TTHHEE  PPRRIISSOONNEERR

Part 3

Prison life continued grinding Johnny downward in a spiral of depression. Misery inundated nearly every waking moment. By day, he was constantly harassed and teased, and was bombarded by Spanish obscenities he had no desire to know the meaning of. Sexual propositions were frequent, occurring nearly every day, often accompanied by pinches to his backside and groping hands whenever he came into close proximity of another inmate. Nighttime brought no reprieve; when he wasn’t being plagued by nightmares, filthy insects crawling over him became regular unwanted visitors in his bed.

Johnny tried to keep to himself as much as possible, having no desire to speak to any of the sad excuses for human beings with which he co-habited. James was one of the few people he communicated with, with the exception of his cellmates, who seemed to be indifferent to his presence the majority of the time. Occasionally they included him in their conversations, and once had invited him to play a game of cards.

The only positive thing that had happened to Johnny in the two weeks after Roy had left was that he was given a job. At least that took some of the boredom away from his day. He was able to make a small pittance of a salary, in order to buy things from the canteen. It was a good thing, because his belongings were constantly being stolen by other crafty inmates, and he was beginning to see that he would need a supply of income to support their habits.

Not only was he stolen from, but some of the inmates had begun threatening him with bodily harm if he did not buy them certain desired items. At first, Johnny stubbornly resisted their attempts to bully him, until one day when he narrowly escaped an attempt on his life made by one of the more dangerous inmates. A prison guard had come upon the scene just in time to stop a large thug of a man from thrusting a homemade knife into Johnny’s abdomen while being held by two other men. The ‘knife’ had been whittled into a sharp weapon out of a toothbrush. That incident had left Johnny shaking with terror, further damaging any sense that there might be safety in numbers.

Another thing some inmates demanded that he wasn’t able to supply was drugs. Word had gotten around that Johnny was in for drug trafficking, and after that, some of the prisoners had pressured him to supply drugs for them. All he could do was to try to stay away from them as much as possible; he found himself staying within close proximity of the prison guards, hoping they would offer some protection.  The problem with that was that Johnny was beginning to notice that this prison was woefully understaffed, and many of the officers that did work there were under trained and unprofessional. As a result, a hazardous freedom existed within its loosely-guarded walls, tempting many unsupervised acts of violence. It hadn’t helped any that Johnny rarely saw James. For some reason, their paths kept missing each other, and the one friendship he had formed seemed to be going by the wayside. It appeared that Johnny’s skepticism of James’s ability to teach him to fight was proving true.

The first job they had bestowed upon Johnny was kitchen duties. It was fortunate that they had given him a chore that didn’t require too much physical exertion, since he was still healing from the attack upon him a little over two weeks ago. At least by now the worst part of the discomfort had ebbed, at least physically.

In the kitchen, Johnny was responsible for various tasks, including dishwashing, scrubbing vegetables, and general cleaning. The use of a knife was forbidden by any prisoner. Johnny was shocked and disgusted at the unsanitary conditions of the kitchen and their lackadaisical attitude toward cleanliness, often noticing cockroaches and mice scurrying for cover beneath his feet. It was a miracle, he thought, that the prisoners weren’t dying of food poisoning or bacterial infections. The thought of consuming the meals that came out of this kitchen made him nauseous.

Although he was starting on his second month at Reno, Johnny still wasn’t quite experienced enough at being a prisoner yet to realize that he could never let his guard down. Unaware that one of the men working alongside him in the kitchen was one of the men who had assaulted him nearly three weeks ago, he went about his tasks mundanely, his mind wandering to other things, as it usually did most days.

The man had been eyeing Johnny and was waiting for a new opportunity, which finally arose one day when the prison guard stepped away. Johnny worked bent over at the counter scrubbing the ceramic tile, when the man suddenly threw his arm around Johnny’s neck in a chokehold. A combination of surprise and dread ripped through Johnny and he dropped the rag he was using, staggering backwards. Johnny’s hands flew up to try to loosen the strong hold the man had against him, but his fingers were nearly useless at prying, and he was still so weak from his earlier assault that he had no strength. Even taking in a full breath was still difficult with his healing rib. Johnny wrestled fruitlessly to disengage himself, but was able to break free from the man by throwing his elbow backward forcefully into the man’s gut. Johnny then wheeled around, panting and trembling, his hands up in a guarded position. The wiry man came at him again, this time clutching at Johnny’s throat. Recognition registered in Johnny’s eyes, and terror coursed through him like an electric current. With a roar, the man pushed Johnny backward, his hands clasped around his neck, and together, they fell against the stove. A pan full of hot grease slid sideways exposing Johnny’s back to the flames of the burner as they struggled against each other. Johnny let out a scream as he felt his shirt catch fire, and the flames began burning his back. The man only pushed him down farther. Two prison guards entered in time to see the man attacking Johnny, and ran towards them. In desperation, Johnny seized the handle of the hot iron pan with his bare hand and swung it up and around, slamming it into the back of the man’s head, allowing the hot grease to spill down the man’s body, and also down Johnny’s hand. A grunted yelp escaped the man’s mouth before his hands loosened and he fell to the floor. With an anguished cry, Johnny dropped to the tiled floor and began writhing, trying to extinguish the flames. Seconds later, he was doused with the cold water from a large pot; a prison guard stood over him holding the dripping pan, while another was quickly clamping handcuffs on the other downed man. 

Johnny lay on his side, panting, tears of pain trickling down his cheeks. A large black hole scorched the back of his prison tunic, and the skin below it was red and blistering. A crowd of inmates had suddenly gathered to witness the scuffle, and Johnny heard urgent and angry Spanish-speaking voices echo around him. Visions of men’s feet being shoved backwards and out of the way filled his peripheral vision, then he saw the other man being dragged away, groaning, barely able to stand.

Johnny was moaning now, the agony of the burns to his back and hand now pulsing through his body. The pain was almost unbearable, and he rocked back and forth slightly on the greasy kitchen tile floor. Shivering all the while, droplets of water dripped from his body all the way to the infirmary. So overcome with pain, he didn’t even realize that he had been carried away from the scene and laid upon a bed of cool white sheets. That whole afternoon became a blur as the nurses tended to his burns. All he could do was to curl up in a ball and try to deal with the pain as IV’s were inserted and sterile saline was poured. A little while later, he was finally given some pain medication, after having had to beg for it several times, and blessedly, he fell into a dreamless slumber.

When he awoke that evening, he felt foggy and disoriented, but at least his injuries had been reduced to a dull throbbing. They had him situated on his side, and he could feel the bandages covering his back and hand, which they had wrapped over top of the other bandages around his fingers. For the third time in just over a month, Johnny lay in misery trying to cope with what had befallen him.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Barney Oleson’s plane was just touching down in Acapulco. The plan was to spend a day in the city poking around, questioning the authorities, trying to find any evidence that would clear Johnny. After that, he would drive to Mexico City and meet with a representative at the American Embassy, then visit Johnny, hopefully, being able to bring him some good news. Barring any complications with the investigation, he would fly home the next day.

Roy had agreed to pay him for three days, a total of two thousand, one hundred dollars. It was a lot, and he never would have been able to handle it if not for the fund-raiser they’d had for Johnny.  Roy and the others were all on edge for those three days, waiting to hear any news from Barney about Johnny’s case.

When Barney returned, he called Roy at the station. He was on duty that day. The telephone rang, and Hank Stanley answered it; they had been going through a drill in the day room when the call came through.

“Roy, telephone,” he turned to Roy, holding out the phone. “It’s Barney Oleson.”

With that information, Roy jumped from his seat and nervously snatched the telephone from his captain’s hand. All the others listened intently to the one-sided conversation.

“Hi, Barney.”

“Yeah. What’d you find out?” Roy listened.

“Oh. Why? What happened?”

“Uh huh.”

“Uh huh.”

“What’d they say?”

“Why not?” There was now an edge to Roy’s voice.

“Uh huh.”

Then there was a long silence while Roy listened to Barney explaining all the channels he had gone through, questioning the police, the airport authorities, the failed meeting at the American Embassy. The other guys watched while Roy’s head dropped downward in a defeated gesture; Chet and Marco exchanged looks.

“Oh.” Roy’s voice held a quiet desperation now. “Barney, there’s got to be some way – ”

Another short silence ensued then, “Did you tell Johnny?”

“What?! What do you mean you didn’t see him?” Roy’s was practically yelling now.

Silence.

“Oh, no.”

All the guys had worried looks on their faces now, expecting something dreadful had happened. Chet walked over and stood next to Roy at the telephone, trying to hear what happened.

“Oh,” Roy groaned, closing his eyes. “Well, what did they tell you? Is he okay?” Chet had moved to Roy’s side and was practically bouncing up and down trying to get his attention, mouthing, ‘what happened?’

Roy held up his finger to Chet, signaling just a minute. “Did you talk to a doctor?”

“Oh,” he said in a defeated tone.

“Uh, huh.”

“Yeah, okay, Barney.”

“Yeah, thanks. Uh, that’s nice of you, thank you.”

“Okay, I will.”

“Yeah, bye.” Roy hung up the phone and turned to meet five pairs of worried eyes.

“Well?” said Captain Stanley.

Roy sighed and walked back over to them.

“Roy, would ya tell us what’s going on for Christ’s sake?” Chet said with irritation.

“There’s nothing Barney can do. He couldn’t find anything,” Roy said tensely, his teeth nearly gritted together. Then he explained everything that Barney had told him.

“Did he see Gage?” the Cap asked.

“No,” Roy said angrily. “He wasn’t able to. Johnny’s in the clinic, or the hospital, or whatever they call it there at the prison.”

“What happened?” Marco asked, his voice rising in concern.

“It seems that he was attacked by one of the inmates. They had Johnny working in the kitchen and a guy jumped him. Somehow he got burned, Barney wasn’t real clear on how it happened; it sounded like the guy pushed Johnny into a lit burner on the stove and it burnt his back and his hand somehow; I don’t know,” Roy said shaking his head.

“Oh, shit,” Chet said. “How bad is it, Roy?”

“I don’t know. Barney couldn’t get a real clear answer, but it sounds pretty serious. They’re gonna keep him in the hospital for at least several more days. That’s why Barney left; we told him to only stay three days. He couldn’t wait until Johnny would be out of the hospital; he didn’t know how long it would be.”

“Couldn’t he see Johnny in the hospital?” Hank asked.

“They wouldn’t allow it.” With that, Roy trudged over to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. Sinking into a kitchen chair, the drill was forgotten as he set his cup down and laid his head in his hands. The rest of the crew once again had shocked looks of disbelief on their faces.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Johnny had sustained first, second, and third degree burns on his back, mostly second degree. His hand also had first and second degree; it was a blessing that he’d had a bandage over part of his right hand from the broken finger, else the burns would have extended further. Johnny didn’t get to see a doctor until the next day; until then, nurses cared for him. Upon examination, the doctor gave Johnny a good prognosis, saying time would heal the wounds. He didn’t think there would be any scars. The first two days Johnny was very uncomfortable, and he knew that if he’d been at Rampart, they would have done a better job of alleviating his pain. God, how he wished he could see Dixie’s kind face right now, or Doctor Brackett, or Doctor Early. Hell, even seeing Morton would be a treat.

