Speed Kills
Part 2
His failure pounded at him continuously. Like a tolling bell that announces the end of time, he heard the warning. Again and again he relived each scene, once again discovering the decapitated body, once again seeing the lifeless eyes of the child, until they became a living dream that picked at his consciousness until he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to erase the nightmarish apparitions. Go away! He screamed in his anguish, leave me alone! I screwed up, I know, but I can’t keep seeing it! I don’t want to see that child again! I can’t!
Blindly fleeing, he crashed through his apartment, his trajectory carrying him from room to room. Furniture and accessories made way before his fury, his shins became bruised and his hands reddened as he smashed them against the walls. But he couldn’t escape the vision of the child’s body, bloodied and mutilated, obscenely propped in the wreckage of steel, screaming at him in his dreams.
Too fast! I was driving too fast! Why did I bother that woman? Why didn’t I just wait for her to get around that truck? Stupid! What’s the matter with me? And the little girl. Look what I did to her! And then I think that I can help her after what I did to her. What did I think I was going to do, resuscitate a body with no head? The high and mighty Gage, going to rescue a dead kid. Yeah, real good, Gage!
“You idiot!” he shouted, pausing in his flight. “Why’d you even try? Trying to fix your screw-up. You screwed up then, and you’re nothing but a screw-up now!” He furiously plowed through his apartment once again, this time ending with his fist pounding into the wall. The wall gave way, and he pulled his hand back from a crumbling hole.
“Son of a bitch!” he yelled, holding his fist in his other hand. With a guttural cry, he whirled away from the wall, his fury needing release. He tripped over the coffee table leg, barely catching himself, and suddenly he saw the face again, mouth open in a shattered scream, lolling crazily under the car.
“No! I can’t! I can’t!” He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands, one bloody from burst knuckles, pressed against the sides of his head. “No more,” he whispered. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t…please help me. Roy…I need you.” He staggered to the phone lying on the floor, its receiver buzzing. Pushing the button to close the connection, he then placed the receiver against his ear and listened for the dial tone. He stood thus for several seconds, one hand poised over the buttons, knowing the number he needed to dial but unable to carry out the act.
“Why can’t I talk to him?” he whimpered into the buzzing receiver. “He wants to help me, but I won’t let him.” He slowly lowered the receiver onto the hook. “Roy, you’re all I’ve got. What am I gonna do?” He once again stumbled through his apartment until he fell into his bed.
He was running, his long legs carrying him with grace and speed, and he laughed at the sheer joy of running. Faster and faster, the wind roaring past his face, until he seemed to be flying.
And then he saw the face. He tried to slow down, but his momentum carried him directly into the façade before him, and he was crashing into the bloodied, torn body, and the decapitated head with the lifeless eyes was hovering above him. He tried to scream, but the blood that still dripped from the severed head splashed on his cheeks and into his mouth, and he felt his mind shatter with an almost audible snap…
“Ahhh!”
He didn’t even realize he was screaming until his voice was raspy from the shock of sleeping terror that carried over into waking breathlessness. He clamped his mouth shut, as much to stop the cries as to prevent his teeth from chattering. Raw fear possessed his body, and despite his clenched jaw a strange whimper escaped his lips.
The phone was ringing. He automatically jumped up, conditioning conquering fear for the moment. He cradled the receiver in his hand, not picking it up but listening to each incessant ring, both cursing and blessing the interruption of his collapse. He picked up the receiver.
“Hello?” What do you want? “Oh. I’m sorry. No, just a bad dream…Yeah, really. Everything’s fine. Really…Look, I’m fine. It was just…Yes, I know it’s happening every night…I’m sorry…I can’t…No…” There followed a long pause, during which Johnny’s face grew progressively darker. He finally exploded.
“Y’know, I don’t need this shit! It’s none of your fucking business what I do in my apartment, so kiss my ass!” He hurled the receiver onto the floor, with the phone following.
“Johnny!”
He whirled to find Roy standing in his doorway.
“Roy!” he sputtered. “What are you doing here?”
“I was checking up on you.” Roy gestured over his shoulder. “You didn’t lock your door.”
“Oh.” Johnny stood flushed and humiliated. “How…how long have you been there?”
“Long enough. I heard the conversation, at least your side of it.” Roy looked away, unwilling to watch Johnny’s embarrassment. “A neighbor?”
Johnny cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Next door.”
Sighing in frustration and worry, Roy stepped in and closed the door. “Johnny, you’ve got to get some help,” he started, avoiding eye contact. “I’ve never seen you like this. I mean, the language, the anger. This is not you. It’s like…it’s like the man I know has gone away and some stranger has taken his place. I want the old Johnny back.”
Johnny clapped his hand to his mouth. His gut had begun to roll at the first sight of Roy, and he knew he would have little time to make it to the bathroom. He staggered through his littered living room, tripping twice before nearly collapsing in front of the toilet. Too overwhelmed to get back to his feet, he hung miserably onto the edge of the commode, vomiting over and over. He became vaguely aware of Roy’s comforting hands around his shoulders, but he was unable to acknowledge his friend.
At last the retching stopped, and Johnny leaned back, exhausted. Roy fetched a washcloth, and after warming it under the faucet, handed it to Johnny, who wiped the sweat and spit from his face. Roy retrieved the washcloth, rinsed it under cold water, then watched as Johnny placed the cool cloth over his face for a few seconds.
“Better?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Johnny tossed the cloth into the sink, then sank back against the wall. “Roy?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have heard…that. On the phone. I shouldn’t have said those things.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Man, I don’t know what happened! I don’t talk like that! I just don’t know what to do anymore.”
Roy smiled. “Well, the first thing you might want to do is to apologize to your neighbor.”
Even Johnny managed a smile. “Yeah. You’re right.” His smile vanished. “It’s going to change, Roy. I can’t deal with this anymore.”
“I’m happy to hear that, Johnny. I really am.”
Johnny started to struggle to his feet, quickly aided by Roy. They returned to the living room, where Johnny looked around with a rueful expression.
“I guess I made a bit of a mess.”
“Just a bit.”
“I’ll have to clean it up.”
Roy shook his head. “Not tonight, Junior. You’re going to bed. I’ll come by in the morning to help with this.”
Johnny didn’t protest. Too tired to do more than strip to his boxers, he fell onto his bed without touching the covers. Roy watched him for a moment before leaving the apartment, being sure to lock the door. He drove home hopeful that a corner had been turned.
* * *
Johnny awoke feeling incredibly drained and empty. He sat up on the edge of his bed, needing to go to the bathroom but almost too tired to walk the few steps to the toilet. As he stood in the shower a few moments later, he remembered the night before. The phone
call, the furious exchange with his neighbor, Roy’s unexpected appearance. Everything spinning out of his control, faster and faster, like a runaway merry-go-round, frenetic horses galloping out of their restraints.
No control. Falling. Faster and faster.
And then the face.
The blood, marring the serenity of the child’s face, screams that only he could hear…
He practically fell out of the shower, panic-stricken at the returning vision. It can’t be happening again! Not again! Please not again!
The knocking at his door jarred him out of his flight. Roy. He was here to help clean up.
Rapidly drying off, he then wrapped the towel around his waist and trotted for the door.
Roy smiled in greeting, his eyebrows raised at Johnny’s appearance. “Nice outfit,” he commented.
Johnny smirked at him. “Real funny, Roy. Come on in. I’ll go put something on.”
