Speed Kills:
This story contains strong language and violent scenes.
Speed kills. Johnny’s sprint to the grotesquely twisted car ensured he was the first to reach the victims, but it also meant that he was alone when he looked inside the wreckage.
Speed kills. The car had been speeding down the highway, forced by circumstance into a race that placed it the path of danger, and now it lay dead and mutilated, with the true terror hidden deep within its bowels. Johnny’s quickness, so admired in high school, so many times necessary as a rescuer, now brought him face to face with a nightmare.
And as he looked inside the wreckage, Johnny's gut wrenched with the knowledge that he had indirectly been the cause of the carnage. He had forced the car to travel faster and faster, until the accident brought the fiasco to a halt. And now he was about to reap the harvest of his speed, falling headlong into a terrifying dream that would tear his life apart…
* * *
Late for work again, Johnny sped down the 405. He drove faster than normal, rationalizing that ten minutes late was better than fifteen. Zipping from lane to lane, he maneuvered around the heavy traffic, driving faster and more recklessly than normal. Glancing at his watch, Johnny swore under his breath. Ten minutes late and counting. Cap would have his hide. Latrine duty for at least a month. He moved his Land Rover faster, coming up on a Toyota in the left lane. A pickup traveled in the right lane, effectively blocking Johnny.
The Toyota steadfastly remained in the left lane, its driver either unaware or not worried about the increasingly irate driver directly behind. Johnny moved closer, attempting to pressure the driver to move ahead of the pickup and into the right lane. Muttering under his breath, he rationalized his behavior as being the result of his anticipation of Cap’s tirade when he showed up late.
“Come on…come on,” he urged, moving ever closer to the bumper of the Toyota. “Get out of the way.”
His pressure tactic worked. The driver of the Toyota pushed the little car faster, at last drawing even with the pickup. Little by little the car passed the truck, with Johnny’s Rover directly behind.
Just ahead, a semi rumbled, its load of tin sheets bouncing because of the truck’s speed. Johnny briefly wondered at the safety of the load, but at that moment the Toyota ducked hurriedly into the right lane behind the semi. Johnny floored the accelerator.
He saw the tin flying from the back of the truck a moment too late. The Toyota lay directly in the path of a wildly flying sheet of tin, and in the instant that it took Johnny to realize that it was going to slice into the Toyota, the tiny car swerved crazily. Johnny slammed on his brakes, nearly colliding with his windshield because of the drastic deceleration, his Rover missing the careening Toyota by mere inches. The Toyota skidded across the pavement, then slammed with sickening force into the abutment. The speed of the crash caused the small car to literally bounce against the concrete pillar before coming to a stop some yards from the abutment.
Johnny managed to stop the Rover just beyond the wreck. He sat still for a miniature eternity, dazed and frightened beyond what he could handle for the moment, then his senses cleared and he scrambled from his vehicle. Dimly aware of the confused mass of cars that either stopped or crawled by, he dashed for the crushed Toyota. Reaching the car, he urgently searched for a gap in the wreck that would allow him to see the victims. He gingerly poked his head through a partially crushed window, carefully reaching in with his right hand. A small arm lay just inside the door, the rest of the body concealed by the seat. Johnny touched the arm, then reached for the wrist to check for a pulse. The arm moved easily—too easily. Johnny jerked back, nauseated to see the limb roll loose, completely severed from the body. He swallowed hard, then moved back in, grasping the shirt in an attempt to pull the victim closer.
The body abruptly rolled toward him, and Johnny gasped as he realized that the victim had been decapitated. He felt his legs grow weak, and he partially collapsed against the car. He lost his grip and fell heavily, only to realize that the head of the child rested on the ground just under the car. His hand unwittingly rested against the cheek.
With a strangled cry Johnny scrambled to his feet. He retreated a step, then stopped, unable to move, to speak, to comprehend. The carnage gripped his vision, tenaciously tearing into his mind, refusing to release him from the horror. He felt as though he were drowning under the weight of the image, until his gasps for air caused him to double over, his gut churning. Tears mixed with his sweat as he vomited, and too many seconds passed before he was able to wipe his face and straighten up.
Someone asked him if he was all right, but he could not answer. A roaring filled his ears, and fuzzy dots floated before his eyes. I'm going to faint, he thought, and indeed he did stagger against a man standing next to him. He felt a strong grip around his shoulders steadying him, but the dots grew larger, and the roaring grew louder, and he dimly realized that he was falling.
“Hey...you okay?”
Johnny heard the voice, but he said nothing. He did not make a conscious decision to ignore the question; rather, he simply accepted the fact that he would not respond. He sat up, briefly wondering why he was lying on the ground, but just as quickly relegating the question to a place far away, in a dark area where he didn't have to worry or think. He only existed.
“The ambulance is on the way. Everything's okay.”
The voice again. Johnny felt a twinge of annoyance. Leave me alone. He lifted his head and tried to see the owner of the voice, but his eyes refused to focus, and all he saw was a blur. Just as well.
“He's really freaked out. I don't think he's hurt, though.”
“Just let him sit there. Let the paramedics take care of him.”
Who are they talking about? The voices irritated him. Why won't they go away?
The sound of sirens replaced the voices. He squinted past the fuzzy figures and saw masses of red. An engine and a squad. Of course. The accident. They needed to take care of the bodies...
A sudden stabbing pain ripped through his gut. He threw himself over and once again vomited onto the pavement, heaving despite the emptiness of his stomach. He felt an arm across his back, but was unable to acknowledge the comforting gesture as he continued to retch.
At last the nausea abated enough for him to wipe his mouth and sit back. He looked up to see Cap kneeling next to him.
“Okay, pal?” Cap asked gently.
Johnny shuddered but said nothing. Cap nudged his arm. “Johnny?”
I hear you, Cap. I just…can't answer you.