By the third day, his pain was down to a dull throb, and as long as he didn’t move too much, it wasn’t too severe. The young nurses were good about changing his dressings and keeping them clean, and they had given him an IV with antibiotics to ward off infection. That was now gone, and Johnny lay in bed wondering when they were going to make him go back. He didn’t want to go back. He was now to the point that he was so desperate he almost wished someone would just kill him and put him out of his misery. Many times he thought, what did I do to deserve this? Why me? Sometimes I feel like I have a target painted on my back. The question he asked himself the most was, how am I gonna get through the next day, much less the next three years?

Johnny was released from the clinic and taken back to his cell the next day. There were no jobs now, and Johnny spent most of his time fighting pain and boredom in his cell. Occasionally, the prison guards came by offering magazines or books, but they were all in Spanish, which didn’t do Johnny much good.

James had offered a sympathetic ear at breakfast that morning when he heard Johnny relay to him the latest attempt on his life. It was the first time John had seen James in a while.

“I told you, man, you shouldn’t have told the warden which guys got you. They’re gonna be out to get ya again, now, man. They want revenge. You can’t let you guard down for a minute.”

Johnny said nothing. There was nothing to say. All he could do was wait in fear of when they would come after him next.

James looked up at the friend he had made. Raising his eyebrows, he said, “My offer still stands, ya know.”

“What?” Johnny said dully, dropping his fork; it clattered on the table. It was almost impossible to hold onto anything now with thick bandages around both hands. Fortunately, the finger splints would be coming off any day. He was about ready to just pull them off himself.

James picked up his fork for him. “I told ya I could teach ya to fight,” James reminded him.

Johnny snorted. “Right. Look at me. I couldn’t fight a fly right now.” He held up his bandaged hands to James. My rib’s still healing. My back hurts. My hand hurts. I have no strength.”

“So, you watch. And listen. And when you heal up, you start practicing. I’ll work with ya outside every day. You’re gonna have to learn to defend yourself if you wanna stay alive.”

Johnny knew it was useless, but didn’t want to drown out James’ enthusiasm, so he said, “Okay, sure. What have I got to lose?”

“Great,” James said. “We’ll start today. We’ve got rec time together now.”

That afternoon James began teaching Johnny the nuances of boxing. He showed him tricks and strategy, taught him how to throw a hook and an uppercut, showed him how to move and where to put his feet. He explained where to hit to make it count, and what part of the hand to hit with. Johnny watched, growing interested, thankful to have something to take his mind off his discomforts. He’d never been a fan of boxing; it all seemed so senseless – two guys swinging at each other until they were bloody and one passed out. He knew it caused brain damage too. But James brought a new light to the sport, and Johnny found himself enjoying his ‘lessons’. If nothing else, it gave him something else to focus on other than the unhappiness of prison life.

They met every day and practiced outside. No one ever bothered them. James had already demonstrated his fighting abilities when he had first arrived, taking out three inmates with karate moves after being attacked one day. Of course, he’d had to pay his dues in the punishment cell like Johnny had, but after that, no one messed with him.

After a week of observing, Johnny was well enough to start practicing. The bandages finally came off his hands, his back was healing, and his rib, while still sore, was also on the mend. He practiced shadow boxing with James most days, with James coaching him as to what he was doing wrong. Johnny began doing sit-ups and push-ups, trying to build his strength. The exercise did make him feel better, and improved his mental state somewhat.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chet and Marco were in the midst of making plans to go down to see Johnny. Roy had wanted to go, but thought it would only be fair to let some of the other guys use the money they had raised to go see their incarcerated friend. They cared about him too, and it might lift Johnny’s spirits to know his friends were standing by him, even though they were a thousand miles or more away.

Besides, Roy would have to take more time off work and away from his family, which he felt guilty doing. His wife had been extremely understanding of Roy’s feelings of concern about Johnny, and never tried to discourage Roy from leaving to go see his friend. Joanne was just as concerned and worried as Roy, and wished that she, too, could go down to see Johnny. But their first responsibility was their family, and Roy had been letting that responsibility slide too much lately worrying about Johnny and trying to come up with ways to set him free. He spent hours on the telephone talking to anyone who might be able to offer a lead on getting Johnny released, and more hours in the library researching Mexican law. Anymore, most of his waking thoughts seemed to be consumed with worry and fear for his friend, even more so, ever since Barney had brought the news of Johnny’s latest calamity. Roy sometimes had trouble concentrating when he was away from work, and often moped around the house, unsuccessfully continuing to try to convince himself that Johnny would be all right, that he could take care of himself.

He thought about the time he and Johnny got caught up in that bank robbery, and how Johnny had unwittingly talked the robbers into surrendering. Gage seemed to be able to build up a rapport with anyone; the fact that these two men in the bank were criminals and had threatened to kill them hadn’t seemed to faze his dark-haired partner at the time. But those guys were different; they weren’t the type of hardened criminals that surrounded Johnny in his current circumstances. Those guys had been buffoons, amateurs. The prisoners Johnny now lived with were dangerous hard-core criminals; they had already inflicted serious damage on his friend. Roy wondered how much of that damage was emotional, and figured, knowing how upset Johnny would sometimes get over the silliest situations, this had to be emotionally devastating for him. Sometimes Roy lie awake at night, wondering if something bad was happening to his best friend, wondering if he was asleep or awake, or even if he was still alive.

Roy listened in on the conversation with interest as Chet and Marco sat at the table and poured over the map together. Deciding to drive to save money, they were planning the route they would take down to Mexico. Each using a week’s vacation, they would take two days to get there, and two days back. They would visit Johnny, but also use the time to enjoy a vacation, sadly commenting on the fact that that’s what Johnny had intended when he had gone to Mexico. Marco did have some relatives he wanted to see, and their excitement built as he and Chet discussed the other things they wanted to see and do on the way, but it was tempered by acknowledging that the real reason they were going was to offer support to their comrade.

Roy was glad they were going; it took some of the pressure off him. Although the rational part of his brain told him that he had nothing to feel guilty for, the emotion still pulled at him, knowing that Johnny had no one else. Nearly five weeks later, Chet and Marco packed up their things and set off on their journey in Chet’s bus. They’d meant to leave much sooner, but then Marco had suffered a bad case of smoke inhalation in a fire and spent five days in the hospital with lung complications, fighting pneumonia. Though he recovered completely, it delayed their leaving, and threw off their schedule. After that, they’d had some difficulty finding replacements for the extra days they wanted to take off. Finally, they were on their way. As they headed for the border, they both were hopeful that Chet’s bus would get them there.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Johnny had long given up hope now of getting released. It had been nearly two and a half months since he had seen Roy, and there had been no sign of Barney. While not surprised, he couldn’t help but feel let down; some tiny part of him had hung onto the small shard of hope that maybe Barney would find a way to free him. Whether Barney had done an investigation and turned up nothing, or the guys simply didn’t have the money to pay him, Johnny didn’t know. Either way, he was stuck here, and he had decided to accept it. Agonizing over his captivity day after day was too emotionally draining, and so Johnny tucked those feelings, along with all the others, away inside of himself, inside another cocoon. He concentrated, instead, on just making it through each day. He gave up on thinking that he would be visited by any of his friends again, knowing it was just too far to come, and too expensive.

Johnny’s newest line of work was road repair. He and about fifty others were assigned to spend three weeks out on some of Mexico’s most desolate roads, doing asphalt repair. It was hard, hot, and dirty work, and by the end of each day, all the inmates were exhausted. Johnny’s jobs ranged from hauling wagons of tar, to pick-axing holes, to spreading the hot asphalt out on the road. They had no modern machinery; everything was done by hand. Some days Johnny’s only responsibility was to haul water around to all the inmates, which in some cases became more grueling than the actual roadwork.

They all worked under the blazing sun each day, the sweat pouring off them. The weakest ones collapsed from heat exhaustion. Many suffered serious sunburns and had to be taken off the job.

There were days when they did nothing but lift heavy rocks and loads of gravel, and there were days when the burden of the repetition of the work nearly drove them to insanity. Johnny’s skin grew dark and tan under the hot sun, and the amount of sheer strength required to do the work built his chest and bicep muscles into impressive proportions.

All the injuries he had sustained since his arrival had healed now. Two of his fingers still gave him some trouble, as they had not healed in a straight manner, but he ignored the discomfort. The burns had healed, his back had peeled, leaving no scars, and his rib was whole again. The nasty bruises marring his face not so long ago had faded, and once again, he looked like himself. Well, almost.

Prison life had hardened Johnny. His hair was longer now, and while he kept his face shaven, his chiseled features and expression took on a rather threatening look, more like the tougher and more primitive ancestors of his past. He rarely smiled; gone was the happy, carefree and sometimes goofy John Gage; he had been replaced by the wary, serious, and reticent John Gage, whose eyes were always alert and untrusting, constantly suspicious of those around him. Except for James. James was the one friend he’d grown to trust.

They worked together most every day on the road, usually ate their meals together, and during their recreation time, James continued to teach Johnny about boxing. James proved to be funny, and witty, and Johnny enjoyed his company; their friendship was the only positive thing Johnny had experienced at the prison.

One sweltering hot day, that only friend Johnny had was taken away. James was in the midst of teaching Johnny a new boxing move. They usually picked out of the way places in the outdoor recreation area where the other prisoners wouldn’t bother them. The guards had grown used to seeing their lessons, and deemed them harmless, seldom paying any attention.

Johnny stood beside James a few feet away, watching him intently as he demonstrated his newest move. Both were facing the same direction, situated a few feet in front of a block wall, in order to see their shadows. It was the third time that Johnny would damn himself for letting his guard down, and this time it would cost a life.

It happened in the blink of an eye. Out of the blue, four pairs of hands grabbed Johnny and James from behind simultaneously, and hands were clapped over their mouths. Johnny was incapacitated with a fist to the stomach, and as he tried to straighten up, eyes squinted in pain, he witnessed the quick flash of a gleaming knife gliding across James’s throat, then the blood as it burst from his neck, spraying erratically all over Johnny’s face and upper body. Johnny stared in disbelieving horror as James’s mouth dropped open in surprise and anguish, and watched as James sunk to the ground. Another fist blasted into Johnny’s face, and he fell, momentarily seeing stars. When he looked up, the abusers were gone, and his only friend lay face down in a pool of blood.

With an anguished scream, Johnny scrambled over to James and turned him over. By now, prison guards and other inmates were running toward them. Blood flowed over Johnny’s hands as he pulled James’s head and shoulders up onto his lap, taking in the massive extent of his fatal injury. The knife had nearly sliced halfway through James’s neck, severing his carotid artery and windpipe. Trembling almost uncontrollably, Johnny held James’s face, slippery with warm blood, in his quivering hands in a futile effort to comfort the man in his final moments. He could only watch as James struggled to take his last breath, his mouth opening and closing in an attempt to utter some last words, then his eyes rolled back into their sockets and finally closed. All his paramedic training seemed to be forgotten as Johnny called James’s name repeatedly, then screamed for a doctor, the blood now gushing all over Johnny’s legs. As he sat on the hot dusty ground covered in his friend’s blood, the rational part of his mind told him that his paramedic training would make no difference; he knew James was dead.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roy anxiously entered the dorm at the station, and found Chet and Marco already changing into their uniforms. He looked at them expectantly, and when they only said, “Hi, Roy,” he stared at them in disbelief, as if they had done something wrong by not saying more.