Roy started cleaning the living room first, righting the tipped table and picking up the strewn about newspapers and mail. Johnny joined him after a moment, and they quickly finished the room. Roy then led the way into the kitchen.
He stopped, shocked by the sight of the hole in the wall. Johnny also stopped, embarrassed.
“I suppose that’s how you got those split knuckles,” Roy observed dryly.
“Uh, yeah,” Johnny said, glancing at his bruised hand. “It was an accident,” he went on lamely.
Roy chose to ignore the excuse. “How about some coffee?”
“Yeah.” Johnny fled to the stove, trying to hide his flushed face.
After coffee, the men worked in silence, neither knowing what to say to the other,
and all too soon the apartment returned to its former condition.
Roy stood awkwardly at the door, wanting to say something more than see you later, Johnny. He wanted to say the words that Johnny needed to hear, but the muses remained silent. His partner smiled reassuringly.
“Thanks for coming over, Roy. I mean it.”
“No problem. Listen, if you want me to stay awhile—”
Yes! Stay! Talk to me. Maybe then I’ll be able to ask you for help. “No, that’s okay. I’m sure you want to be with Joanne and the kids.”
Roy frowned. “Well, if you’re okay…” He drove home dissatisfied and worried, unaware that Johnny spent the next hour furiously pacing the apartment cursing himself.
* * *
Johnny purposely missed his next appointment with Dr. Gould and started his next shift at work with the strange feeling that everything he knew was about to fall apart.
Avoiding speaking to the others, he sat sullenly through breakfast, merely picking at his food. Part of him feared getting sick, but another part of him just wasn’t hungry. He felt detached, as if he were about to faint…or die.
The first call of the day came soon after the table was cleared. The squad was called out to a minor injury, but afterward Johnny refused to ride in the ambulance with the patient. Roy didn’t push the issue, but when they reached Rampart he was surprised when Johnny never entered the hospital. He got the supplies himself, then went out to the squad, halfway expecting it to not even be at the hospital.
Johnny sat in the passenger seat, never acknowledging Roy’s presence.
“Hey,” Roy began, climbing into the driver’s side seat, “where were you?”
Johnny didn’t even glance his way. “Out here,” he stated.
“You could’ve at least come in for supplies.”
“I don’t want to go in there. They’re always bothering me.”
“What are you talking about?”
Johnny vaguely gestured. “Brackett. Dixie. Always asking questions. I didn’t feel like going through all that today.”
“Well, they’d probably be happy to see you, but I’m not going to argue with you.”
“Whatever. Let’s go.”
Roy stared at his partner for a moment before starting the squad and beginning the drive back to the station. Neither man spoke on the trip back. They pulled into the bay, and even before Roy had put the squad into park Johnny had flung himself out and raced for the locker room. Roy sat for a moment, pondering his next move.
He really didn’t want to go to Cap, but talking to Johnny had become something of a challenge. Debating briefly, he headed for the lockers.
He found Johnny sitting inside his locker, oblivious to everything except for the thoughts that had obviously occupied his mind. Roy stood silent, waiting for his friend to move, reluctant to begin another fruitless conversation. Finally deciding that inactivity was worse than the consequences of speaking, Roy approached, hoping his movement would jar Johnny out of his reverie.
It did. His dark-haired partner lifted his head expectantly, his expression accusatory.
“What?” he demanded.
Roy tried to smile. “I just wanted to talk.”
Johnny looked away. “I don’t feel like talking,” he mumbled.
“But it might help—”
Johnny jumped to his feet and slammed his locker door shut. “You’re not my boss, so leave me alone!”
“I’m not trying to be your boss!” Roy replied hotly, losing his patience. “But you’re obviously having problems and it’s my job to let you know!”
“No, your job is to leave me alone!” Johnny finished the brief exchange by storming from the locker room, and Roy, more angry than he wanted to admit, stayed behind, furiously trying to calm himself down before Cap saw him and started asking too many questions.
Outside, Johnny leaned against his Land Rover, unaware that his attempt to calm down was about as successful as Roy’s. What’s wrong with me? Roy tries to help and I bite his head off. My best friend is going to turn his back on me…and it’s all my fault. He just wants to help. Why can’t I accept that? What’s wrong with me?
The remainder of the day found the squad called out to several minor situations, none of which taxed the skills of Johnny or Roy. Johnny fulfilled his duties with detachment, remaining quiet while in the squad and restricting his interactions to the patients. Roy watched his partner closely, not wishing to fan the flames of conflict but unwilling to endanger the well being of those depending on their skills.
Toward the late afternoon, Johnny became more and more impatient, glancing repeatedly at his watch and drumming his fingers as Roy drove back to the station.
“What’s the matter?” Roy finally asked.
“Dinner.”
“Yeah? What about it?”
“I’m cooking tonight. We’re late.”
Roy checked his watch. “It’s only 4:30.”
“It’s late. I’ve got to get back.”
Roy shrugged. “Well, we’re on the way.”
“Yeah, well, not fast enough.” Johnny continued to drum his fingers, and Roy sighed as he turned toward the station.
* * *
“Ah, darn, I thought we might have a break from Gage’s cooking tonight,” Chet said from the couch, Henry on his lap. “Better call the poison control center.”
Johnny glared at him. “Shut up, Chet!”
Chet grabbed his chest. “Oh, that sharp comeback! You’ve mortally wounded me!”
Roy stepped quickly to Chet’s side. “Leave him alone, okay, Chet?” he requested quietly.
Chet looked up at him curiously. “Sure,” he finally said, watching as Johnny hurriedly hauled out a bag of potatoes and dumped them on the table.
Roy also watched his partner for a moment, then discretely motioned for Cap to follow him from the room. They left without noticing the pained look from Johnny.
They’re talking about me. Roy knows I’m losing it, and he’s telling Cap. I can’t be relieved from duty! I can work this mess out, but I need to be with my friends. Please don’t send me home…I’ve got to be here with you guys. I can’t do this on my own.
A few minutes later, Cap and Roy returned to the day room. Johnny hazarded a glance as they came in, but neither met his look. They’re going to push me away! I knew it! He returned to the potatoes, peeling quickly, his uneasiness growing with each discarded piece of potato skin.
The men sat around the table, quietly talking amongst themselves. Johnny tried to ignore the soft voices as he rapidly began slicing the potatoes. He was sure that everyone was silently cursing him for taking so long with dinner, even though they all pretended to be paying him no attention. He finished the second potato and reached for the third. Sweat beaded his forehead. They were waiting for him to finish. Cut. Cut. Cut. Slam the paring knife through the flesh of the potato. Quickly. The klaxons could sound at any time. Cut. Cut. Through the flesh. Through the flesh…
“Ah…damn it!” he yelled, jerking his hand back. “I cut my finger!” he shouted at the gaping men. He hurled the paring knife across the table. “I cut my fucking finger!” Clutching his finger, he fled the room.
Chet was the first to break the uneasy silence. “Just a bit of an overreaction, wouldn’t you say?”
Cap slowly got to his feet. His look at Roy was significant, and the paramedic knew that Johnny’s outburst had been the last straw.
Roy found his partner sitting on the bench in front of the lockers, head down, elbows on thighs, hands dangling limply. Johnny had apparently forgotten about the cut on his finger that had provoked such a disproportionate reaction a few seconds ago, as blood from the wound dripped seemingly unnoticed onto the floor between the younger paramedic’s feet.
“Hey, let me take a look at that finger,” Roy offered.