He watched with dazed detachment as Cap straightened and gestured toward someone out of his range of vision.
“Chet, get Roy, will you?”
“Sure, Cap.”
Johnny lowered his head, attempting to block out the sights and sounds that so bothered him. He heard too many noises, saw too many sights, and he wanted nothing more than to fade away from it all, to sink into oblivion.
“Hey, Johnny. You okay?”
The familiar voice. Roy. Kneeling beside him just like Cap had done before.
“Johnny? Can you hear me?”
He felt Roy gently shake his shoulder. “Johnny? Were you hurt at all? Were you involved in the accident?”
He wanted to answer, or at least a part of him did, but the majority of his consciousness screamed at him to be still, to say nothing, to feel nothing.
Far away, he heard Roy’s lowered voice. “Let’s contact Rampart. I don’t think he’s hurt, but…”
“Right.” Dwyer’s voice. Why was Dwyer here?
The biophone. Roy had the biophone set up.
“What are you doing?”
Roy looked up at Johnny’s words. “Are you okay?”
“Why are you calling Rampart?” Johnny’s voice rose. “They’re dead!”
“I know, I was calling—”
Johnny abruptly rose to his feet. “They’re dead!” he shouted. “Why are you calling in? You can’t do anything! What’s the matter with you?”
Roy raised his hands in an effort to calm his partner. “Okay, okay! Everything’s all right. Why don’t you sit down and let me check you out, okay? I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Johnny shook his head. “No, this isn’t right. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have looked in there.” He spun and fled.
Roy hesitated for only a moment before following. Johnny ran erratically, seemingly without knowing where he was going, and Roy easily caught up with him.
“Johnny, come back to the squad with me.” Roy found that he was able to steer Johnny in the direction he wanted him to go, for the younger man had reverted to his former passive silence.
On the way back to the squad, the men met Cap. Roy paused before him.
“I'm taking him to Rampart.”
Cap nodded his agreement. “We’re finishing up here. Do you need the ambulance?”
Roy glanced at Johnny. “I think we’d better, just to be safe.”
* * *
He knew that he was going to Rampart, and the thought briefly angered him. They would make him talk about it, and there was no way he was sharing his thoughts. Not now.
Maybe not ever.
Roy’s face hovered over his. He wanted to reassure his partner, to let him know that he was all right, but his throat seemed to be sealed shut. He blinked in irritation as Roy once again shone the penlight into his eyes.
The ambulance bounced to a halt, and he tensed as the gurney slid into the warm
air of the entrance. Now begins the interrogation.
Brackett. Who else?
“Exam Two,” Brackett instructed, following the gurney into the room. “Roy, come on in.”
Johnny lay still as he was transferred to the examination table, allowing the orderlies to do all the work. He had absolutely no desire to move.
“Johnny? Can you hear me?”
Leave me alone. Please.
“How are you feeling? Johnny? Can you answer me?”
He could see Brackett’s frown, and he felt regret at having to hurt a man whom he respected deeply, but how could he explain the emptiness that had taken over his soul?
“Fill me in,” he heard Brackett say. He listened, but with little interest, his eyes closed and his breathing slow and deep.
“Apparently, Johnny witnessed a bad accident—no survivors. He didn't show up for work this morning, and now we know why.” Roy paused to swallow. “When we got to the accident scene, Johnny was sitting near the wrecked car. A witness said that Johnny had gotten sick after seeing the victims, and that he nearly passed out. When I got to him, it was like he was in shock. He didn’t acknowledge my presence until I touched his arm, then he seemed to be in a panic mode. After that he closed up until I tried to call here. He questioned my calling in since the victims were dead. He was confused but passive. When I took his vitals, they were all a bit elevated, and he was no longer talking. Like now,” he finished, nodding toward the silent paramedic.
Brackett: “What exactly did he see?”
Roy: “Ah, a decapitation. A sheet of tin was thrown from a truck. It…hit the passenger.”
“I see.”
Dixie’s voice: “Johnny, I’m going to take your vitals.”
Brackett: “Johnny? Open your eyes.”
No response. Brackett took his penlight and shone it into Johnny’s eyes. “Pupils equal and reactive,” he muttered to no one in particular. “Johnny, do you know where you are?” He gently shook his patient’s arm. “Can you talk to me? Johnny?”
Finally, Johnny’s eyes blinked, the pupils beginning to focus on his surroundings. “What?” he whispered.
“Do you know where you are?” Brackett repeated.
“They didn’t make it, Doc.” Johnny’s voice was strangely breathless.
Brackett exchanged glances with Roy. “I know, Johnny. I know.”
Johnny abruptly sat up. “I need to go,” he said.
“Hold on, now,” Brackett pushed him back. “I need to get some answers from you first. Do you know where you are?”
Johnny looked confused. “Why do you want to know that?”
“Because I’m concerned about you,” Brackett replied gently. “Now can you tell me where you are?”
“Sure, Doc.” Johnny’s face took on a calm acceptance. “I’m in hell.”
* * *
Dr. Brackett decided to keep Johnny at Rampart overnight as a precaution, having been unable to get much more than monosyllabic responses for his questions. Toward evening, he called in a psych consult.
Dr. Gould worked infrequently at Rampart, having a busy private practice, but he was often called in when firemen were involved. A former firefighter himself, Gould found himself in a unique position to understand and empathize with the men he saw.
Johnny’s eyes never flickered as Dr. Gould entered his room. He was aware that someone new had come in, but he really didn’t care.
“John Gage?” The stranger stretched out an ignored hand. “I’m Dr. Gould. In case you haven’t heard of me yet, I’m a psychiatrist.”
“Brackett call you in?”
“Yes he did.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Why are you sorry?”
For the first time since Gould had entered the room, Johnny looked at him. “Because there’s nothing you can do,” he stated.
“Oh, I don’t know. You might be surprised at my skills.”