“Well?” Roy asked in a slightly perturbed voice.

“Well what?” Chet asked.

Roy sighed, exasperated. “What do you think, Chet? I want to know how your trip went.”

“Oh, the trip. Well, it went great!”

“Yeah,” Marco added in a sarcastic tone, “his bus only broke down once. But we were able to fix it.”

Chet looked disgustedly at Marco. “Well, I didn’t hear you offering to drive.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Can you guys just tell me what happened?”

“Sure, Roy,” answered Chet. “Well, the weather was great, and Marco’s aunt stuffed us full of food – boy is she a good cook!”

“Thanks, Chet,” Marco said smiling.

“And this one night we went dancing with these two hot chicks that we met at our hotel,” Chet waggled his eyebrows up and down.

“Yeah, Roy, this one chick really went for Chet – ”

Roy interrupted Chet and spat irritably, “Chet, I don’t wanna hear about some ‘chick’ you met. I wanna know how Johnny was. Did you see him?”

Chet and Marco looked at each other, knowing the upcoming discussion was inevitable, then back at Roy. Quietly, Chet said, “Yeah, we saw him, Roy.” With that information, he stopped, and bent down to tie his shoe.

Roy was ready to burst. “Well?” he said, his voice raising, “Are you gonna tell me how he was, or do we have to play twenty questions?”

Chet and Marco looked at each other again. Marco sighed. “Roy, I don’t know, man. He hardly said two words to us.”

“Yeah,” Chet interjected, “he just sort of sat there, staring into space most of the time.”

Roy felt a knot building in his stomach. “Well, how did he look?”

Marco shrugged. “Well, except for the shiner he had, he looked fine, I guess, maybe.”

“You mean he had a black eye?”

“Yeah, looked like someone threw him a pretty good hook.”

“Did you ask him how he got it?”

“Yeah, we asked, but he wouldn’t tell us. When we mentioned it to him, he just sort of zoned out.”

“Roy, I think what Marco is tryin’ to say is that we think that place has whacked Johnny out. Some….bad things have happened to him in there. I don’t know what, but I think he’s finally lost it.”

Roy turned away for a moment, lost in thought, and slowly began to undress. God, what else could have happened? All sorts of horrible scenarios drifted into Roy’s mind as he contemplated what other unimaginable things could have happened to Johnny to make his partner so withdrawn.

“That place is nasty, Roy. Well, you saw it; it gave me the creeps just bein’ there for an hour. I can’t imagine having to live there with those animals. No wonder Gage is flippin’ out.”

Roy slowly turned to look back at his two friends. “Did he say anything? Anything at all?”

“Not much, Roy. We did most of the talking. Except, well, before we left, he did say one thing.”

“What was that?” Roy searched his friends eyes, trying to read their expressions.

Chet and Marco exchanged glances again. Marco spoke, “Well, he said….thanks for coming, and then he told us….not to come back.”

“Why?” Roy whispered.

“I don’t know, Roy,” Marco answered. “He just had this weird look in his eyes, kinda like he thought he was never gonna see us again.”

Roy swallowed. It was the same look Johnny had given him when he’d left last. “Is that all?”

“That’s it, Roy,” Chet said. “It was kind of disappointing, you know? I mean, we went all that way down there to see him, and well, he was so spaced out it seemed like he didn’t even know us. I was hopin’ he’d be a little glad to see us, that maybe we could have cheered him up some.”

“Chet,” Marco admonished, “it’s not Johnny’s fault. That place is makin’ him nuts. I think he’s going through a lot of bad stuff. I’d hate to see what you’d be like if you had to spend time in there.”

Chet just shuddered. “Don’t even wanna think about it, Marco.”

Captain Stanley’s head came through the door at that point and announced roll call. While also anxious and concerned about Johnny, he saved his questions for later when the duties of the morning had been completed.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Johnny felt empty. With James’s death, he felt like someone had thrown a paralyzing dart into him, and a sense of cold numbness now penetrated his being. Even the incredible anger and sorrow that had filled him had quickly faded, replaced by such a deep despair he felt almost incapable of functioning. He’d barely said two words since it happened.

The warden had questioned him to fruitless avail, throwing him back into his cell when answers weren’t forthcoming. Johnny had reasoned that it was pointless; the men responsible were already in jail, and there was no death penalty in Mexico; what more could be done? Identifying them would only unleash more backlash on their part, and it would be directed at him. He could only hope that when they died, their maker would punish them accordingly.

They’d taken the one thing away that had given him the smallest remote pleasure. They had wanted to punish him, and they’d done it very effectively. It was his fault that James was dead. They killed James to get back at him. Now he had nothing left.

Distantly, from way inside his cocoon, Johnny had been surprised to find Chet and Marco there the next day to visit him. Deep down he had wanted to reach out to them, but couldn’t seem to summon the emotional strength required to do it. Chet tried hard to make him laugh, or at least smile, going on about his antics at the station, telling Johnny about the tricks he’d played on Dwyer, but the most Chet had received in return was a tiny crack of a smile from one side of Johnny’s mouth.

Johnny knew Chet and Marco probably thought he was cracking up, but he couldn’t help it. He seemed incapable of feeling anything at the moment. If only they’d have come earlier, or maybe later. Later might not have made any difference; he didn’t know if he’d ever get over seeing the brutal murder of his friend. As a paramedic, Johnny had witnessed many gruesome sights, but never the outright premeditated act of taking a life in such a violent manner. And the feel of James’s warm wet blood on his hands would be soaked into his memory forever.

The days melted together. Johnny lost track of time as he automatically went about his prison life and duties. He rarely said a word to anyone; the inmates seemed to understand, and left him alone for the most part. Johnny’s demeanor had taken on a dark tone, and he exuded a menacing impression.

After the initial shock of James’s death had worn off, he recommenced practicing his boxing moves, as if in tribute to his lost friend. He also continued his other exercises, doing sit-ups and push-ups obsessively, as if he were unable to restrain himself. It seemed to offer him some release. No longer did he appear weak and frail; his newly strong body was James’s legacy.

He stood alone outside, leaning up against the wall, downhearted, and unable to motivate himself that day to box. The other prisoners were mulling about as usual, not paying him any attention.

Johnny stared up at the sky forlornly as the call of a lone bird sang out, and his squinted eyes followed it as it sailed effortlessly through the clear blue sky, its wings spread out magnificently. He watched as it gracefully swooped from side to side. He marveled at the freedom that bird had, and it exaggerated the wretched emptiness inside of him. How he longed to have the kind of freedom that bird enjoyed, and the thought of being incarcerated unjustly against his will for at least another eleven hundred days in this Godforsaken place nearly overwhelmed him. Briefly, he thought that if he ever got out, he would never again take his freedom for granted. That was something he forced himself not to think about any more. He watched as the bird disappeared from sight, then dropped his gaze once again to the ugliness of his surroundings.

It was then that he started to run.

            His legs just started moving, almost on their own accord, and unconsciously Johnny began to run around the exterior of the exercise area next to the fence. He started at a jog, then his speed built into a full-scale run, which immediately drew the attention of the tower guards. They watched him with keen eyes, readying their rifles, until they realized that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he wasn’t trying to escape. They had seen it before; sometimes inmates just lost it, and this was just one way of coping with their confinement.

Johnny lost track of time as he ran. Beads of sweat ran down his face until it was dripping off the ends of his hair and down his back. He closed his eyes now and then as he ran, letting his imagination take him somewhere else far away from this place. After a while, his mind disconnected itself from his body, and his legs took over, as if on automatic pilot.

He ran until the point of exhaustion, and when he had no more strength, he sunk to the ground, and leaned against the wall, fighting to catch his breath. When he’d recovered, he felt lighter, as though some weight had been lifted from him.

After that, Johnny got in the habit of running every day. He found it offered him an escape; for when he was running, he was somewhere else. Some days he was on the beach, observing the bikini-clad girls as his bare feet flew over the hot sand; some days he was in the park, surrounded by the sweet smell of flowering trees and evergreens; sometimes he even imagined he was back in high school running a race, his favorite girl cheering him on from the stands.

 One day a giggle formed in the back of his throat as the pounding of his feet on the unkempt grassy dirt triggered a memory. Johnny recalled the time Chet bought that exercise bike and brought it into work. Having finished his own ride, and dripping with sweat, Chet had persuaded Johnny to climb aboard and try it out. Chet had told him at the time that he could ride anywhere he wanted – ‘hop on babe; just close your eyes, imagine, and you’re there’, or something like that, Chet had said. Now, as he ran, he remembered Chet’s words, picking a difference place each day and imagined; and sometimes, if he closed his eyes long enough, he really did feel like he was there.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dixie McCall looked up as she heard the clank of another coin being dropped in the coffee can collection container now on her desk. She smiled wanly as she watched the back of the white nurse’s uniform swish away in the other direction after she had deposited her coins. Sighing, she laid her pen down and reached for the heavy can, picking it up and examining it. It was nearly full again. For seemingly the millionth time, her eyes became transfixed on the small smiling photograph of John Gage pasted to the collection can that had been sitting on her desk for the last month or so. Chet had come up with the idea to raise more money for Johnny since the money from the fundraiser was slowly depleting, and had arranged to place the cans around at all the local fire stations, hospitals, and anywhere else that Johnny was known, even at the bowling alley. Dixie had noticed how quickly the one on her desk kept filling up; it seemed each time any nurse walked by, they didn’t hesitate to empty their pockets of loose change. Now as she gazed at Johnny’s picture, she wondered sadly when she would see him again, if ever.

Roy had kept her updated of his dire situation and her heart ached every time she thought of her favorite paramedic having to live in such a hellish place, and be subjected to the atrocities that existed there. She missed his boyish charm and his famous crooked grin around the hospital, and wondered if that would remain intact after everything he had gone through. By nature, Johnny tended to be an innocent soul, almost childish and naive at times, and Dixie lamented over the harsh realities that Johnny was now being forced to face, and the evil souls with which he was forced to coexist. It was hard to imagine, but from what Roy had described, she knew it must be dreadful. One thing she was sure of though; Rampart just didn’t seem quite as cheerful a place as it used to be. Dixie slid off her chair and sunk her hand down into her pants pocket, fishing out a handful of coins. Forlornly, she dropped them into the can.

Another month had drifted by. Roy continued to be plagued by worries over Johnny, even more so after Chet and Marco had returned from their visit with him. Some nights he even had dreams of Johnny being tortured; he would see Johnny screaming in pain and terror, and not be able to stop it. The nightmares always conjured up some of the worst and most frightening figments of Roy’s imagination, and he would wake sweating and shaking, wondering if he was seeing some premonition. Not knowing what was really happening allowed his thoughts to run out of control, and after Chet and Marco’s description of Johnny’s demeanor, Roy could only think the worst had happened or was happening to his friend.

