Well?” Chet asked, impatient for an answer.

Roy poured himself a cup of coffee before answering, “Johnny will be fine. Dixie said he suffered a concussion. He came around not long after they got him to Rampart.”

“And Marsha?” Cap asked.

“She was given a moderate does of Phenobarbital. She was still unconscious when I left, but Brackett seems to think she will sleep it off with no bad side effects, other than a hangover when she wakes up.”

The men let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Cap, when is the department planning on doing the award ceremony for Marsha?” Roy asked.

Hank shook his head, “I don’t know yet. I was planning on calling and asking before all this happened. I think we might better wait a little while longer before pushing on with it.”

“But will the department see it that way?” Mike Stoker asked in his quiet way.

“I think so,” Hank said.

Marsha lay quietly on the bed listening to the thump of her heart. She was relaxed, floating in a sea of calm. She could hear voices around her fading in and out, even though she could not understand what they were saying. She felt cool air brush her skin. The voices grew louder and closer. Warm hands touched her, placing something tight against her arm, then felt the tightness release. A voice called her name, but she did not feel like responding. She lay quietly. Wishing the voices would go away. Something hard was placed against her ankle before being removed and freeing her. She felt herself roll on to her side then once again rolled to her back. She felt herself float upward and over. Something tightened around her chest and legs, holding her down. She sighed.

She felt the wail of a high pitched sound in the bones of her ears. Frantic voices surrounded her again. She became cold, then felt a light softness cover her. A pain pierced her arm and a small fire burned its way up to her shoulder. She felt all this without any emotion.

Someone called her name, but she did not have the strength to answer. A light flashed in her eyes, once, twice; then vanished. A rumbled of heavy machinery reached her ears. The voices became muffled and finally faded away all together. She relaxed even more and sank deeper into the warmth of the darkness.

“Come on, Marsha, open your eyes,” Dixie begged the sleeping woman. “You’ve been asleep long enough.” Dixie took her pulse and checked the IV’s running into Marsha’s arms. She fussed with the sheets, hoping Marsha would wake up while she was in the room, but she remained quiet and still.

Dixie started out of the room then stopped as Marsha shifted in the bed. She hurried back to the bedside and picked up Marsha’s hand.

“Open your eyes, Marsha, “Dixie commanded gently. “Come on, look at me!”

Marsha lay still for a moment, then slowly opened her eyes. She gazed around the room until her eyes focused on the nurse standing next to her bed. She furrowed her brows in concentration.

“Dixie?” she asked in puzzlement. “What happened?”

Dixie smiled, “Seems you met up with an accident.” Dixie reached out and paged Dr. Brackett to Marsha’s room.

Dr. Bracket barreled into the room. “What’s the problem, Dix?” he asked then saw Marsha was awake.

“Well, welcome back, sleepyhead,” he said to Marsha. “How are you feeling?” He did not give her time to answer the question, but immediately went to checking her over. He checked her pupil response, her reflex response and listened to her lungs.

“I have a headache bigger than Texas right at this moment,” Marsha answered him. “How long have I been here?”

“A night and a day,” Dixie told her.

Marsha stared at Dixie. “You have to be kidding!”

“Dix, get me another toxicology report. I want to know how much of the drug is still in her system.” Dixie went to get the supplies she would need as Brackett continued his examination. “How’s your head?” he asked Marsha.

“Thick and full of pain. I feel like I went on a drinking binge then got hit by a Mac truck, or worse!” she answered. “She yawned, “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Not just yet. I need you to tell me the last thing you remember prior to waking up here,” Brackett told her.

“Tracy came in all covered in dirt and stuff. I took her to the treatment room. She jumped me and gave me some sort of drug. I don’t remember much after that. Oh, she said something about her brother’s collection and finishing up his room?” Marsha looked at Brackett. Something about the way Dr. Brackett reacted when she said Tracy’s name made her frown.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen to Tracy?” she asked.

Dr. Brackett busied himself with her charts, avoiding the question. He looked up as Dixie returned and motioned her back out of the room.

“Be right back,” Dixie said.

“What is it, Kel?” Dixie asked, once the door was closed.

Dr. Brackett sighed and rubbed his jaw. “She’s asking about Tracy. I don’t want her being upset any more than necessary right now. So try and avoided any mention of Tracy for the time being. If she gets too insistent, we’ll have to tell her,” he instructed his head nurse.

Dixie nodded her understanding. “Kel, what happened? Why did Tracy attack Marsha?”