Johnny decided to play along. “Okay. So what do you want to hear about first? My childhood? Or should I just plunge into the accident?”
Gould smiled. “Why don’t we just get to know each other first. You’re a paramedic?”
“Yeah.”
“Got a good partner?”
“The best.”
“That’s important. When I was a firefighter, I worked with guys that read each other’s minds. I mean, we knew everything about each other. It was fantastic.”
Johnny felt his interest growing. “You were a firefighter?” he found himself asking despite himself.
“Three years. Before medical school. Before I grew up,” he added with a grin.
“Oh.” Johnny lapsed back into his malaise.
“So what happened this morning, John?”
“An accident.”
“Car accident?”
“Yeah.”
“Were you involved?”
“You could say that.”
“Hurt?”
“No.”
“So why are you here, John?”
Johnny’s face turned red. “Because I cracked up!” he snapped. “Isn’t that what they all told you? That I lost it? A seasoned paramedic barfing all over the place…couldn’t even answer questions…sitting like a zombie.”
Gould raised his hand. “Relax, John. I want you to tell me what you are feeling, not what you think others are thinking or saying about you. Can you do that for me?”
Johnny wiped his face. “To be honest, Doc, I don’t know what I’m feeling right now.”
“Okay. No problem.”
“Sorry about jumping on you.”
“Hey, no problem. I’m used to it.” Gould smiled again. “How about this, John? We’ll give you some time off, maybe two weeks, and you’ll come in to see me twice a week to begin with. We’ll do some serious talking then. It’s usually easier once some time has passed.” He nodded in confirmation and left before Johnny could say anything in protest.
* * *
The next morning Roy drove to Rampart to take Johnny home. Because A-shift was off-duty, Roy felt that he had enough time to be able to do more for Johnny besides just taking him back to his apartment.
Johnny was waiting for Roy, standing at the window with his back to the door. He turned and smiled as Roy walked in.
“How are you feeling today?” Roy asked, relieved to see Johnny appearing relaxed and calm.
Johnny shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
“That’s good.” Roy paused, the silence awkward. It was Johnny who broke through.
“Thanks…for taking me home.”
“Oh, no problem. I don’t mind.” Roy again stopped, uncomfortable. “Uh, about yesterday…”
Johnny involuntarily shuddered, then glanced at Roy, hoping his partner had not seen his reaction. He was met by Roy’s understanding eyes.
“Hey, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it now.”
Johnny abruptly jumped from the bed. He could not bear to face Roy, not with tears so near. He went to the window, desperate to change the mood. “I—ah—I can’t leave yet. Haven’t got my discharge papers yet.” He was too aware of his wavering voice.
Roy cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Well, maybe we can speed things up.”
Johnny nodded, still not facing his partner. “Sounds good.”
“Okay. Well, let’s get out of here. Maybe we can find Dix.”
Johnny smiled, relieved. “It’s worth a try,” he said, glad his voice was no longer shaking.
They left the room and hovered around the desk, hoping that Dixie would take the hint. The busy nurse finally got everything in order, but just as they were about to leave, she caught Johnny’s arm.
“Dr. Brackett wants to see you before you leave,” she said. “I’ll get him for you.”
Johnny grimaced. “Oh man! I just want to get outta here!”
“Sorry, Johnny. I guess you’re trapped.”
Kel came striding down the hall. “Leaving us already?” he asked, watching the dark-haired paramedic closely.
“Uh, yeah.”
Kel steered him into the relative privacy of behind the desk. “Johnny, Dr. Gould has recommended that you take a two week leave of absence and see him twice a week.”
Johnny threw up his hands. “Doc, I’m fine. Really. All I want to do is go back to work. That’s all I need.”
Kel’s eyebrows raised at the vehemence of Johnny’s words. “John, you came in here yesterday nonresponsive and nearly catatonic. In my medical opinion, you are in need of counseling. Now whether you like it or not, that's exactly what you’re going to get.”
Johnny’s lips pursed. “I told you I’m fine! I don’t need to miss work, and I don’t need to talk to any shrink!” He pushed past Kel and stormed for the exit.
* * *
Johnny sat sullenly, his lean form slouched in the deep chair. Dr. Gould sat opposite, an empty pad of paper lying in his lap.
“So you have nothing to say, John?” the psychiatrist asked, his voice kind but probing.
Johnny shrugged, refusing to meet the other’s eyes.
“It’s difficult to work out a problem if you don’t speak. I don’t read minds very well.”
“I don’t have a problem,” Johnny replied, lifting his eyes fleetingly.
“Okay. We’ve got something to work with. You don’t believe you have a problem. Is that correct?”
“Yeah.”
“And yet you sit in my office. Does this strike you as strange?”
“I was forced to come here.” Johnny did nothing to hide the contempt in his voice.
“Who made you come here?”
Johnny sighed. “You know who made me come, and you know why I’m here, so why don’t we cut out the bull.”
Dr. Gould leaned forward. “Okay. No bull. You’re here because you were part of something that you haven’t been able to handle. A horrible accident. One that sent you to the hospital for an overnight stay.” He sat back, smiling with eyes that bored directly into Johnny’s face. “And now you get to talk to me for awhile.”
Johnny shrugged. “Lucky me,” he mumbled.
Dr. Gould smiled. “I would like to think so.” He waited and was finally rewarded with a small smile from Johnny. “There, I knew you weren’t such a bad guy.”
Johnny relaxed slightly. “I don’t have anything against you, Doc. I just don’t want to be here.”
“I can understand that. The stigma of psychology, being crazy, men in white coats, padded rooms. I could go on.”
“Please don’t.”
“So what happened at that accident scene, John?”
Johnny sighed. “I know the routine. I tell you what I saw and what I was feeling, and you tell me I need to get on with my life.”
“Is it really that simple, John?”