 Roy tried his best during the day not to think about it, and to concentrate on his job. There were times when he couldn’t avoid being reminded of it however; those were the times when Roy was forced to fulfill the obligations he had promised to Johnny. Roy had continued to do as his best friend had asked, to make sure his aunt got money, and make sure his cat was taken care of, but had not fulfilled Johnny’s other requests to sell all his property and belongings. Instead, Roy used the money they had made from the fund-raiser to pay Johnny’s mortgage and any other bills that might stray in. That money was quickly evaporating, and Roy was thankful for the extra money coming in from the collection cans that Chet had placed.

Roy couldn’t bring himself to sell Johnny’s house and personal items. Something inside him wouldn’t allow it to happen, as if holding on to them would increase the bleak chance that Johnny might get a break, and come home. At this point, the mortgage was the only substantial commitment of money required, that, and Johnny’s aunt.

Roy had even stopped in to see her twice, introducing himself both times, since she had no recollection of his first visit. Surprisingly, she hadn’t seemed to remember who Johnny was either, instead, she remembered a nephew named David who fitted Johnny’s description. She did, however, keep a framed photograph of Johnny on her nightstand. Roy couldn’t bring himself to tell her the real reason why Johnny hadn’t visited her in such a long time, and she didn’t ask. The visits had been depressing, and became even more depressing by reminding Roy once again that the only family Johnny had in the world was an aunt who didn’t even remember him. Each time he had visited the woman, he left feeling downhearted, and his fears about his friend’s well-being would resurface.

Roy decided after his most recent visit with Johnny’s aunt that he should start thinking about making plans to go back down to Mexico. It was just so difficult to get away; it seemed like there was always some reason for him not to go, whether it was his daughter’s ballet recital, or his son’s baseball games, or plans Joanne had made, or some other family obligation; something always seemed to take precedent. Money was also an issue, and Roy didn’t feel right using any money that belonged to Johnny to go see him. Joanne had suggested that since Johnny was going to be incarcerated for such a long time, that Roy should only go down once or twice a year, and it was beginning to look like that’s what was going to happen. In between times, he could write letters, as she had been doing, or Johnny’s other friends could go visit. Roy knew in his heart that Joanne’s advice was practical, but her practicality didn’t make it any easier for him.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Johnny never received any of their letters. He felt forgotten, but not bitter, resigned to the fact that it was inevitable. After all, he’d told Roy not to worry; apparently he and his friends had gone on with their lives. He had expected it, knowing the few visits he had initially received would dwindle once everyone realized he wasn’t coming back for several years. After the way he had treated Chet and Marco, it didn’t surprise him that he hadn’t heard from anyone in a long time.

That particular night, he lay on his mattress, the cockroaches thankfully leaving him alone for the time being, and drifted off to sleep.  Pleasant dreams of the redheaded nurse from Rampart filled his subconscious, and she was once again in his arms, her fingers sending a tingling sensation down his body as they ran through his hair. A cool breeze from an open window was washing over their bodies as they lay pressed together, naked, on satin sheets. He had just tasted her delicious mouth and had reached to cup a breast in his hand, when a disturbance jarred him out of his erotic fantasy. One of his cellmates was breathing raggedly, and moans came from his bunk between the wheezes for breath. Johnny sat up. It was Lou.

Lou was obviously in great distress, and his hands were clutching his chest. Johnny moved the short distance to Lou’s bunk, his paramedic tendencies still automatic.

Johnny bent over to observe his cell mate. “Lou?” he said very softly. “What’s wrong?”

“My chest,” he gasped. “Feels like a truck’s….sittin’ on my chest. I can’t…breathe…”

Johnny licked his lips and reached out to get the man’s pulse.

“What’re you doin’?” Lou asked.

“Just relax. I’m gettin’ your pulse,” Johnny explained.

“You….some kind of a doctor?”

Johnny had never told anyone about his career as a fireman/paramedic, and so now he said, “I’m a….I used to be a fireman-paramedic.

Lou didn’t question him, seeming satisfied at Johnny’s explanation. He was panting now.

“Lou, do you have pain anywhere else?”

“Yeah….my arm hurts.”

“Are you having any trouble breathing?”

“Yeah,” he panted, then groaned again.

Oh, shit. This guy’s havin’ a heart attack. “Lou, listen to me. Try to relax, and slow down your breathing, okay?”

Lou fought to follow Johnny’s instructions, and his breathing slowed slightly.

“Take deep breaths; that’s it. Now, Lou, I want you to sit up, okay? I’m gonna help you. Let me do all the work, okay?”

“Okay,” he gasped, and Johnny lifted him into a sitting position, leaning him against the wall.

Johnny looked around; his cell mates were all awake now. Archie asked, “Whad’s wrong wid ‘im?”

“I don’t know,” Johnny didn’t want to say he was probably having a heart attack, “but we need to get him a doctor. Can one of you guys call the prison guard?”

They all just looked at each other. “Not me, man,” Leonard said. “I’m not spendin’ time in the apando for messin’ with the prison guard.”

“Me neither,” Francisco echoed.

“You guys are…a bunch of assholes,” Lou gasped raggedly. Then suddenly, Lou moaned loudly, and clutched his chest, then went limp.

Johnny reached for his carotid, finding none. “Shit! His heart’s stopped! Help me get him on the floor!” he barked. The other men were so stunned they obeyed, each grabbing one of Lou’s limbs and setting him on the floor.

“Any of you guys know CPR?” Johnny asked breathlessly as he checked Lou’s respirations. He was still breathing. They all just stared stupidly at him.

“What’s CPR?” Archie asked.

Johnny rolled his eyes, and raising his fist, slammed it downward into Lou’s chest. “Call the warden!” he growled, and positioning his hands over Lou’s heart, began pumping his heart for him. The other men stood paralyzed, and finally Johnny loudly yelled out, his voice reverberating off the concrete walls, “We need a doctor in here!” then continued pumping.

Seconds later, the lights went on, and three prison guards appeared at the cell door. They watched Johnny doing CPR for several seconds, deciding what to do.

Johnny looked up at them, sweat now dripping off of him. “This man’s heart’s stopped. We need a doctor!”

One of them must have understood him, because he left, and a minute later, he reappeared with a gurney and a nurse. The cell door was opened and Lou was lifted on to the gurney. Johnny continued to do CPR, but they jerked him away and held him back as the gurney went through the door, then slammed it shut and locked it. Johnny leaned his face against the bars and watched the nurse as she took over the CPR. The lot of them disappeared through the heavy metal door at the end of the room, and it clanked shut with a loud echoing bang. The lights snapped off, leaving them in blackness. After that, all was silent save for a stray cough or the rustling of a blanket here and there as the men returned to sleep. Wiping the sweat off his brow, Johnny stood motionless, breathing heavily, his eyes slowly adjusting once again to the darkness. A minute went by, then a lone tear released itself from Johnny’s eye, and a deep ache built in his heart, for he longed for the life he used to have.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roy stood motionless in front of the open closet door in the engine bay, leaning against the mop he had withdrawn moments earlier. The sight of the empty space on the shelf where Gage’s helmet should have been caught his gaze and he was unable to tear his eyes from it. Johnny’s helmet had been lost on his last rescue, sucked under the oozing mud along with a young boy Johnny had tried to rescue, both now gone forever. The odd thought crossed Roy’s mind that maybe one day hundreds of years from now some archaeologist would find the helmet.

His eyes lowered to the hooks below, which held Johnny’s turnout coat. The name ‘Gage’ on the back was faded and barely visible against the well worn and heavily soiled cloth. Roy stared sadly at the coat, memories of rescues and fires fought side by side with Johnny flowing into him. He’d never work with him again. Johnny’s career was over; Roy knew that. Every time he thought of it, he was overcome with a mixture of deep sadness and anger. It was so unjust.

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present. “I can arrange for you to take a few extra days off if you want to go see him.”

Roy inhaled deeply and turned to his captain, a small smile playing at his mouth.  “Thanks, Cap. I’ve been thinkin’ about it. It’s just…so expensive; I feel guilty spending money to travel to Mexico when my family needs it. But Johnny….I just don’t know what to do.”

“How much money is left in the fund?”

Roy grimaced. “Not a lot. About enough to pay his mortgage and his aunt’s bills for maybe two months with a little left over. I haven’t checked the collection boxes.”

Hank Stanley sighed. It wasn’t a good situation. Johnny was going to be in prison for three to five years. So far, he’d been visited twice, but his men weren’t going to be able to continue to spend the money for one of them to travel to Mexico every few months. Johnny would be lucky if he got one or two visits a year in the future. “Well, you know I wish I could go. If my mother hadn’t gotten sick, well, I’d be there right now.” Weeks ago Hank had begun making plans to go visit Johnny when his mother had fallen and broken her hip. Hank had moved her in with him and his family so that they could care for her while she recuperated.

“I know, Cap. I guess I’ll talk to Joanne about it and see if we can afford it. Chris’s braces are gonna cost us a fortune. I’ve gotta save for that.”

“Yeah, I know how that is,” the Cap commiserated.

“I just don’t want to abandon him, you know? He shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

“I know, Roy; you’re right. No one should. We all feel terrible about what’s happened to John. It’s just frustrating to be in such a helpless situation.” Hank paused, and looked up a moment as if remembering something. “You know, I just thought of something. You might want to check with a travel agent. I thought I saw some bargain air fares advertised in the paper this morning.”

“Oh, yeah?” Roy brightened a little. “Where is the paper, Cap?”

“C’mon. I’ll show you where I saw it.” Hank reached over and gently closed the closet door, then gestured for Roy to follow him into the day room.

By that afternoon, Roy had spoken with a travel agent and had a twenty-four hour hold on a decent airline fare to Mexico. He would be able to leave in just a few weeks, providing he found replacements for his shifts, which Hank Stanley offered to help him with. By evening, Roy had found replacements for all his shifts; it hadn’t been too difficult since he would only be gone for three days and there were only two shifts to cover.

Roy’s high spirits came crashing down later that evening when Joanne DeSoto called the station in tears. The A-shift crew of 51 all watched as Roy spoke with his wife on the phone, his tone one of shock and disbelief, then saw his head drop as he promised her he’d be home as soon as possible.

His father-in-law had suffered a massive stroke, then died in the hospital while they had tried to resuscitate him. For Roy, the next week became a whirlwind of funeral plans, visiting relatives, and comforting his distraught wife and family. His two children took it hard also, having never lost anyone so close to them. Roy was so busy trying to console them that he never had a chance to cope with his own feelings of loss. He’d been quite close to his father-in-law; a special bond had formed between the two men since Roy and Joanne had been married.  Roy had lost his own father as a teen, and the death of his father-in-law now felt like that old wound had been reopened, although he had little energy to deal with it after taking care of all the other responsibilities that had suddenly been bestowed upon him. It seemed everyone was depending on him to be strong, so he kept his own feelings of devastation suppressed.   