Johnny’s eyes raised to meet Roy’s. “I just can’t do it anymore, Roy,” he said, his voice trembling.
“Do what?” Roy sat next to his friend.
Johnny seemed to be struggling with his words. “I—anything. Nothing. I don’t know.”
Roy sighed. The agony had to end. “Johnny, I want to help you. We all do. Will you let us?”
Johnny held up his blood-covered hand. “I’m bleeding,” he choked. “Look what I did. I was going too fast, and I cut my finger off.”
Roy carefully took hold of Johnny’s hand. “No, it’s alright. See, just a little cut. Doesn’t even need stitches.”
“Yeah.” Johnny stared at his finger, watching the bright blood. “Blood. I just can’t do it.” He stood up and went to the sink. Roy stood by silently as Johnny washed the blood away. “I was going too fast,” he murmured. “Trying to go too fast. That’s what always happens, you know. Speed. Hurry, hurry. And the next thing you know you’re dead.”
Roy carefully approached Johnny, who was still absentmindedly running water over his finger. “Speed and carelessness are a dangerous combination, Johnny. You’re right. But you need to…get over that accident. It happened, but it’s over. I know you saw some terrible things there…I did too. But in our line of work we’ve got to know when to put away the memories. We’ve got to move back from it or we go crazy.”
Johnny drew in his breath, and Roy immediately regretted his last statement. “You think I’m crazy?” Johnny hissed, withdrawing his hand from the water. He backed away from Roy. “Who are you to say I’m crazy?” he went on, his voice rising. “You think you know me? You think you know what’s going on with me? You don’t know shit!”
“John!” Cap stood in the doorway. “That’s enough!”
Johnny whipped around, his expression that of a man caught in a crime. He mumbled some type of apology under his breath before slipping past Cap into the apparatus bay.
I messed up big time, but maybe they’ll help me. I just can’t do this anymore.
“John?” Cap stood next to the squad, keeping a careful distance. Johnny nodded in acknowledgment. “See you in my office?”
“Yeah.” I’m in trouble now. He’s going to relieve me of duty. But I need to be near them. They can’t help me if I’m not here. Johnny closed the door and stood waiting while Cap took a seat behind the desk.
Cap pursed his lips as he searched for the proper beginning. “John, I know you’ve been through a difficult time since that accident. Believe me, I understand. That’s why I’m relieving you of duty for a time. I don’t want to see your job performance get hurt. You’re too good a paramedic for me to let that happen, so I’m stepping in now. Before this gets any worse. And I want you to go back to the psychiatrist. Keep going until you get over this.” He paused, taking in Johnny’s blank face. “We just want you to get better,” he went on, his voice soft. “We’re your family, you know. We’re here to take care of each other.”
Johnny suddenly felt he was about to cry. With every ounce of willpower he possessed he forced the tears to remain hidden, but he was desperate to get away. He had fully intended to argue against being relieved of duty, but his fragility kept him mute.
Cap studied him. He’s going to cry, he thought. “Go home and rest, okay, pal?
I’ll make the appointment for you.”
Thus released, Johnny managed a quick nod, then fled the office.
* * *
He drove home quickly, whipping through the traffic with angry determination.
It’s all a joke. A joke on me. I’ve screwed up everything now. My job…my life. Everything’s screwed up, thanks to me. All because I was in such a rush, and I couldn’t wait. Hurry, hurry, and now everything’s wrong. Everything’s wrong…
He reached his apartment, but as he trudged down the hall to his door, the hopelessness of his situation pounded into him.
I can’t stay here. If I do, I’ll sleep, and if I sleep, I’ll have those nightmares again. I don’t want to be alone. I can’t be alone! Why did Cap make me leave? Doesn’t he know that I need to be near them?
What am I going to do?
I wish…I was…dead…
* * *
Once he started thinking about it, he found that he couldn’t stop. The interminable night had only strengthened his convictions. What little sleep he had gotten had been filled with the most terrifying nightmares he had ever experienced.
He had woken up screaming at least three times, and the other times that he awakened were too confusing to know if he had actually cried out or had only dreamed that he was shouting. He had been certain that his neighbor would call to complain, but apparently their last phone encounter had convinced the man to stay out of the paramedic’s business.
Toward dawn he stalked about the apartment, strongly tempted to once again trash the furniture but refraining this time. Another plan played too loudly in his mind; a plan that would permanently remove the nightmares.
He had struggled with the thoughts most of the night, but as the dreams had continued, he had found himself increasingly receptive to the comfort of…
Quiet. No more nightmares. No more visions of little girls with blood covered faces. No more guilt.
Only one chance remained…
He drove the familiar route without thinking or seeing. Somehow, some part of his brain assured him safe passage as he drove, but he was unaware of his progress—until Station 51 came into view.
The sight of the familiar station filled him with a wave of sadness. His home. It meant so much to him. And the men inside, too. They were his family. His throat burning, he pulled into the driveway and parked in his usual spot. They had kept it open for him. He nearly smiled, anticipating the warm presence of Roy, the teasing of Chet, the fatherly concern of Cap. His family. He opened the door of the station…and nearly cried out.
The apparatus bay stood empty.
They were gone.
Hopelessness. Nothingness. Emptiness. They were gone. No one to help him. No one to save him.
He ran back to his Rover, the engine starting with a roar. He tore from the station, his foot relentlessly pushing the accelerator, the vehicle picking up speed in the light traffic.
His vision blurred and he realized tears were filling his eyes. With a choked back sob he swiped at his eyes, then maneuvered even faster down the street.
He approached an intersection, the red light burning before his eyes. A red light. Heavy traffic traveling through the intersection. If he drove through the light he would almost certainly harm someone else. He desperately didn’t want to hurt anyone. At the last possible moment he slammed on the brakes.
More tears drenched his eyes. The light changed, and he tore out as fast as the Rover’s gears would allow. He wouldn’t stop at the next light, no matter what.
The next intersection had a green light. He tore through, passing cars as he drove faster. Speed kills, he thought again and again. You’ve already killed your mind—now kill your body.
A red light. He sobbed as he sped toward it. Roy, help me—help the people that I’m about to hurt. Oh God let it be quick!
A car flashed in front of him. Instinctively he swerved hard. The Rover’s tires squealed, protesting the hard turn, and Johnny fought to keep the vehicle under control. Cars swept past him, horns blaring, pieces of words emanating from open windows, the specter of destruction swishing by with each mass of steel.
Somehow he made his way through the intersection without a collision. His eyes nearly blinded by tears, he continued down the street, again pushing the accelerator toward the floor. Speed kills.
He found himself entering the 405. Faster and faster he pushed the Rover, until the engine screamed. His destination loomed in the distance like an idol; a pillar of concrete, already the scene of one sacrifice, now about to be splashed with the blood of a new lamb.
A little girl’s face, serene and still, flashed before his eyes. Go back, it seemed to say. Don’t do this.
But then a wave of blood flooded his vision, and with a horror-struck cry he realized that it was too late…
Frantic movement…noise…louder and louder. Over and over, tumbling, falling…falling…
Nothing…
White hot…piercing…pain! Pain! I can’t breathe…help me…
He gasped for air…choked on his saliva…at last screamed when he drew in enough breath. Crushing…crushing weight…across his hips.
But even his scream was cut short by the agony. He gasped again, frantically trying to push the mass from his body. He knew nothing but the sensation that tore his body in two. Then he knew nothing at all.
* * *
“Squad 51, what is your status?”