A sudden tremor swept Johnny’s body. He clasped his hands tightly together between his trembling knees, struggling to control his emotions. “No,” he finally whispered. “It’s not simple. Not at all.”
“What did you see?”
Johnny clasped tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. “I still see it,” he said in a tiny voice.
“What is it?”
Johnny suddenly jumped to his feet. “Nothing,” he said, his voice scratchy. “I don’t want to talk about this. I need to go.” He headed for the door, and Dr. Gould quickly stood up.
“Do you like your job, John?” he asked quickly.
Johnny stopped, his hand resting on the doorknob. He turned to look at Dr. Gould. “Yes,” he stated.
“Then talk to me. Because if you don’t, you’re going to crash and burn.”
A long pause. Johnny stared at the floor, his hand clenched on the knob. Finally he met Dr. Gould’s gaze.
“Then I guess I’ll crash,” he said quietly. He opened the door and slipped out of the office.
He sat in his Land Rover, mulling over the doctor’s words. You’re going to crash and burn. Crash and burn.
Why can’t I talk to him? What’s wrong with me? I’ve talked to shrinks before. Job stress is common in this profession. I say the right things, the shrink writes it all down, and Cap gets a good report. So why couldn’t I play the game with Gould?
Because this time it’s different. That kid…
He covered his face with his hands, but the image refused to disappear. Just like before, when he lay in the exam room at Rampart, dimly aware of Brackett’s anxious hovering. That little girl’s face, still warm, so recently alive and beautiful, rolling horribly from his hand.
And he knew that he had snapped.
In that moment, everything changed. He changed. His world changed.
And now this doctor, this shrink, presumed to tell him that he needed to talk about it. As though that would do any good.
Nothing would help now. Everything had changed at that accident on the 405.
* * *
Over here! She’s in here! Can’t you hear me? I need some help here!
There’s nothing you can do, Johnny. You’re wasting your time.
But it’s my fault! If I hadn’t been driving so fast—
She’s dead, Johnny. Her head’s been cut off.
I can help her! I have to try! Please!
Blood…everywhere…glistening, sticky, plastering his arms and his face…
I’ve got to help her! Someone help me, please!
Slipping in the mud, dirt and blood intermingled, falling…falling…
No! God, no! I didn’t mean to make her crash!
Of course you did. You were late. You were in a hurry. Now look what you’ve done. You’ve killed them. Too fast. Too fast. And now they’re dead.
I can fix it. Just let me try!
More blood. Dripping…dripping…faster and faster.
See what you did? Look at that little girl. Look at her. Look! Look!
No! I didn’t mean to kill her!
Look! Look! Look!
No!
Johnny awoke with a start, coughing and choking. He lurched from his bed, attempting to make it to the bathroom in time, but he vomited just outside the bedroom. Again and again he felt his gut lurch, and before he finished tears freely ran down his cheeks.
After cleaning up the mess, he aimlessly wandered through the dark apartment, finally ending up in front of the TV. An ancient movie flickered on the screen, serving to keep him awake for nearly half an hour before his eyelids lowered and he once again entered the hell of sleep.
* * *
He drove aimlessly, needing to get out of his apartment. Time constraints should have dictated his driving; his second appointment with Dr. Gould started in less than half an hour, but he studiously avoided thinking of it.
The appointment meant talking about the accident. Remembering…
He didn’t want to remember…
They hurt.
The memories hurt so deeply…to the point of physical illness. He was enduring two or three bouts of vomiting every day and night. He knew that he was risking dehydration, but he also knew that he could not go to Dr. Brackett. Too many questions.
A sudden increase in the speed of the cars he traveled with brought him back to his surroundings. He had entered the 405 without realizing where he was going, at least consciously, and now he was rolling along with the rest of the traffic.
The 405. A speeding Land Rover, the driver playing a deadly game with another car…and then the horror begins.
His heart beating an uncontrollably fast rhythm in his chest, Johnny’s breaths came in pants, and his palms slid on the steering wheel in a glistening layer of sweat.
The accident…the girl.
And there, in the distance, the abutment.
How had he ended up here? The abutment, stolid and severe, standing in testimony of a former tragedy.
I can’t be here!
Somehow he passed the scene, swallowing convulsively and striving to slow his racing heart. He felt his entire body shudder, his muscles tensing in waves. With tremendous effort he pulled over, threw the Rover into neutral, and dropping his head onto the steering wheel sobbed without really knowing why.
* * *
“John. You’re late.”
Dr. Gould stood aside to allow the paramedic room to come into the office. He immediately noticed Johnny’s puffy eyes and slouched posture, and as they both took seats he did nothing to hide his scrutiny of his patient.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
“I have no choice,” Johnny replied shortly.
“Don’t you?”
Johnny shot Gould a fierce glance. “You know as well as I do that I have to be here if I want to go back to work.”
Gould leaned back. “Why are you late, John?”
“I just am.”
“No particular reason?”
Johnny sighed impatiently. “I was driving around, okay? Or is that not allowed?”
“Why were you crying?”
Johnny quickly turned away. “Just because.”
“Are you in the habit of crying just because?”
Johnny looked over at Gould and glared at the smiling psychiatrist. “No!”
“So why were you crying?”
“You just don’t quit, do you?”
“Nope.”
Picking at a piece of lint from the arm of the chair, Johnny finally began to talk. “I keep seeing her. The little girl. From the accident. I see her constantly.”
Dr. Gould waited for him to continue, but Johnny said no more. “She was badly injured?”
Johnny laughed, one brief, sardonic note. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Was she dead?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you try to help her?”
Johnny stiffened, still not meeting Dr. Gould’s eyes but beginning to squirm under the intense scrutiny. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he finally said quietly but with the beginnings of controlled panic.
“You tried to help her, didn’t you?”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” John said desperately.