Roy’s mother-in-law was even more distraught than Joanne. Harriet was not very self-sufficient; their marriage had been a traditional one, with the husband as the breadwinner and the wife as homemaker. Harriet hadn’t a clue about anything financial and could scarcely balance her checkbook. Roy and Joanne found their time became filled with offering her not only emotional support, but also helping her with all the loose strings that pop up when a spouse dies. It was hard trying to balance her needs against the needs of their own family. To make matters worse, Joanne invited her to come stay with them indefinitely until things settled down.

Roy was forced to cancel his Mexico trip and drop what he was doing for Johnny in order to pick up the slack. There were all sorts of financial responsibilities to take care of, insurance claims to be settled, estate planning to be done. In addition to that came all the chores at Harriet’s house that needed to be done that had previously been taken care of by Paul. Joanne and her mother needed help, and Roy was the only man in town available to help take care of all these responsibilities. It didn’t help any that Harriet and Roy had never gotten along well, and she was constantly making snide remarks about him behind his back; sometimes she didn’t do a very good job at hiding her negative comments. As the weeks went by, his life was constantly pulled in different directions, trying to balance his job, his wife’s family obligations, and his own family’s needs. Like a too-crowded elevator, Johnny’s problems got squeezed out in favor of more immediate and demanding ones.

As time went by, Roy caught himself forgetting about Johnny, and every time he did, guilt washed over him. He justified to himself that he had no choice; his family came first. Worrying about Johnny constantly on top of all his family problems was wearing him down emotionally. Joanne had pointed that out to him after her father’s death. It wasn’t his fault what had happened; after all, hadn’t he done everything he possibly could to try to free his best friend? Shamefully, Roy also realized life was less stressful when he didn’t think about Johnny. Somehow, the less he thought about him, the less it bothered him; the old cliché, ‘what you don’t know won’t hurt you’ proved to be true, and so Roy unconsciously continued to let the situation slip away from him, letting life’s every day trials consume him.

Nearly a month after Paul’s death, Roy felt exhausted, both emotionally and physically. He felt an urgent need to get away, and thoughts of Johnny temporarily buried began to resurface. He and Joanne had a huge argument one evening when he suggested that he should go back down to Mexico to see his friend. Roy was inundated with guilt; guilt at the thought of leaving his family in their time of need, and guilt because he felt he had abandoned his friend. He knew he needed to be at home, but honestly felt that what his friend was going through was worse. Hell, he didn’t even know if Johnny was still alive!

He and Joanne argued over it incessantly, until a week later, she finally gave in, exhausted herself, and told him to go. Emotions were highly charged at the moment, and none of them were thinking clearly. Joanne knew in her heart that she was acting selfishly, that her husband had gone above and beyond fulfilling his family duties, and that things were settled enough at the present time to allow him to go. But she was on shaky emotional ground herself, and found it hard to admit it to herself that her husband was grieving too, and needed some time away.

Amidst high tension between himself and Joanne, Roy decided to go ahead with his plans. He felt on the edge, and knew if he didn’t get away, he might explode at his mother-in-law, which he knew would make a bad situation much worse. Even though his job allowed him to escape the family tribulations for twenty-four hours at a time, he still felt the emotional pressures there as well. Joanne called several times a day, sometimes just to let off steam, or sometimes she needed his advice about something. As the days went by, an unexplained sense of foreboding regarding Johnny had developed, and Roy felt  possessed to get down and see him. On his next day off, Roy purchased his airline ticket, receiving the same low fare he had tried to get over a month ago. He was to leave in one week.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Johnny straightened and rubbed the small of his back. Hours of mopping floors had caused a deep ache to settle in his muscles, and he decided to take a short break from his mundane task to nurse his discomfort. It was a cool morning, and the sweet smell of a breeze wafting in through the open but barred windows mixed with the pungent smell of the pine cleaner he was using. He could tell it was going to be a hot day, and knew that several hours from now he’d still be mopping, and the sweat would be dripping from his body. That’s how every day had been for the past week. Like most the other jobs in this facility, it was a quiet, mindless chore that allowed a lot of time for the mind to wander.

He heard the soft swish and squeak of another mop nearing him, and recognized the man holding the mop. It was the inmate whom Johnny had saved from choking in the cafeteria several months ago. They briefly made eye contact, but neither spoke, both continuing to mop silently.

Johnny was startled when the man spoke to him as he passed with his mop. In slightly broken English, the man quietly said without looking up, “He plan to get you again.”

Johnny’s head snapped up. “Huh?”

This time the man’s dark eyes locked with Johnny’s. “He get you again. El Carnicero.”

Johnny’s eyes grew wide. “Who…who’s El Carnicero?”

“You Americans call him ‘The Butcher’. The fat man; one who attack you before. In shower. He plan to get you again. Then kill you.”

Johnny’s mouth went dry and adrenaline suddenly pulsed through him. His heart was suddenly pounding so hard he heard it swishing in his ears. “How do you know this?” Johnny asked in alarm.

The man looked away, then back at Johnny. “I know. I hear him talking.”

Johnny swallowed, fear beginning to consume him. He could barely speak. “Whe –when? Do you know when?”

            A door slammed down another hallway, and the man turned his attention away from Johnny, looking warily around him. Johnny’s eyes were boring into him when he turned back. Cautiously, he muttered, “Tonight,” then quickly moved the other direction, commencing his mopping.

            Johnny stood frozen, his breath coming in short gasps, momentarily paralyzed with fear. Memories of the night he was brutally raped and beaten assaulted his mind, and disbelief that it was going to happen again overwhelmed him. Nervously, he licked his lower lip and his mind raced with a million thoughts.

            Oh no. No, no, no. What am I gonna do? Should I tell the prison guards? I can’t. What if they’re in on it? They didn’t do anything to stop it the last time! Maybe I should talk to the warden. Johnny knew that was hopeless. The warden was only there four days a week, and today was one of his off days. Maybe I should do something to get myself thrown back into solitary confinement. He shook his head to himself. It wouldn’t make any difference. They’d just get me when I got out. What should I do? I can’t go through it again. I can’t. I won’t! What can I do? I got no one on my side to help me. I’m alone.

            The clicking of the heels of a prison guard approached him, and the guard barked, “¡Obtenga para trabajar!” Johnny didn’t have to understand the man to grasp the meaning, and he quickly went back to his mopping.

            For the next hour, he lamented over his situation, desperately seeking a solution in his mind, and finally, with sickening clarity, he realized what he was going to have to do. He would have to take the man on by himself, and hope that his friends wouldn’t be there to help him. Frantically trying to calm himself, he knew he had to keep his wits about him. For a long while, Johnny concentrated on breathing deeply and clearing his mind. When he’d finally composed himself, Johnny began to think it through carefully, slowly developing a plan. He spent the day psyching himself up, convincing himself that he was stronger than the fat man, that he could take him out. There was one advantage this time; this time he wouldn’t be caught off guard. This time, he would be ready; he would make the first move on his terms. The fat man would be the one caught off guard – not him.

            Fear was replaced by determination and anger, and as the day wore on, such hatred had built up in Johnny that he felt he would explode. During recreation time that afternoon, he practiced his boxing moves obsessively, the visions of James’s murder unburied from his mind, and a vow to avenge not only James’s death, but the atrocity of what they had done to him was born.

            Johnny forced himself to calm his nerves during dinner, preparing himself mentally for the fight that would take place that evening. He knew this might be his last day here, and accepted it, knowing that he would never let that man or any men violate him again. He was prepared to die fighting, and if necessary, would kill to prevent it from happening.

The time came for the inmates to take their showers, and Johnny was a bundle of nerves, on guard the moment he entered the bathroom. The men all went about their business as if nothing were amiss, and for a moment, Johnny wondered if the man with the mop had been mistaken. No one seemed to be paying attention to him as he disrobed, pretending not to know what lay ahead of him. Stepping into the shower area, he slipped into an area just around the corner from the entry and waited. He blessed his good luck in noticing that from his position in the shower area he was able to see into a bathroom mirror on the wall. This enabled him to observe the reflection of anyone who was nearing the showers.

            He didn’t have long to wait. Adrenalin shot through him like electricity when he saw the hated overweight man enter the bathroom and approach the shower area. He wore a sinister smile upon his plump fleshy face, and Johnny could see him scanning the bathroom, looking for him. He waited silently, readying himself for attack.

            The man they called “The Butcher” sauntered into the steamy shower area, and it was to Johnny’s advantage that the heavy man was unable to see at first through the haze. Seeing his face only a few feet away brought snippets of memories flooding into Johnny’s mind of the brutal attack he had endured several months ago, and almost reflexively, Johnny burst into action. 

Something awakened in Johnny that night, some part of himself that he had inherited long ago from his distant ancestors. It had been buried in his essence for a long time, but had always been present in every fiber of his being. The warrior that for hundreds of years had been in his bloodline now exploded in anger, an instinct so natural that he didn’t even recognize it existed. He had felt its presence only a few times in his life, but never as strongly as he did right now.

            With a guttural cry, Johnny was on top of the man before he could react, and threw a series of lightning quick punches. Something about the frightening primal glare in Johnny’s eyes told the others to stay back and let them fight. The first punch landed viciously on the man’s Adam’s apple. That in itself nearly incapacitated him as he gagged and choked, clutching at his throat. Johnny swiftly landed several more blows to the man’s midsection and face, bloodying him severely, and knocking him to the hard and wet tile floor. Johnny bent over the man menacingly, and began pummeling him with his fists, a grunt escaping his throat with each hit. Sweat ran into his eyes, which had a wild look about them. His breaths came in harsh, raspy pants. The other men gathered around, watching and yelling. It appeared that Johnny had the upper hand, until suddenly the man reached out and grabbed Johnny’s ankle, yanking him to the floor. He fell hard, the blow to his hip stunning him momentarily. The fat man was upon Johnny instantly, and drew his beefy fist back. Johnny tried to roll to avoid the punch, but the man anticipated his move and the blow landed firmly in Johnny’s stomach. The wind knocked out of him, he curled to one side, and the man took the opportunity to get on his feet. He began kicking Johnny in the back. The men’s cheers grew louder as blow after blow landed on Johnny’s back. Johnny gasped with each hit, then felt the man’s foot as it slammed into his head. Seeing stars, he tucked his head away and took another blow to his shoulders. Desperately, he rolled to his knees, and the foot hit him again, he caught sight of it in his peripheral vision just before it hit.  His face exploded in pain as blood spurted from his nose and the gash made in his cheek.

            Johnny knew he had to gain the upper hand soon, or the man would kill him. A fresh burst of adrenalin surged through him. Sensing the man’s foot drawing back to deliver another blow, Johnny surprised him with his quick reflexes by reaching out and grabbing his leg at the last minute, throwing him off balance. The other men’s cheers escalated when the huge man hit the ground with a grunt, knocking his head on the hard floor. Johnny climbed on top of him, a murderous look on his bleeding face. Johnny drew back his fist and smashed it into the man’s face, hitting him in the eye. The man on the floor beneath him howled in pain, and stunned, let his guard down further as his hands flew to his face. The inmates went wild; it almost sounded like they were cheering for Johnny. Johnny barely noticed as he continued his assault, expletives spewing from his mouth that he had never used before. His contender’s face was a bloody mess; the thick red substance now covered Johnny’s fist, mingling with his own blood that was dripping from his face.