Brice picked up the microphone. “Squad 51 available,” he replied.
“Squad 51, motor vehicle accident with injuries on Highway 405…”
Roy felt his heart begin to race as Brice noted the location of the accident. The same spot as before. The accident that signaled the beginning of the end for his best friend. He pushed the accelerator harder, the thumping in his chest seeming to drown out the sound of the siren. He glanced in his mirror, seeing the engine close behind.
Another accident on the 405.
Johnny…
* * *
A voice. Calling. And then the pain again, returning with a force that tore sobs from his throat. He felt as though he were suffocating, as though he would never be able to catch his breath, and he frantically pushed at the mass that lay on his body.
He blinked through the tears and the blood, trying to identify the source of his entrapment. “Get it off…get me out,” he whispered.
“Johnny? Can you hear me?” Roy’s voice…somewhere. But this was what he wanted, Roy to his rescue. Roy to ask the right questions.
But it wasn’t supposed to hurt so much. He cried again, his voice hoarse as he shouted out his agony. “Help me! Help me!”
Someone moved over him. He flailed his arm through the air. “Roy!” he gasped. “Are you there?”
Roy’s voice, frightened and urgent. “Cap, we’ve gotta get this car off him now!” He felt his partner against his leg. “His artery may have been cut! Brice, help me cut his pants.” He felt the scissors as they ripped into his jeans, and he knew that the material was being torn away and tossed aside.
“Roy…help me! Get it off!” Johnny’s voice shook as he fought to keep from screaming.
“We’re trying, Johnny. Just hold on.” Roy’s voice called over his head. “Be careful, Chet. The Rover’s cutting into him. I don’t know how deep…”
“Watch it!” Cap shouted. Roy jumped, startled as the Rover suddenly lurched back onto the trapped man. Johnny screamed as something stabbed him in the groin, and the blood that drenched his body began to flow in earnest.
“Shit! The artery’s cut!” Roy snapped, his voice unable to hide his fear. “We’ve got to get him out now or he’s gone!”
Somewhere beyond the agonizing pain, Johnny heard Roy’s panicked words, and he felt the most intense fear he had ever experienced. He felt death.
Somehow, with superhuman strength, the firefighters were able to pull the Rover up enough for Roy and Brice to slide Johnny out to safety. The effort drove Johnny beyond what he could tolerate, and he blindly swung his arms, striking out in his agony.
“Hold him down!” Roy commanded, and Johnny felt new terror as his arms and legs were restrained. He felt hands pulling away the remainder of his jeans and boxers, and then something pressed hard into his groin.
“Where’s the ambulance?” Roy choked.
“Coming now,” Cap reassured him. “Hold on, Roy.”
Marco arrived with a backboard, and the men quickly placed Johnny onto it, forcing themselves to ignore the raw screams of pain. Roy never moved his hand from John’s artery. The men helped set Johnny onto the gurney, then they strapped his arms and legs down, knowing he could not be held accountable for his violent actions. Brice jumped into the ambulance, followed by the gurney and Roy, who still held onto the torn artery. Cap closed the doors, and they watched as the ambulance, siren wailing, swiftly left the accident scene.
Inside the ambulance, Roy and Brice fought to save Johnny’s life. Knowing that Roy would be unable to move from his position at Johnny’s hip, Brice rapidly set up the biophone and pulled out the BP cuff. Johnny cried out with every breath, still pulling at his restraints.
“Roy!” he gasped. “Please…give me…something…for the…pain! Please!”
“Johnny, I can’t. You may have a head injury.” Roy reinforced his grip. “Just hold on.”
Brice inflated the cuff. “We’ll be at the hospital soon, Gage,” he said, his voice almost sympathetic. He pulled back after taking Johnny’s blood pressure. “80 over 50,” he stated, reaching for Johnny’s wrist. “He’s lost too much blood.”
Roy shot him a withering glance. “Not if I can help it,” he hissed.
Brice noted the pulse, then laid his hand on Johnny’s rapidly heaving abdomen.
“Rampart, this is Squad 51, how do you read?” Brice spoke into the biophone with calm detachment, and for once Roy was grateful for the man’s pure professionalism.
“Go ahead, 51.”
“Rampart, we have a male, age 29, victim of a car accident. He has ruptured his femoral artery. We are attempting to pinch the artery, but the victim has already lost a substantial amount of blood.”
“What are the vitals?” Brackett barked, his voice betraying his tension.
“Rampart, BP is 80 over 50, pulse is 120, respirations are 36.
“51, start two IVs, Ringers Lactate wide open, give oxygen 15 liters per minute, monitor the vitals carefully, and get him in here now. What’s your ETA?”
Brice repeated the instructions, gave an ETA of five minutes, then, after placing the oxygen mask over Johnny’s face, rapidly started the first IV. He took the blood pressure again, glancing at Roy with a frown.
“70 over 40,” he said.
Roy once again reinforced his grip on the artery, forcing his cramped fingers to remain at their task. “I can’t stop all of the bleeding,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Please! Give me…something!” Johnny suddenly began to struggle anew. “I can’t…take it anymore!” he cried. “Let me go!”
“Lie still!” Roy said urgently. “Johnny, you’ve got to lie still!”
Brice jumped into action, practically lying over Johnny to keep him from dislodging Roy’s hold on the artery. “Gage, don’t move!”
“Let me go!” Johnny pulled frantically at the restraints as he gave in to pain-induced panic. The oxygen mask made him feel as though he were suffocating, while horrendous pain wracked his entire body, and something held him motionless, unable to lift his head or move his arms or legs. “Help me!” he screamed, tumbling into madness. “Why can’t…I…move? I…need…to…get…away…Oh God help me! Roy…”
Blood loss and pain finally overcame consciousness, and Johnny lay quietly as the ambulance backed into the emergency entrance.
Once inside Rampart, Brice stepped back as Dr. Brackett and Dr. Early joined the gurney. Roy, his fingers still clamped on the artery, stood on one of the support bars along the base of the gurney in order to maintain pressure.
It was with a sigh of relief that Roy was finally able to remove his hand from Johnny’s leg. He moved out of the way, suddenly aware of a tremendous weariness that was not entirely due to his long exertion. Almost without realizing it he mentally toned out the flurry of activity, retreating to the painlessness of the unknown. Doctors and nurses flew around Johnny, attaching and inserting tubes with a precision that allowed Roy the luxury of letting go. He could let the medical staff worry now. His job as paramedic had been completed. Now his job as a friend would begin, and he was terrified of the prospect. He didn’t want to think about how Johnny had gotten into this horrible state—not yet. But the speculation refused to be put off, despite Roy’s best efforts to think of nothing, and when Dixie gently but firmly took him by the arm he allowed himself to be led from the room.
“How about a cup of coffee?”
Somehow Roy nodded and followed the head nurse to the lounge. Once there, Dixie poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him with a smile.
“He’s in good hands, Roy,” she said. “First yours, literally, and now here with the doctors.” She laid her hand on his shoulder. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll keep you informed.”
* * *
Roy didn’t know how long he sat in the lounge, and he didn’t remember drinking his coffee, but when Dixie finally returned and told him he could see Johnny for a minute, he set down an empty cup.
He went into the room and simply stood, studying his sleeping partner. Johnny’s entire body seemed to be bruised and scraped, a mute testimony to the destructive power of an out of control vehicle. A white sheet covered his midsection, hiding the emergency surgery that had been performed on his artery, and various IVs hung over his supine body, feeding his depleted blood supply. I’m so sorry, Johnny. I just didn’t know what to do for you. He wiped his face. I still don’t know what to do.