“I think you do, John. I think you want to scream and shout and throw things, but you’re holding back with everything you’ve got. Let it go, John. I know you want to get over this nightmare. You want closure, but you don’t know how to get it. I want to help you.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” Johnny retorted. “You don’t know what I want or what I’ve been doing.”
“I think I do. In fact, I think you’re scared right now because I’ve hit the nail on the head. I’ve told you exactly how you feel and it’s scaring you to death.”
Johnny got to his feet. With new determination he walked to the door, half- expecting Dr. Gould to try to stop him.
“I understand your fear, John,” the doctor said, still fixing Johnny with his steady gaze. “I can see your burden, but running away won’t help. You need to accept that something very bad happened to you. Will you admit to needing help?”
Johnny stood straighter, and for the second time during the session managed to look Dr. Gould in the eye.
“I’m not scared, and I don’t need this. The only reason I’m here is because they’re making me come.”
“That’s what you keep saying. I don’t believe it.”
“Yeah, well, you can go to hell, too.” Johnny stepped from the room, leaving the door open.
* * *
Johnny lay in bed, desperately tired but terrified of the never-ending dreams that plagued his every sleeping moment. His stomach churned, and he knew that the vomiting would start soon. The vomiting and the dreams—he almost didn’t know which was worse.
He rolled onto his left side, hoping to put off the inevitable trip to the bathroom, but the nausea only worsened, and he flung back the sheet and rushed to the toilet. Several minutes later he returned to his bed, exhausted beyond belief but fighting sleep with every shuddering breath.
Johnny! My God, what have you done?
I didn’t mean to! I was late to work…
Roy standing before him, hands stretched out, pleading with his eyes…
Look what you did! How can I forgive you for this?
Roy…please…don’t turn away from me!
But Roy disappeared, fading like mist, and Johnny stood alone…
* * *
“So are you ready to go back to work tomorrow, John?”
Johnny shrugged. “Should I be?” he countered.
Dr. Gould laughed. “Turning the tables, are we? Well, I think we’ve made progress, albeit not as much as I would have liked. So I ask again, are you ready to go back?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to tell me anything more about the accident?”
“No.”
Gould raised his eyebrows. Johnny had steadfastly refused to discuss the events of the accident, preferring to stay with generalities about his emotions. Gould had noticed his patient’s drawn, pale appearance, but inquiries into Johnny’s health had also drawn no real information.
“You’re going to have to face it sooner or later, John. Why not now?”
“Why not later?” Johnny smiled as he spoke, having developed a genuine liking of the doctor.
“Wouldn’t you like to get it off your chest before you go back to work?”
Johnny impatiently ran his hand through his hair. “Work is what I need, not sitting here gabbing.”
Gould chuckled. “Well, you realize that your captain can recommend your return to our little gab sessions if he thinks you need them.”
“He won’t. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not fine, but I believe you’re capable of returning to work. I’d like you to continue our sessions on a voluntary basis, though.”
Johnny stood up. “I don’t know. Maybe. Let me get back to work and then we’ll see, okay?”
Dr. Gould also stood up. “Okay,” he replied, holding out his hand. “Be well, John,” he said, taking the other’s hand in a firm grip. The paramedic met his eyes.
“I’ll be fine. Really.” He left the office, desperately wishing that he was as confident in his sanity as he was letting on.
* * *
The day of Johnny’s return to work dawned with a cold, windy rain. Roy stood at his locker, changing out of his damp clothes into his uniform. Hearing steps behind him, he turned to see Johnny dash into the locker room.
“Hey, Johnny, you’re not late!” Roy greeted.
The younger man didn’t even spare him a glance. “Yeah, well, can’t be too careful,” he said, hurriedly removing his civilian clothes. He finished changing without a further word, then sped from the locker room. Roy watched him, sighing with weariness as though ending his shift rather than just beginning it.
Johnny rushed into the kitchen, where Marco and Chet sat at the table.
“Hey, Gage, it’s about time you decided to pick up some of your slack,” Chet observed. “How long do you think Roy can stand Brice?”
“Yeah, that’s really cruel and unusual punishment,” Marco added.
Johnny poured himself a cup of coffee. “Ah, it’s the powers that be,” he said, joining them at the table. “Who am I but a lowly paramedic? I get told where to go and what to do.”
Roy and Mike came in. “Gentlemen, come in!” Johnny called, sweeping his arm toward them. “Join the party!”
Marco raised his eyebrows. “A coffee party?” he asked.
“Only the best,” Johnny replied, pausing to take a drink of his coffee.
Roy studied his partner, slowly sipping his coffee. He was too frenetic, too jumpy, even for Johnny.
Chet got up and sauntered over to Johnny. He made a show of palpating the paramedic's head. Johnny jerked his head away.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Well, you went to the shrink. I just wanted to see if your head had been reduced.”
Johnny glared at him. “Chet...shut up!”
Chet merely chuckled as he returned to his seat at the table. “What, Gage? Can't a man satisfy his curiosity? I mean—”
Just at that moment, the klaxons announced the first run of the shift, a call for the squad. Roy and Cap rushed to the apparatus room, with Cap taking down the information and Roy climbing into the squad.
“Squad 51, KMG-365,” Cap said into the microphone. He handed the slip to Roy, who turned expectantly to the passenger side of the squad…which was still empty.
“Johnny? Where are you?” Roy glanced at Cap, who ran back to the kitchen to find Johnny still sitting at the table.
“John! You’ve got a call!”
Johnny looked up at him. “Sorry,” he mumbled, pushing his chair back and walking out of the kitchen. Cap followed, halfway worried that Johnny would not make it to the squad.
Roy waited for Johnny to climb into the squad, then handed him the destination slip. “What happened? Forget what to do?”
Johnny didn’t answer, and Roy pulled out of the station.