            The man seemed to be down, and Johnny heard one of the inmates call to him, “Hey, Tonto!” Briefly, he looked up, and to his surprise, a switch-blade appeared before him. Reflexively, Johnny opened his palm to accept the weapon, tightened his fist around it, then lowered it to the man’s neck for the kill. Then, he hesitated, staring down at the knife dumbly, his hand trembling.

            Shouts of “Kill him!” and “¡Mátelo!” echoed around the bathroom as they all screamed. They began chanting it. They wanted to see more blood.

            Johnny held the knife to the man’s throat, his hand shaking, his breathing ragged. He wanted to kill him. He had never wanted to see anyone dead so badly in his life. The chanting continued. “Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!” in English, and “¡Mátelo! ¡Mátelo! ¡Mátelo!” in Spanish. It began to echo in his brain until he thought he couldn’t stand it any more. Suddenly his eyes opened wide at the realization of what he was about to do, and reality seeped back into him. He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t a murderer. He was just the opposite. He’d dedicated his whole life to saving people, and he just wasn’t capable of taking another person’s life, no matter how evil.

            Slowly, his shoulders sagged, and he threw the knife across the floor, his other hand still clutching the tunic of the man under him. It appeared that he had won, as the bloodied man beneath him lay still.

            Trembling, Johnny had just started to climb off him, when the man drew his knee back, landing a painful blow to Johnny’s groin. Johnny gagged and fell over sideways, and the man was back on him in a flash. The paramedic felt his knee explode in agony as something smashed into it. Before he could comprehend that pain, large strong hands wrapped around Johnny’s neck and lifted him up, then forced his head downward. It made a sickening crack as it hit the floor.

            Johnny’s vision left him momentarily, and when it returned, he was looking into the black beady eyes of his adversary. His fat fleshy face was a horrible bloody pulp, with one eye open, the other swollen shut and bleeding. Drops of blood from the man’s face fell, mixing with his own, and the brute’s hands tightened around Johnny’s throat, cutting off his air.

            Johnny made a weak attempt to reach up and pull the hands away, but he had no more fight left in him. Distantly, he knew his life was over, and felt a strange detached disappointment at the way it was ending, here in a prison cell, amongst savages. From somewhere faraway in his mind he wondered what his friends would think of him, dying shamefully like this. A ringing in his ears drowned his thoughts as his brain became deprived of oxygen, then the man’s face blurred and faded. Just before Johnny passed out, he was cognizant of a very heavy weight that had fallen on top of him.

Six prison guards crashed into the room. The scene they came upon was of one inmate lying seemingly unconscious on the floor, with another inmate lying on top of him. The overweight inmate on top had a knife protruding from his back; his head was turned to one side, his expression frozen in an open-mouthed stare.

Air seeped slowly back into Johnny’s lungs through his damaged and swollen windpipe. As it did, consciousness gradually returned, and Johnny was vaguely aware of a group of stern voices arguing in the background. They were speaking Spanish, and seemed urgent.

Johnny’s body began convulsing in coughs, and he gasped for breath, desperately seeking the oxygen his lungs had been denied moments ago, his hands instinctively clutching at his throat. Johnny was lying on a hard, wet surface, flat on his back. He rolled to his side. A whole litany of discomforts swallowed him suddenly as his nerve endings came alive; his body protesting the punishment it had just received. His face hurt badly, and felt extremely swollen. His nose throbbed, and felt like someone had stuffed wads of cotton up inside. He breathed through his mouth, which continually filled with the metallic taste of blood, some of which he swallowed reflexively; the overflow dribbled out and down his cheek. Nasty bruises were quickly forming on his back, and the injuries he had sustained there would be the cause of blood in his urine for several days to come. A whimper of pain escaped Johnny’s lips as he drew his legs upward, and fire tore through his knee.

Cracking his eyes open, he first focused on the mildewed one-inch blue tiles on the floor, which were spattered with blood. Concentrating only on the effort of breathing, he licked his swollen lip and attempted to listen to the heated conversation going on around him; the realization coming to him that he was indeed still alive, and that apparently, the fight was over.

“El está muerto. Tómelo lejos,” Johnny heard a voice say. Muerto. The word registered in Johnny’s brain with surprise, and he raised his gaze slightly to behold the dead man lying a few feet away. It was a gruesome sight; the giant man’s swollen face was covered in blood, his unblinking, half opened eyes seemed to be staring accusingly at Johnny. Johnny’s heart began pounding suddenly and a sickening thought consumed him. Oh my God. He’s dead. I killed him. Did I kill him?

Johnny watched as one of the prison guards reached down and grabbed something protruding from the man and wrenched it upward. He held a bloody knife in his hand, which he handed to another guard. Someone set a stretcher down beside the man, and he was lifted onto it, then slowly carried from the room. When Johnny saw the knife being removed, a delayed reaction of relief washed over him, knowing he hadn’t been the one to use it. Thank God. I didn’t kill him. Someone else did. Who? His eyes wandered around the room; all the prisoners had been ushered away, leaving two prison guards to deal with him.

One of them leaned down, noticed Johnny’s eyes were open, then looked up to his comrade and said something in Spanish. Johnny closed his eyes, trying not to think about any of it; the effort of dealing with the pain overriding anything else. His eyes popped open when he felt himself being lifted up, then set on a stretcher. He groaned in agony at the discomfort moving him had caused, and lay very still as they carried him out, naked and bleeding.

Johnny spent two days in the clinic, after which time they deemed he was ready to be discharged. His cuts had been cleaned and bandaged, and his knee had been wrapped. No attention was paid to his head injury, and judging by the blurred vision and extreme headaches Johnny was experiencing, he knew he had sustained a concussion, how bad, he didn’t know. His urine did indeed contain blood, and Johnny diagnosed himself with a bruised kidney, hoping it wasn’t anything more serious. Johnny knew if he were at home, a minimum hospital stay of four or five days would have been prescribed, while they monitored his head and possible internal injuries. He had no such luck here. Of course, he was forced to endure another interview with the warden, where, with speech slurred from swelling and pain, he gave his version of the assault, giving justification for his actions. The warden merely regarded him as he spoke, not commenting. He quickly concluded that Johnny had no idea where the knife had come from, or who used it. No one else had come forward with any information either, so the perpetrator was undiscovered, for the time being.

After two days, they promptly escorted him to the punishment cell. He’d barely been able to walk, and when he saw where they were taking him, his heart began to race, and dread swallowed him up, like the wave of mud that had drowned the ten year old boy he’d tried to rescue several months ago.

The memories of the maddening isolation, the suffocating heat and darkness, and the hideous bugs crawling unseen over him and his food finally caused him to lose control, and he began struggling, screaming, “Nooo! Nooo!” thinking he would lose his mind if they forced him to stay in that hot black box again for any length of time. Ignoring his cries, they released his hands from the cuffs, then unceremoniously shoved him inside, where he stumbled and fell to the cracked concrete floor. Johnny looked over his shoulder just in time to see the darkness swallow him up as the heavy metal door clanked shut.

Four days later, light poured into Johnny’s asylum as the heavy door creaked open and he was once again exposed to human contact. Johnny was lying curled up on the floor, his lifeless half-opened eyes looked out dispiritedly at the men who now beckoned him to get up. Four days in the apando had left him feeling at his lowest point since he’d arrived at the prison. He had lain there the entire time in pain, thinking he couldn’t take any more, willing himself to die. No mercy had been bestowed on him, however. Now his time was up, and he would be thrust back into the grim drudgery of prison life, only to wait until someone else decided to make his life even more miserable than it already was. The only thing that he had to be thankful for was that the fat bastard the called El Carnicero wouldn’t be bothering him ever again. The threat of revenge by his companions was now embedded in the back of his mind; he wondered how long it would take them to kill him.

When Johnny made no move to get up, one of the guards reached in and grabbed his wrist, peeling him off the floor. He cried out as his body was wrenched upward, all his aches and discomforts amplified by the sudden movement.

They escorted him back to his cell, where he collapsed onto his mattress for the rest of the day, only getting up to use the toilet. Earlier, a small glimmer of hope had pricked the back of his mind that since Lou was gone maybe Johnny would be able to take over his bunk, which was off the floor. But Leonard had finally claimed it, after it became apparent that Lou wasn’t going to be back for a while, maybe ever.

The cockroaches were active that night; Johnny counted six that he had to bat away from his body. By morning, the thought of staying in his cell one more moment was unimaginable, and when his cellmates left to attend Sunday church services, Johnny decided to tag along.

There were no pews, just folded wooden chairs, and those that knelt had to kneel on the cool terra cotta ceramic tile floor. But Johnny found a small sliver of peacefulness here as the priest recited the mass in Spanish, his voice echoing through the sanctuary. Johnny didn’t understand most of the words, but he knew the service just the same, recalling many of the prayers from his childhood. His mother used to take him to church when he was little. The familiarity of it offered a strange sense of comfort, and closing his eyes, he could almost feel his mother beside him praying quietly, the lace doily pinned to her hair draped over her eyes. He hadn’t been back since both his parents were killed in an automobile accident when he was about twelve. Now, as the unlikely congregation recited the Our Father, Johnny mouthed the words to himself in English, feeling a tiny bit of reassurance creep over him.

                                                ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roy paid the driver and got out of the cab, once again in front of the inhospitable-looking prison, where his best friend had been held for nearly five months. He watched as the little Volkswagen  pulled away in a cloud of dust, then wiped the sweat from his brow and approached the door. Although it had been over four months since he’d last visited, now that he was here, it didn’t seem possible that it could have been that long.

The flight had been cheap; thanks to a sluggish economy, airfares were incredibly low. He had a lot of time to think on the plane ride down, and for the first time since he’d died, Roy was able to really absorb his father-in-law’s death. Twice he nearly started crying when the loss started to sink in; embarrassed at his watery eyes, he had forced his thoughts to other subjects. The fact that he’d left on bad terms with Joanne bothered him immensely, and he’d even started having second thoughts about having left at all. He quashed those worries quickly when he thought of Johnny; the uneasy feeling he’d had over the past few days seemed more intense now than ever. By the time he’d arrived in Mexico, he felt deeply depressed.

He’d called Joanne the night before from his hotel room to let her know he arrived safely, and she’d been quite cool in her manner. Though she cared deeply for Johnny, she was still angry at her husband for leaving. A little part tugged guiltily at her for acting that way, knowing deep down that Roy was, after all, also needed by his best friend, who had no one else. However, the days without her father were still hard for her, and she justified her behavior with that. Having her mother constantly nagging her about her ‘worthless’ husband didn’t help matters any.

Roy arrived at the prison a bundle of nerves. After his phone conversation with Joanne the night before, feelings of guilt and anxiety nearly overwhelmed him.  He’d tried to be pleasant and ask Joanne how her mother was, but she’d silenced that conversation with a curt, ‘fine’. Now back at the prison, his stomach was churning being there again, and while he very much wanted to see Johnny to make sure he was okay, another part of him couldn’t wait for it to be over so he could return home.