“I don’t know, Dix, but the coroner has promised to send me a copy of his report as soon as the autopsy is complete. I suspect the death of her brother was more than she could handle and she slipped over the edge. But we may never really know, I’m afraid.”

Dixie bowed her head for a minute. Looking up at Brackett she gave him a false smile and said, “I’ll get the results of the toxicology report to you as soon as the lab finishes the work up.”

Brackett patted Dixie’s shoulder. “I’ll be in my office.” Brackett walked away, head down in concentration of dark thoughts.

Dixie put on her best professional smile and pushed open the door to Marsha’s room. She watched Marsha’s expressions as they played across her face.

“Dixie, what about Tracy? Is she okay? Did anyone find her? What happened to her? Is she here as a patient? Can I go see her?” Marsha asked in a rush.

“You don’t worry about Tracy, or anyone else right now. Just worry about getting yourself better, and then we’ll talk about your questions.” Dixie put the tourniquet on Marsha’s arm in preparation to draw blood for the toxicology test.

“Dixie!” Marsha tried to pull her arm away, “I want to know how Tracy is!”

Dixie glared at Marsha, “Listen, you let me get your blood and I’ll ask about filling you in on all that has happened since you were brought in, deal?”

Marsha agreed, reluctantly. She really had no choice at the moment. “You going to do a CBC, too?” she asked.

Dixie cocked an eyebrow at Marsha, “You’re a patient, remember. Don’t be telling me my job.” Dixie smiled at Marsha, trying to take the sting from the reprimand.

Marsha yawned, “Okay, nurse, whatever you say.” Marsha’s eyes closed as Dixie put a bandage on the place where she had drawn the blood. She was asleep before Dixie could get her supplies together. Dixie smiled sadly at the young nurse. She was not sure how the news of Tracy’s death would affect her. Shaking her head she headed out the door.

“Monica, get this to the lab. Tell them we need the report back STAT from toxicology,” Dixie said to a passing nurse.

“Yes, Miss McCall” Monica said.

“That was Dixie on the phone,” Johnny told Roy. “Marsha’s awake and doing better. Dr. Brackett said she’ll be allowed to leave in a couple more days.”

“Why are they holding her so long?” Marco asked.

Johnny shrugged, “I dunno. Maybe she had a bad reaction or something. Dixie just said Marsha’ll be released in a couple of days.”

“Maybe we can go by and see her before she leaves,” Roy said.

“Yeah, good idea,” Johnny said with a lopsided grin. “Don’t we need to pick up some supplies from the hospital?” Johnny’s eyes were twinkling at the thought of getting one over on Chet.

“Well, I guess we could stand to get a few bags of Ringers and some syringes,” Roy said with a grin.

“All right!” Johnny exclaimed.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Marsha stood on her back porch watching the horses grazing out in the pasture. She stretched and sighed, “Time to get ready.” She made a face. Today was the day she was to receive her Medals of Commendation from the Fire Department, as well as from the Police Department.

Tracy’s funeral had been held two days after her release from Rampart. Her family had been contacted, but none had come for the brief ceremony. A short note had been sent requesting her body be shipped back to Arkansas.

The coroner’s report had been brief and precise. No medical fault could be found to have caused Tracy’s reaction to her brother’s death. The stress had simply been too much for the older woman.

Marsha was sad for the loss of the head nurse, but felt she had done all she could do for the woman. They had not been close. Marsha had simply offered her support and sympathy to another human in need, as she had done many times before in her job as a nurse.

A horn sounded from out in front of the house. Marsha grinned. It would be a paramedic and a hose jockey calling for her. Neither of the two men had wanted to give up the chance to escort a ‘Real Life Hero’ to the ceremonies being held on the City Park grounds.

A sudden pounding on her door had her hurrying through the house at a sharp clip. “I’m coming!” she called as the pounding started again. “I’m not deaf, you know!” she said as she opened the door. Both men caught themselves before tumbling into the suddenly cleared doorway.

“Come on, you’ll be late to your own ceremony!” Chet tried to hurry her.

“Chet, give her a minute, we aren’t that late!” Johnny said.

“Man! We promised to have her there five minutes early. If you hadn’t….” Chet started, but before Johnny could make a retort Marsha stepped in quietly but firmly.

“If either one of you want to escort me anywhere, you will hush and move out of my way.”

Guiltily, both men moved aside. “Sorry,” mumbled Johnny. “Yeah, sorry,” Chet said.

The ceremony was short, with speeches made by Fire Chief McConnike and Captain Vince Howard of the LAPD. Marsha was glad to be able to leave all the attention and fuss behind. Several television stations had shown up for the award ceremony and had tried to get her to talk with them. The men from Station 51 and 16 ran interference for her and helped her make good her escape.