Their destination was a ramshackle house that had been condemned for quite some time. The windows and doors had once been covered with plywood, but various vagrants had pulled most of the wood off. Vince stood before an open door.
“She’s inside. Looks like a suicide. Pretty bloody.”
“Right, Vince.” Roy entered the dark house first, followed by Johnny and Vince.
A heavy, musty smell hung throughout the house. Johnny suddenly felt as though he was suffocating, so dense was the odor. He stopped, fighting the wild urge to flee from the house, desperate to join Roy and Vince.
You have a job to do! Get with it! Breathing through his mouth, he inched his way through the hall.
He arrived in the small bathroom and found Roy examining a prone figure on the floor. Johnny stared at the girl, paralyzed. She lay motionless, her white face fixed in a blank gaze, blood covering a substantial portion of her body and the floor. A paring knife lay next to her, and both of her wrists gaped with congealed blood. Johnny could not move, could not touch her, could not breathe, could not see anything except her face.
Roy glanced up as Johnny finally made it into the room, and he knew immediately that his partner had frozen. Hiding his dismay, he hoped that Johnny would snap out of it.
“She’s been gone for awhile. See,” he said, pointing at the large amount of blood that covered the tile floor. “She knew how to do it.” He stared down at the girl, unwilling to meet Johnny's eyes. “So sad,” he murmured.
Johnny suddenly started. “Why are we here?" he demanded. "She’s dead! Why are we responding to a dead girl?” He backed away, slamming into the wall with enough force to momentarily stun himself. He grabbed his head with his hands, and Roy jumped to him.
“You okay?” he asked, pulling at Johnny’s hands.
Johnny stared at him, his face contorted with more than the pain from the blow to his head. The girl’s face, the eyes, the slack mouth. Suddenly he couldn’t remember where he was. The accident? A suicide? Where am I? “I can’t be here! Let me out!” He shoved past Roy into Vince, who quickly restrained him.
“Hey! Settle down!” he said, confused.
Johnny started to struggle, but then he abruptly stopped, his body sagging against the policeman’s. “I’m sorry, Vince,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Vince replied, staring curiously at the paramedic. “Roy…?”
“I’ve got him,” Roy said, stepping up to take Johnny’s arm. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Johnny wiped his face with trembling hands. “Yeah, right,” he said, his voice ragged. “I’ve gotta get out of here.” I’m losing my mind! Roy knows it. He’s going to tell Cap…what am I going to do?
Having already called in the authorities, Roy sat in the squad waiting for Johnny to climb in. His partner seemed to be stalling, fiddling with the equipment and taking an inordinate amount of time to find his way into the cab.
“Hey Johnny!” he finally called. “You planning on joining me sometime this century?”
The passenger side door opened, and Johnny slid in, his expression sheepish. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Roy studied him. “No problem. I just don’t want to hang around here, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” Johnny stared at his fingernails, then pretended to be engrossed with the urban landscape. Help me, Roy. Don’t you know I’m losing it? Roy waited, continuing to watch for some opening, some opportunity to scan his partner’s mood, but Johnny steadfastly refused to look in his direction. Roy sighed.
“You okay?” Roy felt like he had asked this same question a million times, and he was sure it was beginning to sound hopelessly lame, but eloquence escaped him.
Johnny glanced over at Roy. “Yeah. It just got to me.” He took refuge in the familiar response, not wanting to divulge too much.
Roy continued to look at him, and Johnny felt his face flush. “I'm fine,” he said, gesturing toward himself. “Let's just get out of here.”
Roy grunted a reply, and they left the scene. Johnny closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to force the growing panic he felt in his chest to retreat. Roy was close…very close, and his heart pounded in anticipation of the questions.
“Johnny—”
“Roy—”
He heard Roy sigh, and he knew that his continuing denial would not be accepted. “Roy?”
“Yeah?”
“Uh, I'm not...I'm not okay.” He felt Roy’s eyes on him as they stopped for a red light.
“I know,” his partner replied quietly.
Johnny nearly laughed. Of course he knew. “It's just..." His voice caught, and he quickly looked out the window, desperate to control his emotions.
“That was some accident that you saw.” Roy spoke softly, with little inflection. “I don't think I've ever seen one that bad. Especially a kid. That's rough.” He paused, giving Johnny time to compose himself. “It's understandable that someone would have a rough time getting over something like that.”
“I think...” Johnny's voice held a slight quiver. “I may need...some more help with this one.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I keep seeing that girl,” he added in a whisper.
Roy glanced at him. “Have you—uh—told the doctor?”
Johnny shrugged, even though Roy’s eyes remained on the road.
“Well?”
“Kind of. Well, maybe. Something about it.”
Roy shook his head. “Johnny, how can he help you if you aren’t honest and open with him? You’re only hurting yourself.”
“Well, it’s not that easy!” Johnny replied defensively. “I mean, it’s not easy to open up to someone you hardly know.” His voice grew softer. “He asks all these questions, and he wants to know about everything.”
“So tell him. That’s his job, to help you.”
“I—”
Johnny’s reply was cut off by the radio, and their conversation was replaced by a run for a heart attack victim.
* * *
That night Johnny stayed awake long after the others had gone to bed. His first night back at the station terrified him. He feared the dreams.
Of course they would come. Every night since the accident he had succumbed to the renewing horror of his dreamworld. At least in his apartment he experienced the dreams in privacy, but here, the others would hear his cries, would witness his terror. And even as he desperately hoped that perhaps he would sleep through the night without the nightmares, he knew he was fooling himself. Every night he had dreamed of the accident. Every night he had relived the sliding, tumbling vehicle, the flying sheet of tin, the girl…
Her face haunted him, day or night, asleep or awake. He would see her standing before him, whole and alive, and suddenly she would be bathed in blood, her body sagging to the ground, her golden hair stained crimson as her head slid away from her. And the expression on her face never changed—a shocked, almost unbelieving whimper on her lips, her eyes wide, with a hint of accusation. You killed me, she seemed to be saying. Your speed, your hurry, and now look. I’m dead. I’m dead!