Once again, Roy entered the familiar room, and went through the same routine as before, placing his belongings in a bag, then succumbing to a pat-down, and a trip through the metal detector. Now he sat waiting in the same room as before, almost in the same chair, suddenly very anxious to see his best friend. It seemed stupid feeling this way, but he was nervous. Roy didn’t have any idea what to expect this time. Would Johnny be like the first time Roy had seen him, with a frightened, shell-shocked look about him, or like when Chet and Marco saw him and he was dazed and faraway, lost somewhere in his despair. Roy didn’t know, and that’s what was making him so apprehensive. He wanted to believe that by now perhaps Johnny had adjusted to his incarceration and that he would be surviving, at least. He wanted to see Johnny walk up to him smiling, glad to see him, and reassure him that everything was okay, and that he was surviving, that everything would be okay, that when he got out everything would go back to being the same as it was before. But Roy knew that thought was as preposterous as it was unlikely. As Roy looked around him and observed the evil-looking faces of the dark-eyed, greasy-looking inmates as they lumbered into the room, he knew in his heart that he couldn’t begin to imagine what kind of life his friend was being forced to endure.

It had been a great surprise to Johnny to hear he’d been summoned to the visitation room. He had assumed it would be a long time before he saw a friendly face again, and had resigned himself to the fact that he may not see any of his friends for several years, that is, if he survived. So far, the odds hadn’t been in his favor; he felt it was almost a miracle he had survived this long.

It had been nearly a week since the battle in the bathroom, but Johnny was still quite sore and stiff and was unable to walk without limping. He still had headaches, though they weren’t as severe, and the blurred vision had dissipated. The bruises on his back were ferocious, and those on his face equally bad, but at least some of the swelling and puffiness had died down. He entered the room wondering who had come to see him as he held his hands out to the guard to remove the cuffs. He kept his gaze to the floor, conscientious about his appearance.

Roy stood as he saw Johnny entering the room, his breath catching in his throat as he got his first glimpse of his friend. Once again, the bruises and abuse to his face stood out prominently, his left eye blackened, his nose and lip puffy and swollen. A nasty cut on his cheek was held together with several butterfly bandages and painful-looking purple bruises surrounded it. Too sore to shave, Johnny now sported a dark shadow of stubble on the lower half of his face. His hair hadn’t been cut, and was unkempt and dirty looking. The thing that frightened Roy the most, however, was that Johnny was beginning to look like the rest of them, like a hardened criminal. He had a rough edge about him that Roy had never seen before. He barely recognized his friend, and his heart ached for them both at the sight of this unwelcome transformation that had taken place.

A million thoughts raced through Roy’s mind as he took in Johnny’s appearance; it was like an instant replay of the first visit Roy had had with him. His first thought was a horrifying feeling that what had happened before had possibly happened again. With that revelation came the uncertainty of what to say to him, and intense anxiety over what Johnny’s state of mind would be. My God. He looks terrible! He’s been beaten – again. What are they doing to him here? What am I gonna say to him? ‘Hi, Johnny, how’re ya doin’? How’s prison life?’ What CAN I say to him? He sighed. Just be there, DeSoto. Just listen. For once, just listen to your partner. Knowing Johnny, he’s probably desperate for someone to talk to.

Johnny had noticed Roy now and had taken a few steps in his direction. His face registered obvious surprise as he limped toward his best friend. Roy extended his hand uncomfortably, uncertain of the unspoken protocol now between them. He’d wanted to offer more, a supportive hug perhaps, but given what Johnny had been through and where they were, he settled for a handshake, trying instead to convey his feelings with his eyes. “Hey, Johnny,” he said softly.

Johnny stared at him for a moment, at a loss for words. After an uncomfortable silence, Roy pasted a small smile on his face and said, “Hey, you gonna stand there starin’ at me with you mouth open, or are you gonna say hello?”

Johnny broke out of his spell and forced a smile to his mouth that didn’t transfer to his eyes. The dullness there seemed to transcend into his very soul. He took Roy’s hand. His grip, however, was firm and strong, and he managed, “Roy. Sorry….I…..I’m just surprised to see you.”

Trying to break the tension, Roy joked, “Well, I know you’d probably rather that beautiful red-headed nurse from Rampart be standing here, but, ah, you got me.”

Johnny shook his head, unsmiling. “No. No way, man. I’m glad it’s you. Thanks for comin’.” Roy could see his eyes truly reflected the gratitude he felt.

They sat down next to each other. Roy couldn’t help but notice the grimace on Johnny’s face as he lowered himself to the chair, and the way he rubbed his knee absently for a long time after he had been seated.

Roy didn’t know what to say, what waters to tread into. Talking about the atrocities that had been bestowed on Johnny might just further depress his friend, but at the same time, Roy didn’t want to come off as being insensitive. He longed to ask what had happened to Johnny; who had inflicted these wounds, and why, but instinct told him not to go there just yet.

Roy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, crossing, then uncrossing his legs. “Johnny. How…how are you?” He paused a second, deciding to approach things with a little levity. “You, ah…look almost as good as you did the last time I was here.” He ventured tentatively into shallow waters.

Johnny looked down self-consciously. Reflexively, his hand went to his face and he touched his swollen lip. “Yeah,” he said, mimicking Roy’s approach, “I guess I probably must look a little scary, huh?” He looked up, a faint smile played at the corner of his mouth. “You think I look bad, you should see the other guy,” a feeble attempt at a  chuckle came out, then he looked back down again when he saw Roy wasn’t amused. Roy wasn’t aware himself that the small smile that had been on his own face had turned somber, the dismay of understanding how his dark-haired friend was being forced to survive sobering him. Roy observed his friend, unsure if Johnny’s comment was an invitation to talk about what had happened, or an attempt to shut down the subject. Johnny didn’t give him the chance, and said, “How’s Joanne, and the kids, Roy?”

Roy nodded, following Johnny’s lead to let the previous topic slide. He was a little ashamed of the fact that he was glad John was changing the subject, when he knew finding out about John’s welfare was more important. “They’re doin’…doin’ great. Chris is playing baseball again this summer, and Jennifer’s doing ballet and swimming. You should see Jennifer; she’s startin’ to learn the crawl. She’s gonna be a real swimmer.”

“Like her dad,” Johnny said softly.

“Yeah. They…they really miss you. All of ‘em. The kids…can’t wait until you come home. And Joanne….well….she misses…all the times….” His voice trailed off.

Johnny closed his eyes. “I miss them too. A lot.” A strong twinge of longing twisted in the pit of Johnny’s stomach, and he knew he had to change the subject. “Tell me about the guys. How’s everything at the station? Any interesting rescues?”   

With that, Roy broke the ice further by launching into an intense story about a brush fire they had fought, followed by some of the more interesting runs he and Dwyer had experienced. Johnny listened intently, almost as if he were trying to relive it himself, drinking it in, like Roy’s descriptions of the runs were drugs he was addicted to and was in withdrawal from. Roy scrutinized Johnny all through his conversation, trying to evaluate his condition and determine his mental and physical state. All the while Roy remained at a loss as to exactly how to proceed, unsure whether the conversation would lift Johnny up, or bring him down. It could go either way.

The difference from his last visit Roy noticed was that Johnny didn’t seem frail this time, or scared even. No, his expressions and gestures displayed more a disposition of resignation peppered with weariness, and the lines of stress on his face bespoke the cruelty he had endured. Even through the bruises, Johnny looked like he had aged at least ten years.

By the looks of his expression, Johnny was obviously devouring the information; Roy sensed he was almost craving it, so the older paramedic continued on with the latest happenings, including Chet’s antics at the station. He relayed some of the funnier moments between Chet and Dwyer, hoping to make his friend laugh.

“Guess Chet’s found a new pigeon, eh?” Johnny asked wanly. 

Roy heard the underlying sadness and finality to his partner’s voice, and answered with a firm, “Only temporarily.” His eyes told Johnny that this was not going to be permanent – not if he had anything to do with it. From there, he went on about some of the new things going on at the station, filling Johnny in on some new techniques they had learned, hoping to at least divert his attention away from his sad predicament for a little while.

Finally, unable to restrain himself any longer, Roy broached the subject of John’s injuries, his bruised face a constant reminder of the abuse. Feeling a little uncertain as to how to word his question, he nodded toward Johnny and commented, “That, uh, your nose, it looks pretty sore. Is it broken?”

Johnny’s expression darkened at the memory, his thoughts returning to how he got the ugly wounds. He touched his nose gingerly. “No. It’s not broken.” He knew what was coming next, and while he appreciated Roy’s concern, the fact that Roy had abruptly changed the subject when he had been enjoying the diversion of talking shop, suddenly annoyed him. 

“What happened this time?” Roy didn’t mean to, in fact, Roy’s only intent with the question was concern, but to Johnny, his voice sounded just a touch accusatory. Johnny felt the tinge of irritation toward his friend grow larger. He looked at Roy, sitting there comfortably in his khaki shorts, sandals, and plaid shirt, and felt the combination of envy and anger tug at him. Roy could walk out of here into the bright sunshine when they were through and get on a plane and fly home; he couldn’t. Roy had a loving wife and two beautiful children waiting for him at home; he didn’t. Roy had a good job that he loved, a job Johnny had shared with him once, a job where he was considered the top in his field, respected by his colleagues; he was sitting rotting in jail. Roy was free; he wasn’t. Johnny knew his feelings of anger toward Roy were unfair and irrational, but he just couldn’t help them. Why did this happen to him? What did he do to deserve this? It wasn’t fair.

Johnny looked up at him and quipped in a short tone of voice, “No big deal, Roy. I just got in a little…tiff.”

Roy looked at Johnny with uncertainty, hearing the irritation in his voice but unsure of where it was coming from. Gently, he tried, “Johnny, it doesn’t look so little to me.”

Johnny shrugged. “Well, that’s prison life. Every day’s a new adventure.” He really wanted Roy to stop right now; couldn’t his friend tell he just didn’t want to talk about it? John knew Roy would be sympathetic with him if he opened up and talked, but why bother? Roy didn’t understand – he couldn’t. No one could know what it was like here, unless they were there themselves. Right now he wanted to escape – escape from the realities of this hellish life – not try to explain to someone who couldn’t fathom what he was going through because that someone’s life was just too different and removed from his own. Now it seemed like Roy had ruined the temporary escape Johnny had immersed himself in by changing the subject back to this awful reality. What he didn’t want to admit to himself was that deep down he resented Roy and his freedom and his life – the life Johnny wasn’t able to live any more. He knew it wasn’t fair or logical, but he felt it nevertheless.

Roy heard the sarcasm, and assumed Johnny was just trying to be brave, not wanting to worry his friend. “Johnny, I’m just worried about you. Every time one of us sees you, you’re all beat up.”

Johnny stared at Roy, unspeaking, the glare making Roy uncomfortable, until the younger paramedic tore his eyes away. He felt like saying something; he felt like saying a lot of things, among them, Yeah, that’s right, I’m all beat up every time you see me – get used to it, Roy, because that’s what it’s like here, but he wouldn’t allow himself to say what he was really feeling. He held back because he knew in his heart that his friend was truly concerned for his welfare, and that his intentions were good. But unfortunately, the road to Hell is sometimes paved with good intentions. 