Johnny pulled into the parking lot of Station 51. Marsha looked at him in surprise. Johnny just smiled with a secret he was dying to tell, but was being made to wait until the rest of the men returned to the station.

“Why are we coming here?” Marsha asked.

“You’ll see,” Johnny told her.

Dixie and Dr. Brackett, followed by Dr. Morton and Early, entered the station through the main doors. They quickly joined the waiting men and wives. Marco raised and lowered the blind, giving Johnny the signal all was ready.

“Come on in and have a cup of coffee,” Johnny told her.

“I really would rather just go home,” she said, but gave in at Johnny’s hangdog expression. “How many other women fall for that puppy dog look of yours?” She asked in exasperation.

Johnny just laughed and took the lead. Quickly he slipped in the door, then with a flourish he announced, “Hail, our conquering hero!”

Marsha stopped in surprise. The day room had been decorated with balloons and streamers. Food covered two tables plus two card tables. A large cake sat in the middle of the main table. It was covered with tiny fire engines and little people dressed as nurses, firemen and doctors. Marsha shook her head and wiped unbidden tears from her eyes.

“You people are just too much!” She wailed. She could not decide whether to laugh or cry.

Everyone tried to offer some sort of advice to keep her from crying. Finally she started laughing. The rest joined in, and soon the food on the table began to disappear.

Pictures were taken, comments thrown around and a feeling of good will permeated the station.

Captain Stanley clapped his hands for attention. The room fell silent. As he started to speak, the klaxons sounded.

“Station 51, child trapped. 4554 Loral Way. 4-5-5-4 Loral Way. Time out 1245”

The men of C shift pounded from the room.

“Station 51 KMG365”

“Life never stops, does it?” Marsha said to Johnny.

“Nope, you gonnaesh your pie?” he asked.

“What?” Marsha said in surprise. Everyone laughed at her expression.

“You must have a hollow leg, or something,” Marsha stated blandly.

Johnny had the graciousness to blush. “Awwww,” he said.

“Let’s try this again,” Said Cap. “Everyone gather round. Marsha, you over here.”

Marsha stood next to Captain Stanley. Roy and Johnny flanked them.

“As we all know,” Hank began, “All this started with a simple construction fire. However, as a result of that fire, investigators were able to determine who the culprit was stealing turnout coats. We also found out that just because we have equipment and men at our disposal to do search and rescue; we should never underestimate the power of an individual to influence, or help, in an unexpected way.

“Such is the case here. Because one person refused to accept the decisions of a few men and women, one person’s life, namely mine, was saved.

Johnny and Roy presented her with a heavy box. Marsha opened the box and found a uniform and a set of turnout gear with her name on it. An attached note read, “To an Honorary Paramedic. In recognition for the help you gave.”

Chet plopped a pair of boots at her feet. They were extra small.

“I dunno, guys,” Chet said, “ We may lose her in a fire, she’s so small.”

“I don’t think so, Chet,” Captain Stanley said. “ I think she might be found in some of the most unlikely places, but we’ll never lose her anywhere.”

EPILOGUE

Marsha walked in her door. The house was quiet and peaceful. Marsha laid the medal on her mantel and went to hang the fire gear in her spare closet. She pulled a sweater from the closet to wear because the day was cooling off. Something crinkled in the pocket. She pulled out the small white envelope, now turning yellow, from the pocket. It was the one her landlady had given her the day she left.

The Nabt kid had found it. Carefully she slit the top open and withdrew the piece of paper tucked inside.

“Please call L.A.P.D., ask for Captain Vince Howard. It is very important,” she read.

“Well,” she decided, “better late than never.”

She dialed the number on the card and asked to speak with Vince. He came on the line.

“Hello, Officer Howard,” she said. “Marsha Prentiss here. You’ll never guess what I just read from you.”

Vince chuckled into the phone. “You finally got my note?”

“Yes, I did. Do you still need to know the name above the seventh hook?” she asked.

Vince paused for a second then answered, “Yes, even though the investigation is officially closed. I can put it on record.”

Marsha nodded, even though she knew the officer could not see her. She looked out the window and saw Banner, her Arabian gelding, running after his buddy. She said quietly, “Stoker, from Station 51.”

Vince whistled threw his teeth. “Did you tell the men at 51?”

“No. I don’t think they need to know, do you?” she asked.

“No,” Vince said. “Marsha, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Marsha said and hung up the phone.

(A special THANKS goes to my friend Cathy K, for proof reading for me.)