Roy stayed for another few minutes, watching the regular breathing of his friend. He remembered the desperation of the accident, the terror in Johnny’s voice, the feel of the spurting blood over his fingers as he attempted to pinch the lacerated artery. He recalled Brice’s cold professionalism, and his own anger at the dropping blood pressure that told of his inadequacy.
But I saved his life. He’s going to be all right.
Yeah. For now. What about when he speeds toward that abutment again?
He listlessly returned to the lounge and called his wife.
* * *
“Johnny…can you open your eyes for me? Come on now. Open your eyes.”
“Wha…?” He heard the voice, recognized the command, but he was so tired.
“Johnny, open your eyes. Come on. Let me see those eyes.”
“No.” Despite himself, he opened his eyes. Dixie stood smiling over him.
“There you go. How are you feeling? Any pain?”
“What?”
“Are you feeling any pain?”
Was he? He concentrated, trying to put some order to the various sensations he was experiencing. “Yeah,” he finally croaked. “Some…pain…I think.”
“Okay. We’ll get you something for it. Dr. Brackett wants to talk to you, so can you keep your eyes open for me?”
Johnny had already started to allow his eyelids to droop. “No.”
“Come on, Johnny. Try for me, okay? I’ll be back in a minute with your pain medication, and I’ll tell Dr. Brackett to hurry if he wants to see you awake.”
“Ye-ah,” he murmured, drifting away.
“Johnny? Dix said you were awake. Can you hear me?”
Why wouldn’t they leave him alone? “What?”
Brackett’s voice moved closer. “You’re going to be okay, Johnny. You gave us quite a scare, but thanks to your partner, your artery has been repaired and we’re making up your blood loss right now. It’s some kind of miracle that Roy was able to keep hold of your artery, but you two are the ultimate team.”
“Where’s…R-Roy?”
“Waiting outside. He’s been here since the accident. You owe him a lot. If it hadn’t been for him, you would’ve bled out long before you got here. You also have a concussion and a broken pelvis. Neither is too serious, but you’re going to hurt like hell for awhile. According to Roy, your truck was literally lying on top of you.”
“Roy saved my life,” Johnny whispered, his strength ebbing rapidly.
“Yes he did. Now it’s your turn.”
Johnny forced his eyes to open. “What?”
Kel leaned over Johnny. “You need to save yourself, my friend,” he said, his tone brisk. “You know exactly what I mean.”
Johnny shrank back from the piercing stare, filled with sudden dread. Dr. Brackett knew what he had done. That meant that the others also knew.
It meant that Roy knew...
* * *
He knew Roy was in his room, but he kept his eyes closed, fearing to look his friend in the face.
He didn’t think he could ever face him.
The full impact of what had happened settled over him like a dark curtain. I tried to kill myself! I can’t believe what I did! It seems like an eternity ago that I was driving down the 405. And all of a sudden I was at that abutment…the same abutment…God help me! What am I gonna do?
“Johnny? Are you awake?”
Roy’s concern smashed into Johnny’s consciousness. He still cares about me!
Even after what I did!
He opened his eyes and saw Roy hovering over him. His friend smiled at him.
“Hey, there! How’re you feeling?”
“Okay,” Johnny said, his voice a mere whisper of air.
“I was in earlier, but I don’t think you were aware. You were still pretty out of it. Do you need anything?”
Johnny shook his head. “Roy…”
“Yeah?”
Johnny tried to speak, but his throat constricted, and he turned away. He felt Roy’s hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay, Junior. Listen, I’ll come back later. You get some rest.” With a final pat on Johnny’s arm, he left, not wanting to embarrass his partner by witnessing his tears.
Johnny managed to hold on until Roy left, then his face crumpled, and he wept. Fragmented memories flew at him, pecking at his psyche like demented birds…
The horrific sensation of rolling…crazily out of control…falling, pounding, scraping. The tremendous weight of what he now realized was his own vehicle lying on top of him. His clothing ripped, shredded, his blood spurting from his artery. He remembered being aware of bystanders watching as he was stripped of his jeans and boxers, and he felt new humiliation as he realized how he must have appeared. Screaming, crying, his face wet, his nose running, his bare skin slick with blood. The men he worked with holding his arms and legs down to keep him from further harming himself or others, watching him writhe out of control. His own partner forced to treat his grievous injury, forced to ignore the screams for pain meds, forced to wonder what had happened.
I can’t face him. Not after all this…
* * *
“Johnny, Dix tells me that you’re refusing your pain meds.” Dr. Brackett frowned down on his patient. “Is there something I need to know?”
The injured man tried to force his breathing to slow, to concentrate on anything except the pain that wracked his body. “I—just—don’t—want—anything,” he stammered.
Brackett reviewed the chart. “Your vitals are horrible,” he brusquely informed the paramedic. “Pain is hindering your recovery, and I’m not going to allow it. Now either you give me a real good reason why you shouldn’t have morphine, or I’m going to force it on you.”
Johnny eyed him. “You can’t—force—me,” he gasped.
“Can’t I?” Brackett pulled out the heavy ammunition. “Based on your recent behavior, I can easily have you declared incompetent. Is that the route you’re going to force me to take? Because I will—in a second.”
Johnny looked away. “I just—don’t—”
“Why?” Brackett interrupted. “You can barely speak through the pain. Why put yourself through this kind of punishment…” His voice trailed off as realization replaced confusion. “You’re punishing yourself,” he stated quietly. “Aren’t you?”
Johnny could not answer, but his heaving chest moved even faster.
“Johnny, don’t do this to yourself. I know you’ve been through the wringer, but please think about this.” He paused, resting a warm hand on Johnny’s shoulder, watching closely as his young friend struggled with pain and growing tears. “I’m going to have Dixie give you a shot,” Brackett said gently. “It’ll allow you to sleep—get some real rest. You’ll feel better then.” He smiled reassuringly, then left.
Johnny closed his eyes, not wanting Dixie to stay any longer than necessary, and when she came in to administer the shot, she did not attempt to get him to talk to her. Even if Kel hadn’t filled her in, she would have recognized Johnny’s fragility.
* * *
The next day Johnny awoke feeling rested and somewhat stronger. He had been moved to a regular room, and he was able to sit up in his bed for part of the morning. A friendly nurse brought him a light breakfast, and he managed to eat a few spoonfuls of cereal, but his stomach rolled so much he was forced to stop. Somehow he kept himself from losing the bites he had taken, but the mere sight of food made him nauseous, so he replaced the lid.
The door opened, and he sighed as Dr. Brackett walked in.
“Am I that unpleasant, Johnny?” Brackett asked, smiling.
“No...it's just me.”
“Feeling better today?” Brackett inquired, picking up the chart and perusing it with a critical eye.
“Yeah.”
Brackett looked over at him. “No more trouble over pain medication?”
Johnny shook his head. “No.”
“Good. Now, let's tackle your eating.”
“Doc—”
Brackett lifted the lid from Johnny's breakfast tray. His frown stopped Johnny's protest.
“Did you eat any of it?”
Johnny looked away. “Couple bites. Made me sick.”
“Did you vomit?”
“No, I kept it down.”
“But you've been vomiting on a regular basis?”
“Well...some.”
“For how long?”
Johnny didn't answer, and Brackett gently asked, “Since the accident?”
“Yeah.” Johnny took the napkin from his tray and wiped his face.