Roy felt like he was digging a hole here and struggled to find something to say to get out of it, to show Johnny he was only concerned for his welfare. “I just…hate seeing you like this, Johnny. “Isn’t there anything you can do to avoid being…getting in fights…all the time?” Roy knew as soon as he said it that it hadn’t come out right, but before he could say anything more, Johnny’s expression changed abruptly, first from hurt to shock, then hardened into anger, choking off anything more he had to say.

Johnny’s mouth dropped open slightly and he glared murderously at Roy. His voice was low and strained as he growled, “Are you insinuating that I’ve brought this on myself?”

            “No, of course not,” Roy answered quickly, backpedaling.  “I just wish…. I mean, isn’t there some way you just sort of lay low or something, just stay out of their way? I – ”

            Johnny exploded. “I can not believe you! I mean I really cannot fucking believe you! ‘Stay out of their way’?” He snorted. “You know, you have no clue what it’s like in this fucking hell-hole! This isn’t the Boy Scouts you know. I’m livin’ with a bunch of rapists and murderers, robbers and child molesters, all the rejects of society. Every day I’ve got to look out for a different person who wants to either kill me, beat me up, or rape me. Take your pick! It’s a different fuckin’ flavor every day, Roy!”

            Roy sighed. “Johnny, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said – ”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about, Roy. You don’t have a clue!”

“You don’t have to swear at me, Johnny.” Roy tried to remain calm, but he was tired, and he felt some of his own frustration starting to boil to the surface.

            “Oh, well, excuse me, Mr. Perfect. I’m sorry if I offended you! I guess prison’s had a fucking bad influence on me!”

            Now Roy was on the defensive. After all, he was only trying to show concern for his friend. He’d gone through a lot to make this trip, and only wanted to help. Now Johnny was taking his frustrations out on him, and Roy didn’t feel like being Johnny’s punching bag. Months of stress over this situation and his chaotic family life had taken its toll on him too.

            Words spilled out of Roy before he had time to think. “Look, Johnny, it cost me a lot to come down here to see you. I’ve neglected Joanne and my family worrying about you. It’s not my fault you’re here, so don’t take it out on me. I’ve done everything I can to try to help you. I wish I could do more, but I don’t know what else to do! I don’t really appreciate your attitude.”

            “My attitude? My ATTITUDE! What kind of attitude would you have if you were in here? Huh?”

            “I don’t know, Johnny, but I think I would at least try to show some appreciation for – ”

            “Oh yeah? Well, do me a favor, Roy. Don’t waste your time or your money comin’ to see me any more!” Johnny got up quickly, wincing as he stood, then turned, and stormed away, limping. He thrust his arms out at the prison guard, and growled out that he was ready to leave. As the guard slapped the cuffs on, Johnny glanced back to see Roy standing there, his mouth hanging half open in an expression of mortification. Johnny then turned, and the guard escorted him out of the visitation room. 

Roy stood numbly, embarrassed and horrified at what had just transpired. He looked around, and saw that several people were staring at him. Immediately he realized he’d made a terrible mistake. A host of emotions warred their way across his face before he took off after Johnny, stammering an apology that Johnny never heard. Stopped by an officer at the door Johnny had just disappeared through, he was torn between asking the guard to call Johnny back, and leaving. He did neither. Instead he walked over to the barred window, and looked out, trying to calm down, trying to decide what to do.

            He gazed out at the dirt and dried up grass outside the window, and out past the razor-wire fence, to a dusty, barren landscape. The wind had kicked up some loose sand, and it swirled around up in the air before falling back to the earth. It looked so desolate.

Some of Johnny’s words flooded back into his memory with chilling clarity. ‘I’m livin’ with a bunch of rapists and murderers, robbers and child molesters, all the rejects of society. Every day I’ve got to look out for a different person who wants to either kill me, beat me up, or rape me.’ The memory of those words sent a chill down Roy’s back.

He damned himself for what he had said to Johnny, recognizing now how insensitive it was. What should he do? He hated to just leave; he couldn’t go and leave things hanging this way between him and Johnny. His gut tightened as he thought, what if something happens and I never see him again?

            Five minutes had passed since Johnny had left, and Roy decided to ask if the guard would go get Johnny again. He wanted to apologize. However, when he asked to see his friend, he was told that visiting hours were over until the next week. Now he wouldn’t get a chance. Depressed, Roy’s shoulders slumped as he realized what a wreck he had made of this visit. All the money he had spent, and all he’d accomplished was making his friend angry. Frustrated, he wracked his brain for some solution. He couldn’t stay for another week just for the chance to see Johnny again. He’d only planned to be gone three days. There was no one to fill in for him at work, and it would cost too much. He would have to go now.

            But before he left, he decided that maybe there was something he could do to help Johnny, and made his way over to a desk where a woman sat doing paperwork. Roy asked if he could see the warden. The first woman didn’t speak English, so she turned to a man in an office behind her, who approached Roy. “Can I help you, Señor?”

            When Roy asked to see the warden, he was told that he was not in, but that Roy could come back at eleven o’clock the next morning to see him.

Roy walked outside searching for a cab to take him back to his hotel. Walking over to a short area of razor wire fence, he stopped and looked into the compound. He could see the prisoners outside now, apparently there for their recreation time. Squinting, he looked around for Johnny, but couldn’t spot him; they were all too far away.

Some of the men were playing basketball, and some were kicking a soccer ball around; most were just hanging out, talking, many smoking. Roy turned toward the road when he heard a car approach, then turned back when he realized it wasn’t a cab. Some of the men were just sitting on the ground, the dust blowing around them, sweating from the heat. Some had laid their heads in their arms, propped up on their knees, while some just stared into space. It certainly was not a very appealing place to be. It struck him then even more how overwhelmingly depressing life was in the prison.

Out of the blue, Roy heard some of the men on the basketball court arguing, and soon a scuffle ensued. Roy watched wide-eyed as four of the men started throwing punches, then others joined in. The fight became more and more violent, and Roy looked around to see if the guards were going to do anything to stop it. By the time a group of corrections officers could be seen running to the scene, a full-scale riot had erupted. They began trying to break up the brawl, brandishing clubs and beating the men as they pulled them apart. Roy cringed at the brutality the officers bestowed on the men as he saw them swing their batons ruthlessly again and again into the inmates. Some fell to the ground, while others were handcuffed and dragged away. Some of the men were still fighting, the basketball had long rolled away and out of the court to settle alone in the dust. Roy jumped as shots were fired, which seemed to cause the fighting men to cease their actions, and tame them into obeying animals. Animals. That’s what they were acting like. And Johnny had to live with them every day.

In the past, Roy thought that sometimes Johnny had a way of provoking things with people when he got upset. He had a little trouble restraining himself when confronted with people who challenged him and Roy had previously wondered if that was what was getting him into trouble here in prison. But it was slowly dawning on Roy, a little too late, that even if Johnny had these tendencies in the past, they likely had nothing to do with anything that was happening to him now. As well as the light-haired paramedic liked to think he understood his friend, he now had to chide himself for not realizing that John was certainly perceptive enough not to provoke these kinds of criminals. Johnny may be a little hot-headed at times, but he wasn’t stupid. And one thing that was true about Johnny – he had always demonstrated an unwavering knack for dealing with all kinds of people in stressful situations. Why Roy hadn’t been able to figure that out earlier escaped him. As Roy watched the corrections officers manhandle the offending criminals out of the recreation area, it finally fully sunk in what it might be like to have to live like this every day, and his he closed his eyes in dismay. What have I done?

The crunching sound of tires on gravel behind him startled Roy, and he turned to see a cab pulling up. He trotted over to it, flagging the man down, suddenly wanting to get as far away from this place as he could. Roy climbed in the cab and left the prison with a heavy heart, hoping he would be able to do something beneficial for Johnny the next day, his final day there.

            Johnny stormed down the dank hallway toward the cell block, the rapid squeak of his tennis shoes on the floor echoed against the walls. He was still furious about the confrontation with Roy. The guard removed his cuffs, and he plopped down onto the mattress in his cell, for lack of anything better to do. The other men were outside now; Johnny had missed recreation time for the day, but he was glad, as it gave him some time alone to think.

            Roy is such an asshole! He’s got some nerve trying to tell me to ‘lay low and stay out of their way.’ Johnny snorted to himself. He has no clue, absolutely no clue what it’s like here. Mr. Perfect; I’d like to see him survive one day in this shithole! If he were really concerned about me, he’d…he’d try to be more sympathetic, not accusatory. He just doesn’t understand…just doesn’t understand…you have to fight back to survive. It’s not like the real world…

            Johnny closed his eyes, calming down slightly. The argument had exhausted him emotionally. He played back their conversation in his mind. Everything had been fine until Roy mentioned the fight. It had been so nice to see a friend – his best friend – his lifeline to his past life. Johnny had enjoyed immensely hearing about the rescues; for awhile he actually forgot about all his troubles and was back at the station, back with his partner. The realization that Roy was now gone suddenly sunk in. He’ll never be back now. He probably thinks I’m a real jerk.  Johnny felt hot tears building in the corners of his eyes, but refused to let them fall, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

Maybe I am a jerk. I’ve just cut the ties with the one person who gave a damn about me. I shouldn’t have yelled at him like that. It probably did cost him a lot to come down here. He said he’d been neglecting his family because of me. How can that be? He’s only been here twice. Maybe it’s for the best that he doesn’t come back. I’m just a burden to him. Johnny inhaled deeply and then let it out. Depression wrapped its icy arms around him. Sometimes I wish I were dead. I don’t wanna live like this.

He lay contemplating what a shambles his life had become for quite a while, trying to think of some reason why this was all happening to him. He couldn’t come up with anything. He replayed in his mind everything that had taken place since the time of his arrest, reliving the emotions that went with it all, the fear, the anger, the humiliation, and the pain. It dawned on him everything that he had survived in just a short period of time, the beatings, the punishment cell, and the brutal assault, and an involuntary shudder overtook him as those thoughts materialized along with images that would be burned into his memory forever.

He had also witnessed the brutal murder of his friend, been in two fights that had almost resulted in his death, and last, but indeed least, the horrible living conditions he was forced to exist in. As if on cue, he felt another cockroach scurry across his leg, and he shook it off. I can’t believe I’m still alive. Why is that? Maybe someone up there wants me alive for some reason. Be damed if I know why. What did I do wrong that God, or the Spirits, or whoever, wants me to suffer like this? He shook his head to himself and sighed deeply. Maybe this is just my fate. There’s not a damned thing I can do about it. I’m trying to accept it. I can’t accept it, but I have to! Forget about your past life, Gage; it’s over. This is your life now. I’m not gonna let this beat me.  I’ll survive. I can survive. And when the time comes, I’ll leave this place and start over, somewhere where they’ve never heard of me. I don’t know what I’ll be able to do, with a record, but I’ll find something. Maybe I won’t do anything. Maybe I’ll just live off the land for the rest of my life. The thought of that really wasn’t that unappealing to Johnny, for he loved the wilderness. He felt most alive when he was outside with nature, and knew he could survive with only the bare necessities. For if there was one thing John Gage was, it was a survivor.

Part 4