He paced the kitchen compulsively, fighting the weariness that threatened to overwhelm his fear of sleep. Of course he would have to give in eventually. He could not live without sleep. He thought back to the time when he obsessed over the absence of night runs and could not sleep. If only…
He awoke with a jerk and realized that he was in his bunk. He didn’t remember leaving the kitchen, and a new fear trembled in his innards. I’m losing my mind!
Staring at the ceiling, he forced himself to calm down. Breathing deeply and slowly, he felt his fear retreat somewhat, and without wanting to, fell asleep once again.
The dream took on a somewhat different form this time, and in the strange world of visions, Johnny found himself wondering what surprise awaited him.
As before, the girl stood before him, but this time her expression was joyful. She smiled broadly, almost laughing, her hands nervously playing with the hem of her shirt. She beckoned him with her eyes, and although her mouth moved, no words emanated from her lips.
He cautiously moved toward her, hopeful that perhaps he had somehow misunderstood the previous events. And as he drew next to her and saw her vibrant face, he became certain that all had been a terrible dream. She was whole and unhurt, and his nightmare became a distant memory.
But then everything fell apart. As he reached out to touch her cheek, she suddenly screamed. He jumped back, his hands raised to ward off the returning horror. No! he shouted. This can’t be happening again! Not again!
He was driving down the 405. Cars and trucks stood all around, none moving. He drove faster, winding his way through the parked vehicles, while the girl sat next to him, her lips moving in silent supplication. He pushed the accelerator further, ignoring the girl, ignoring his own panic. Faster…faster…until the cars became mere blurs on the surreal highway. The Rover’s engine screamed, and the girl screamed, and suddenly all the cars and trucks began moving, their drivers all with faces fixed in expressions of terror. Johnny tried to keep control of his vehicle, but it began to swerve, and then the abutment stood before him, and just as he was about to careen into it, everything stopped.
He felt the seat fall away from him, and with a strangled cry he clutched at the girl beside him. But her body seemed to melt under his fingers, and then nothing remained of her except her head, lolling on the seat, splattered with blood, with the same surprised, accusing expression that he had seen too many times before.
No! No!
He fought his way awake, strangely aware that he had been dreaming but not quite convinced that he was safe. He sat up, taking in his surroundings, his hands grasping the sheet. The station. Of course. Slowly, slowly, his pounding heart returned to its normal rhythm, and his breathing settled. The trembling abated, and he lay back again, willing the sickness he felt in his gut to go away. He didn't notice Roy's silent observation of his panic and recovery, and he certainly wasn’t aware that his partner nearly ran to the bathroom with him, if only to support him as he leaned over the toilet, throwing up in abject misery.
* * *
Johnny’s new vendetta formed instantaneously, and although he would not have been able to identify its birth, he knew the moment he saw Vince that he needed to give life to his cause.
He and Roy had responded to a car accident, a clear case of driving too fast after a light rain. The combination of a slick road and a hurried driver had caused a spinout and a cracked telephone pole. The driver, spouting a continuous complaint of now being entirely too late to even attempt making his meeting, had emerged from the mildly damaged vehicle unhurt, and after refusing treatment for a minor cut on his brow, had proceeded to ignore the paramedics. Johnny’s irritation quickly grew to outright anger.
“I don’t believe this,” he fumed to Roy as the latter silently replaced the equipment. “We got called out on an idiot. Wet roads, and he thinks he has the right to endanger everybody else because he’s late for some meeting. Man, I just can’t believe this! I mean, we could be helping someone who deserves our time, but no, we’re stuck with this jerk.”
Roy threw his partner his most patient expression. “So complain to Vince,” he suggested.
Johnny snapped his fingers. “Good idea!” he said, already trotting over to the officer. “Hey, Vince!” he called.
The policeman stopped just short of climbing into his cruiser. “Johnny, what’s going on?” he asked.
“Man, it’s this guy. He’s driving too fast on wet roads, and we’re wasting our time coming all the way out here.”
Vince shook his head. “I know what you mean. Some people just don’t get it.”
“But we’ve got to do something about it! He was obviously driving too fast. Can’t you at least hive him a ticket? Make him think twice before driving so fast?”
“He wasn’t witnessed by an officer. You know that, Johnny. Maybe we’ll get him next time.”
“But he was speeding!” Johnny persisted. “He’s got to pay for that!”
Vince lowered himself into the police car. “Like I said, he wasn’t witnessed. There’s nothing I can do.”
“But—”
Vince picked up his microphone. “Look, I don’t like it either, but my hands are tied. There’s nothing I can do!”
“Vince—”
“John, I’ve got a job to do.” Vince looked hard at Johnny, then spoke into the microphone, requesting a tow truck.
Johnny stood speechless for a moment, then spun on his heel and returned to the squad. He heard Roy start to ask him a question, but he ignored his partner and flung himself into the cab.
A moment later Roy joined him. “What did Vince say?”
“Nothing. Not a thing.” Johnny impatiently ran his hand through his hair. “What’s the point, Roy?” he asked. “I mean, why are we even out here? People are going to speed and crash, and there’s nothing we can do about it! So why do we even try?”
Roy watched his friend closely. “We do our job the best that we can, and most of the time we make a difference. Most of the time we help someone. You can’t base your entire career on one problem.”
Johnny was shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s easy for you to say. You’re on top of things. Your life is in order. You can sleep at night without—” He snapped his mouth shut and looked out the window, his heart pounding. Too close.
“Without what?” Roy questioned gently. “Nightmares?”
Johnny jerked but said nothing. Had he been seen?
Roy reached across the seat and patted Johnny’s arm. “I—I know you’ve been having nightmares, Johnny. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to embarrass you.”