Brackett studied his patient. “Well, we'll see what we can do for that. Perhaps a liquid diet for a few days. In the meantime, I want you to get some rest.” He patted the paramedic on the shoulder and left.
* * *
Johnny waited. He knew that Roy was on duty today, and he knew that he would almost surely be bringing someone into Rampart.
He was not so sure that Roy would come up to see him.
Shame coursed through him as he thought of his partner. Shame over what he had done on the 405. Shame over the way he had acted since. I don’t want to face him. I’m not sure what I’ll say to him.
The afternoon turned into evening, and Johnny watched the light dim outside his window. He's avoiding me. Not that I blame him. He probably doesn't know what to say to me. I mean, what do you say to a man who has just tried to kill himself?
He heard footsteps outside his door, and just like every time he heard someone near his door, he turned to intently watch his door for movement. And at last he was rewarded. Roy pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“Roy!”
“Hey, Johnny.” Roy stood awkwardly at the door, obviously ill at ease. “I heard you're feeling better.”
“Yeah, some.” Johnny paused. “I'm glad you came,” he said quietly.
“Well, Brice is getting supplies. I would’ve been by sooner but we’ve really been busy…”
Johnny pretended to believe him. “Yeah, I know how it is.” He tried to smile, but it was painfully forced. “So how’s it going?”
Roy shrugged. “Oh, you know. Brice is Brice.” He paused, unable to look at his partner’s bruised face any longer. He kept picturing the spurting blood, the panicked face. “Dix says you’re going to be getting up in a day or so.”
“Yeah, that's what they say,” Johnny replied, desperate to say something that would not sound forced.
“That’s good.” Roy fidgeted, uneasy with his wavering emotions. He could feel his carefully concealed anger pushing its way to the surface.
“Johnny, I don’t understand what happened,” he said, and Johnny involuntarily flushed. "I mean, how did you...crash?"
“I had an accident,” Johnny replied testily.
“Was it?”
“What?”
Roy’s expression hardened. “Was it an accident?”
Johnny shifted uncomfortably. “Well, uh, yeah. Of course it was.”
“So what happened? Did someone cut you off?”
“Uh—no. No one cut me off.”
“You crashed at the same spot as that accident...Johnny, I don’t understand.”
Johnny’s face reddened even more. “Roy…”
“Witnesses say you drove right for that abutment.” Roy’s voice, tempered with anger, sliced through Johnny. “Is that true?”
The injured man fiddled with the sheet. “I—I didn’t know what else to do. I mean—”
Roy lost it. “Are you telling me that you ran into that abutment on purpose?” he exclaimed in disbelief.
The expression on Johnny’s face stopped Roy cold. “My God, it’s true,” he whispered in horror. He stepped back, struggling for equilibrium. “I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s true.” He wiped his eyes, reeling from the confirmation of a nightmare. “Johnny, why?”
Johnny lowered his head. “I—don’t know,” he lied. Help me, Roy!
“Johnny, I’m trying to understand this. God knows I’m trying. But you’ve got to help me here. Why didn’t you just talk to me? Or anybody? We’ve all been trying to get you to talk to us. Why did you…” His voice choked, and anger once again coursed through his body. “Why did you try to kill yourself? All you had to do was come to me or Cap or Brackett or anybody! You nearly died out there! Do you realize that? You nearly bled out underneath your own car! Thank God nobody else was hurt! Did you even think about that? That you might kill someone besides yourself?”
“Roy, it—it wasn’t like that—exactly.” Johnny tried to break through Roy’s anger, desperate for understanding. “I didn’t really want to—to…” He couldn’t continue.
“Are you saying you didn’t try to kill yourself?” Roy’s voice clearly communicated his confusion and disbelief.
Johnny’s mouth opened, then closed. He shook his head.
Roy moved closer to him. “Johnny, I don’t understand. You said yourself that no one cut you off. You just ran into the abutment. I don’t know what definition you’re using, but in my book that amounts to attempted suicide.”
“I didn’t mean for it to be like that!” Johnny burst out. “I tried to…to stop but it was too late!”
“So why did you try in the first place?” Roy exclaimed. “Explain this to me! Why did you crash into that abutment? Were you trying to kill yourself?”
“No! No…” Johnny’s facade broke, and he clamped his hands over his face. “I don’t know…I don’t know,” he cried, his voice muffled.
Roy clenched his fists in frustration. “Damn it, Johnny, you’re not going to push me away again! I can’t go on like this. You can’t either!”
“I don't know what to do anymore!” Johnny cried. He could feel his grasp on his emotions slipping, and in desperation he shoved his tray away from him, sending the contents flying onto the floor.
“You've got to face it!” Roy shouted. “Why don't you just admit that you've got a problem?”
“Don't you get it? I’ve tried! I can’t do it anymore!” In a move that shocked even himself, Johnny yanked the IV from his arm.
Both men paused, regaining control with almost visible effort. Roy pushed the call button, then, wadding up a tissue, put pressure on Johnny's bleeding arm. Neither said a word until Dixie entered the room.
She looked with surprise at the loose IV and scattered items from the tray. “Johnny?”
“An accident,” he said quietly.
“I see.” She wiped his arm, frowning. “You've really torn your arm.”
“Yeah.”
Roy backed away. “I'd better go,” he said apologetically.
Dixie caught his eye. “Kel,” she mouthed.
Roy nodded, then left.
* * *
Roy found Dr. Brackett reading a chart in the hall, and in a few words related what had happened.
“I gather Johnny didn’t care for what you had to say to him,” Kel said sardonically.
Roy shook his head. “I thought I was getting through to him. The problem is that I got mad at him. I just—I can’t believe that he tried to—hurt himself. I guess I got carried away.”
“This may be exactly what he needed. Something to jar him out of his denial.”
“He was starting to talk,” Roy agreed. “Until I pushed too hard.”
Kel smiled. “You just keep on pushing, Roy. In the meantime, we’ll work on him while we have him at the hospital. One way or another, Johnny’s going to know that we’re here for him.”
* * *
Roy sat brooding, absentmindedly watching the TV but not seeing anything. He was dimly aware of the kids noisily playing in the other room, and he vaguely heard the phone ring, but he couldn't move out of his reverie.
“Roy, phone,” Joanne called from the kitchen. “It’s Dixie at the hospital.”
He wrenched himself out of the chair and went to the phone.
“Hey Dix. What’s up?”
“Roy, can you come on by for awhile?”
“Uh, well, yeah, I suppose so.”
“Good. Plan on spending some time here. Our friend is going to need some support just about the time you get here.”
“Oh. I see. Yeah, I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”
* * *
Dixie hung up the phone. Part one was under way. Now for part two. She headed resolutely to Johnny’s room.
The young man was sitting in a wheelchair, although by his haggard expression Dixie knew he would soon need to return to his bed.
“Hey there, handsome. How are we feeling?”
Johnny merely looked up at her.
Dixie folded her arms. “It’s polite to answer a question,” she observed.
“Fine,” he mumbled.
“Good. I’m glad to hear it, because whether you believe it or not, life is pretty good.”
Johnny fixed Dixie with an expression that bordered on disrespect. “Sure, Dix,” he said.
The nurse chose to ignore his attitude—for the moment. “I know that it’s been a long, dark time for you, but the light has never left the end of the tunnel. The problem has been that you’ve been stalled at the dark end. It’s time to walk to the light.”
She watched Johnny closely as she spoke, seeing the anguish break through his eyes, the brightness that bespoke tears.
“Johnny, you have so many friends, and we are all standing by just waiting for the word.” Dixie tilted her head, waiting for Johnny to speak.
He did try, but one glance into Dixie’s eyes took away his resolve, and he merely swallowed.
Dixie’s temper got the better of her. “John Gage, you listen to me. I happen to know that your best friend in the world is torturing himself trying to figure out just what it is that you need right now, and I’m not going to stand for it anymore. Now you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and start thinking about everybody else. I know that I, for one, am getting pretty tired of this guessing game. So before everybody else gets tired of it, you’d just better decide what you’re going to tell Roy. He’s on his way over to see you, and I expect you to spill your guts to that poor guy before he ends up in here with his own nervous breakdown. Got it?”
Johnny stared at her, his mouth hanging open. “Uh, yeah,” he finally stammered.
“Good!” Dixie shook her finger at him. “Don’t let me down, Johnny. I care too much about you and Roy to let this go on any longer.” With a final shake under his nose, she left the room.
* * *
Roy arrived at Rampart, uneasy and pessimistic. He made his way to Johnny’s room, wondering if the nightmare was about to be over.
Johnny sat in his wheelchair facing the window. The late afternoon sun made the room almost uncomfortably bright, but Johnny stared into the light, seemingly unaware.
Roy stood in the doorway, unsure what to do next. “Johnny?”
He saw his friend start, then laboriously turn the wheelchair to face him. Roy was struck by the tear-stained face that pleaded for him to understand, and he fervently hoped that he would have the answers that Johnny so desperately needed.
“I’m here,” he said, his meaning deeper than the mere words.
Johnny’s face crumpled into new tears, and Roy, at last allowed past the wall that had been so carefully built for so long, stepped into the inner sanctuary. Johnny’s private torment lay bare before them, opened ever so slightly to allow Roy’s healing words and touches. One wept copiously and without restraint, while the other held on to him, speaking the soft reassurances that were so needed.
At long last Johnny calmed himself. Now embarrassed, he turned away from Roy while wiping his face with several tissues. Roy, understanding, pretended to be engrossed in rearranging the items that littered Johnny’s tray.
“Roy?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Roy smiled his first genuine smile in a long time. “Hey, that’s what I’m here for,” he said.
Johnny looked up at him pensively. “You’ve tried to help me ever since that first accident.”
Roy nodded, slightly tense. “Yeah, I have, but you weren’t ready.”
“I’m not sure…” Johnny coughed. “I may not be ready now. It’s so hard…” His voice trailed off.
“Johnny. Look at me.” Roy waited for his friend’s compliance. “I am here for you now and whenever you need me. If you need me for a hundred years, I’ll be here. I can’t say what shape I’ll be in in one hundred years,” he added with a grin, “but I’ll do my best. That’s all I can do.”
Johnny finally managed a small smile. “Okay.”
“These last few weeks have been hell, but we’re going to get through them. It’s going to get better. I promise. Do you believe me?”
The younger man sniffed, his eyes bright. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.” He grabbed a tissue and wiped his nose. “I, uh, I guess I owe you an explanation,” he said after a time.
Roy stifled a relieved sigh. “I would like that, yes.”
“You might want to pull up a chair.”
“Sure.” Roy sat down and waited expectantly.
Johnny fidgeted nervously. “It was that accident. It—it tore me apart. I—” His voice broke, and he rapidly wiped his eyes with the tissue.
“Roy, every time I close my eyes I see that girl. Every time. I just can’t take it anymore.” He stopped, his emotions too fragile to continue, and Roy gently placed his hand on Johnny’s shoulder.
“It’s okay, Johnny,” he said softly. “Take your time. I’m here for the long haul.”
“And so am I, if you’re ready.”
Johnny and Roy both jumped at the words, then Roy smiled to see Dr. Gould in the doorway, Dixie at his side.
“Dr. Gould just happens to be on call today,” Dixie explained. “So what do you say, Johnny?”
Johnny searched the faces of his friends, and of Dr. Gould, who suddenly didn’t seem to be the enemy. “Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m ready.”
* * *
Through Dixie’s influence, Johnny’s room at Rampart was assured complete privacy, with only a push on the call button bringing anyone in. The door was closed, and inside Johnny sat up in his bed, facing his partner and his psychiatrist.
Johnny had requested that Roy be allowed to stay, and Dr. Gould had readily agreed, recognizing the close bond between the men. He also knew that Johnny would need all the support he could get.
“John, the time has come. You must be completely open and honest, and while this will be painful, the result will allow you to finally heal. Are you ready?”
Johnny swallowed. “I guess,” he said.
Dr. Gould leaned forward. “Go back to the accident. I know that you believe that you, at least indirectly, caused it because of your pressuring of the woman to drive faster. We have already addressed part of that issue. What we need to do now is to look at the little girl.” Gould paused, noticing Johnny’s immediate tension.
Roy watched, transfixed. Gould had asked him to sit near Johnny, to the side of the bed out of the direct line of vision. There, he was close enough to touch his friend without interfering in the flow of memories.
“The little girl,” Gould continued. “You have said that she was already dead when you got to her. I asked you before how she died, and you didn’t give me a direct answer. Today is the time when you face what happened to her.” He sat back, waiting for Johnny to begin.
Her face appeared before him, smiling gently, golden hair waving as though caught in a light breeze. He blinked hard, but the face remained, and he prepared himself for the horrific transformation.
“I see her,” he whispered, his eyes flooding with moisture. “She’s beautiful, but she’s going to change.”
“Why does she change, John?” Gould inquired, his voice barely audible.
“Because…of what I did to her.” Johnny choked back a sob. “She shouldn’t have died.”
“How does she change?”
Johnny felt the first tears slip, and he quickly swiped them away. “Blood. Everywhere. Her head…her head…oh God…” He stopped, unable to speak for several moments. Gould waited, watching as Roy silently held a box of tissue toward his friend. Johnny pulled out a handful and wiped his face.
“What happened at the accident, John? You said before that you tried to help the girl, but she was already dead. What happened when you tried to help her?”
Johnny lowered his hands from his face. “I can’t—”
“Yes, John. You must remember. This is the only way you can heal.”
“Doc, please—” He again wiped his face, his breathing rate increasing as he felt a growing panic. “I can’t do this!”
“Tell me, John. You can do it. What happened when you tried to help her?”
Johnny glanced at Roy, who had moved closer to his bed in his concern. “Roy,” he gasped, having difficulty catching his breath.
Roy reached out to touch his arm. “Slow your breathing down, Johnny. You’re hyperventilating. Take deep, slow breaths.”
Johnny tried to accommodate his partner, but suddenly the vision of the girl forced its way into his consciousness, and he was assaulted by a bath of blood.
“No!” he cried, involuntarily flinching backward with his hands raised. “I’m sorry! Please…”
“What happened to the girl, John?” Gould broke in relentlessly. “What did you see?”
Roy stood up, half expecting Johnny to pass out from lack of oxygen. “Johnny, breathe! Come on, now. Take deep breaths.” He turned to Dr. Gould. “We need to stop this. He can’t handle it.”
Gould frowned. “Roy, he needs to face it. I know it’s difficult, but he’s never going to recover if we don’t go through this.”
As the men spoke, Johnny managed to calm himself a bit, and he placed his hand on Roy’s arm.
“It’s okay,” he said breathlessly. “Just give me a minute.”
“Take your time,” Roy told him. “Everything’s okay.”