“I suppose the whole station knows,” Johnny mumbled.
Roy smiled. “No, not the whole station. Just me that I know of. But even if the guys knew, they’d want to help. You know that.”
“I guess. It’s just not that easy.”
“I know it’s not, but you’ve got to trust us. We’ve all worked together for a long time. We’re all here to help each other.”
Johnny felt his spirits inch upward. “Yeah, you’re right,” he replied, his smile genuine. “I’ve got a lot of friends.”
Roy nodded. “All right, then. Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
“John. It's good to see you again.”
“Yeah...well, I'm here anyway.”
“I wasn’t sure you would return on your own.”
Johnny shrugged. “Force of habit,” he said nonchalantly.
Dr. Gould smiled from his chair. “So how has this week gone? Any better?”
“Okay. Nothing to speak of. Well, actually, it’s been…bad.”
“In what way?”
Johnny fidgeted in his chair. “Well, you know…dreams and…stuff.”
“Bad dreams?”
“Yeah, well, I mean, what do you expect?” Johnny slid forward in his seat, his hands clenching and unclenching. “I mean, after what happened…” His voice drifted off, and he leaned back in the chair.
“Do the dreams replay the accident?” Dr. Gould prodded.
Johnny tore his gaze from the floor and managed to meet Gould’s eyes for the briefest of moments. “Yeah,” he whispered at length.
Gould rubbed his chin. “You know, John, you never have told me exactly what happened at the accident.”
“I know.”
“You were on the 405,
right?”
“Yeah.”
“Where were you going?”
“Work.”
“Okay. And did you witness the accident or—”
Johnny groaned and covered his face with his hands. “I caused it!” he blurted through his fingers. “Okay? Now you know! I caused the accident! A woman and her daughter are dead because I was in such a hurry!” He lurched to his feet, furiously fighting the tears and the sobs that pulsated so near. He turned his back on Dr. Gould.
“I was late for work,” he said through clenched teeth, “and this woman wouldn’t get out of my way, and I pressured her into driving too fast, and now she’s dead.”
“How did she crash, John?” Gould asked his patient’s back.
Johnny’s shoulders shook, and his voice broke as he answered.
“A—truck—in front of her. Lost a sheet of tin. Hit her car. She hit an abutment.”
Gould stood up. “Wait a minute. I’m not getting this. You said a sheet of tin fell off a truck?”
Johnny nodded, no longer able to talk.
“So how is this your fault, John?” Gould asked gently, placing himself at Johnny’s shoulder.
Johnny shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he said plaintively.
“Then fill me in, because I don’t see how the woman’s death was your fault.”
“I made her drive too fast!” Johnny faced Dr. Gould. “I was driving too fast! If I had left her alone, she wouldn’t have gotten behind that truck! She’d still be alive! And her daughter…oh God…” He again turned away from Gould, his emotions out of his control once more.
Gould waited for a few moments, allowing Johnny time to collect himself. When he spoke, he took care to keep his voice calm and even.
“Tell me about the daughter, John.”
Johnny stiffened. “She’s dead,” he said harshly, his voice hoarse. “What else is there to say?”
“After the accident, you tried to help her?”
“I told you before that I did.”
“Was she already dead?”
“Yeah.”
Gould pondered a moment, then asked, “How did she die?”
Johnny looked at him. “What? How did she die? Her car hit the abutment.”
“Was this your first DOA?”
“No. I’ve been to several.”
“Did any of them cause you to fall apart?”
Johnny glared at him. “No!”
“So why this time?” Gould pressed. “I know you told me that her death was your fault, but why does her death bother you more than her mother’s?”
“I don’t know.”
Gould studied him. “Okay,” he acquiesced. “We’re getting closer. We made a great deal of progress today, John. See you Friday.”
* * *
“I told him.”
Roy looked up from unbuttoning his shirt. Their shift had ended, and Johnny had entered the locker room with a simple nod in greeting, and had begun changing without a word until now.
“Who?”
“Dr. Gould.” Johnny hung up his uniform shirt and reached for his own shirt. “I told him about the girl.”
“Oh.” Roy smiled encouragingly. “Well, that’s good, Johnny. I’m glad to hear that.”
Johnny paused as he pulled on his shirt. “I don’t know if it was good or not,” he said thoughtfully.
“You’re doing the right thing. Now he can help you deal with it.”
“I guess.” Johnny began buttoning his shirt. “Y’know, we’re all ignoring the real problem here.”
“And what would that be?”
Johnny gestured toward himself. “Me. The bottom line is that I caused that accident. We can all pretend that the truck killed them, but I was the one who caused her to get behind it.”
“What? Johnny, what are you talking about?”
“Just what I said. Gould doesn’t get it, but I know. I killed those people.” He spoke calmly, with an underlying element of rage, and Roy watched him with growing concern and confusion.
“Johnny, how could you have caused the accident? A sheet of tin—”
“Spare me, Roy,” Johnny interrupted. “Everybody knows that I screwed up, but no one wants to tell me. Well, I know. Believe me, I know!”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” Johnny moved closer to Roy, his face dark with anger. “Were you there, Roy? Did you see the accident happen? Don’t forget, I was there! I know what happened!”
“So tell me!” Roy shot back. “Tell me why you caused it! I’d like to know!”
“You don’t understand!”
“Try me!”
“I made her drive faster than she wanted to go!” Johnny finally confessed. “I
pressured her, and she ended up behind that truck! It’s my fault!”
Roy shook his head. “Johnny, I don’t see that at all. You didn’t cause the tin to fall off that truck, and you didn’t cause the woman to hit the abutment! It wasn’t your fault!”
“You’re wrong!” Johnny exclaimed. “You don’t know! I do!”
Slamming his locker door shut, he stormed from the locker room. Roy stood stunned and worried, wondering how much longer the nightmare was going to last.