The trio sat for perhaps five minutes, Gould unobtrusively watching his patient, Roy also trying to observe without being obvious, and Johnny staring down at his hands, his chest still heaving, his eyes still filling with tears. It was Johnny who signaled a return to the session by sighing heavily.
“Ready, John?” Gould asked.
“No,” Johnny replied, but his expression indicated that he knew he had to continue.
“Okay, now let’s go back to the girl. You said she was bloody. Was she thrown
from the vehicle?”
A sharp intake of breath indicated Johnny’s torment. “N-not exactly,” he stammered.
Gould pursed his lips as a sudden scenario presented itself. “The tin that flew from the truck. Did it hit the little girl?”
Johnny gasped. “I can’t…Doc, this is so hard.”
“I know it is, but you have to go through it. You have to face what happened. Did the tin hit the girl?”
One sob broke from Johnny’s throat. “Yes,” he whispered.
“Did the tin mutilate her?”
“Yes…” Johnny answered automatically, not bothering to staunch the tears.
“Was she decapitated, John?” Gould asked softly.
Johnny nodded, his shoulders shaking.
“And you tried to help her?”
“I didn’t know…what had happened. I couldn’t see…” Johnny spoke through ever increasing sobs. “I thought…I could help her…I didn’t know…”
He stopped, grabbing more tissue, but Gould pushed further.
“So then what happened? After you found out she was decapitated?”
Johnny stared at him, then shook his head. “No…” he whimpered.
“You’re almost there, John. What happened next?”
“Doc, I can’t do this!”
“Face it, John! You’re strong enough to get through this, and we’re here for you.”
Johnny took a deep, shuddering breath. “I…kinda…lost it. I fell…against the car.”
“And?”
Johnny covered his face with his hands. “Her head…oh God! It was under the car! I didn’t know! I didn’t know it was there! I touched it! I didn’t know!” He collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably, and Roy, almost as overwhelmed, stood next to him, his own eyes tearing, his arm laid across Johnny’s shoulders. Dr. Gould also stood and approached Johnny.
“It’s okay, John,” he said. “You’ve done it. You’ve got it all out. I know it hurts, but now you control the dreams. You control the memories. Now that you have faced your nightmares, you can work on understanding that the accident wasn’t your fault.”
Johnny slowly managed to compose himself, and after several minutes he looked up. “But…I couldn’t help her…”
“You tried, though,” Gould said, leaning forward in his chair. “You gave your best effort. You did everything you could to help her, and if she had had any chance at all, you would have been a part of her rescue. But it just wasn’t meant to be. Sometimes we just have to accept that.”
Johnny pulled the last of the tissue from the box. “I guess…I think I understand,” he whispered hoarsely.
Gould patted him on the shoulder. “That’s the beginning, John. Now that you’ve faced the accident and the aftermath, you can work on your understanding of the whole picture. You’ve been trying to swim upstream against the memories, but now you can swim with the flow. We’ll continue to meet, but once your hip heals up, I think you’ll be back to work.”
Johnny caught Roy’s eye, and his partner’s encouraging smile seemed to herald the beginning of new healing. He smiled through his tears. “That sounds real good, Doc. Real good.”
* * *
Johnny stood in the shower, his face raised to the warm water pelting his skin, and for the first time no unbidden image of a bloodied girl appeared.
He opened his eyes and looked down at his healing body, blotched purple and yellow. He touched the scar in his groin where his blood had spurted uncontrollably. He shifted his weight and felt a twinge from his hip.
And he smiled.
Roy had called last night, inadvertently awakening his friend who had dozed off on the couch. They had chatted about incidentals for a few minutes, and then Roy had zeroed into the purpose of his call.
“Tomorrow it is then,” he had said.
“Yep. Tomorrow.”
“It’ll be okay, you know.”
“I know.”
“The guys are looking forward to seeing you.”
Johnny had sighed through his smile then. “Roy, I’m okay. Really. It’ll be good to be at the station again, if only for a visit.”
“Yeah. Well, I’ll be by to pick you up. Ready for those early hours again?”
“No, but I’ll be waiting.”
He turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. His body still ached as he leaned and bent to dry off, but each day was better. He yawned. A nightmare had awakened him, and he’d taken a while to drift back to sleep. He hadn’t had a nightmare for three days, so he figured the stress of returning to the station had brought it on.
Although he wasn’t officially returning to work for another week or two, he had requested permission to stay at the station for the shift. Kind of getting back in the saddle before he really needed to. Besides, he was about to go crazy just sitting in the apartment with nothing to do but stare at the TV. At least at the station he could share in the camaraderie of his friends. And Roy could always use some help with the log if they could beat Brice to it. He smiled. Even Brice would be good therapy for him.
After dressing, he headed for the kitchen. The coffeepot stood ready; he’d turned it on before his shower. Coffee and toast with a little butter awaited him, along with a vitamin. The vomiting had basically stopped, but he was still plagued by recurring nausea. A bland diet with vitamins was all he could handle for now, but he was beginning to be tempted by spicier offerings. Soon enough.
He’d just finished his toast when he heard Roy’s knock. He went to the door, limping slightly as he made his way through the living room.
Roy came in and grinned at his partner. “You look good! No more cane?”
Johnny held up his arms. “Nope. I can walk with the best of ‘em now. Well,” he allowed as his balance wavered, “almost the best.”
The senior paramedic shook his head. “It’s amazing,” he said somberly. “I mean, if you’d asked me a month ago…well, I don’t even want to go back. But it is amazing.”
Johnny looked at him. “Roy, I wake up every morning with that very same thought. It’s hard to believe that I almost…” He cut himself off, blinking and swallowing. “Well, you know,” he said, his voice thick.
“I do.” Roy patted his friend on the shoulder. “Come on, partner. Time to go to work!”
“You bet, pally!” They both paused awkwardly, then left the apartment.
* * *
Three days after Johnny’s return to work, the station was called out for an accident on the 405. Roy and Cap both tensed when they heard the location, and Johnny hesitated ever so slightly before climbing into the squad. The accident involved two cars, one of which lay upside down. Vince met the paramedics.
“They were speeding,” he said, regret in his voice. “No one survived in this car,” he went on, gesturing to the upturned car. “But the other—”
Johnny didn’t wait for more. He sprinted to the crushed vehicle, his heart pounding, his mouth dry. He heard his own voice whispering, let me help someone…let me help someone…please…
An elderly woman sat in the driver’s seat, a seat belt across her lap. She turned to Johnny, her eyes wide with fear.
“My granddaughter,” she cried, fluttering her hands in the direction of a girl in the seat next to her. “She’s bleeding! Help her!”
Johnny felt his stomach lurch. A young girl, slumped unconscious, her blond hair stained with blood that oozed from a large laceration on the side of her head.
She's just like the other girl…the other girl…
“Johnny?” Roy's voice broke through his thoughts like a beacon of sanity. “You okay?”
Johnny looked up to see his friend's face searching his own. I won't let him down. “Yeah, I've got her.” He reached through the window and probed the girl's neck.
“She's got a pulse!” The jubilation in his voice caught Roy's attention, and he met his partner's brief smile. “She's alive,” Johnny said, and the partners both knew that the road to recovery had just surmounted its first hill.
* * *
This was my first fanfic, and I hope that all those who helped me with it know that I still appreciate so much what they did for me. Thanks to everyone who read this when it was first posted, and thanks to Audrey for allowing me to house it on her site.
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