TTHHEE  PPRRIISSOONNEERR

Part 4

The next day found Roy DeSoto back at the prison, waiting to see Adolpho Gonzales, the warden. A Mexican woman offered him a cup of coffee while he waited in the uncomfortable vinyl chair of the small cramped office.

            Shortly, the imposing figure of the warden entered, and reaching a hand out to Roy, introduced himself. Roy offered a similar pleasantry, then the warden invited Roy into his office, and the two men sat down facing each other.

            “I understand you wanted to see me about one of the eenmates,” Mr. Gonzales said.

            “Yes. My part – , ah, I mean, a close friend of mine is an inmate here. I wanted to talk to you about him.”

            “What ees hees name, Señor DeSoto?”

            “Uh, John Gage. John R. Gage.”

            The warden got up. “Just a moment, please.” Gonzales disappeared into another room, and Roy spied him rummaging around in one of the many filing cabinets. A moment later, he was back with a manila file folder in his hand. Sitting down in his swivel chair, he opened the file and leafed through it. Roy could see a mug shot of Johnny pasted onto the first page, with fingerprints beneath it. The sight of that was very disconcerting.

            “What seems to be your concern, Señor?” Gonzales reached for a pack of cigarettes on his desk and tapped one out, lighting it. As he blew a puff of smoke out his nose, he held the cigarettes toward Roy, in a gesture of offering one to him.

            Roy shook his head. “No, thanks. Mr. Gonzales, my friend, Mr. Gage, has been in prison here for several months. My concern is that every time myself or someone he knows comes to see him, it’s obvious that he’s been beaten each time.” Roy launched into an explanation of how Johnny appeared the first time he had seen him, then his condition when Barney had been in the country, about the black eye when Chet and Marco visited, and now, his current abominable state. Mr. Gonzales listened patiently while Roy detailed everything. “I’d like to know why this is happening, and what can be done about it.”

            “Señor DeSoto, thees ees a maximum security preeson, full of the worst kinds of offenders. We have murderers, rapists, child molesters, and many other kinds of creeminals. As to your questions of why eet ees happening, there’s your answer. Many of these men are like savages, that ees why they are here. As to what can be done about eet, we do the best we can weeth what we have. Unfortunately, thees preeson is overcrowded, and we do not have enough, as you Amereecans call them, corrections offeecers, to poleece the eenmates all the time.

            Roy stared at the man incredulously. “But my part – , my friend is gonna end up dead if something isn’t done about it. Look, he shouldn’t even be here in the first place. He’s no drug dealer; he was arrested and accused wrongly. Just look at his – ”

            Adolpho Gonzales interrupted Roy. “The court decided that your friend was guilty. There ees nothing I can do about that.”

            Roy opened his mouth to protest, but Gonzales cut him off again. “As far as your friend ending up dead, at thees point, theenk that ees unlikely. I consulted with heem personally when he first arrived after the sexual assault he suffered.”

With those words, Roy’s stomach nearly convulsed. The man had just confirmed Roy’s worst nightmare regarding his best friend. His mouth went dry; his heat-reddened face suddenly draining of all color as Gonzales continued.

“First let me say that the five men who assaulted your friend were punished.”

Roy sat paralyzed, seemingly unable now to move from his rigid upright posture; his tightly laced fingers frozen together. Five men, Roy thought to himself, suddenly feeling like he couldn’t breathe. No.  A clear picture of Johnny’s battered face from Roy’s first visit immediately materialized in his mind, and he remembered the haunted and traumatized look he had seen behind those dark brown eyes.

Gonzales continued. “I advised Señor Gage at that time that he must learn to defend heemself, or other similar eenceedents could occur.”

Roy looked at the man, his wide eyes incredulous with disbelief. Did I just hear this guy right? Johnny was brutalized and…raped by five men, and he was later told to learn to defend himself? Oh my God.

Roy’s expression of horror wasn’t lost on the warden. “I can see that you are shocked, but you must understand, like your friend does, that thees is a reality in preeson life.”

Suddenly his friend’s comments from the previous day invaded Roy’s mind. ‘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!’

Gonzales looked down at the file, studied it a moment, then looked back up at Roy. “Eet appears that your friend took my advice. Thees latest eenceedent was eeneetiated by Señor Gage.”

            “I don’t believe it,” Roy almost whispered.

            “He told me so heemself, Señor DeSoto. And there were weetnesses. Now, een all fairness to your friend, I believe hees actions were taken as a means of survival. He attacked a brutal man, who other weetnesses say was planning to repeat hees earlier assault, then keel your friend. I believe Señor Gage was merely trying to save hees own life. He was punished for eet, I weell tell you that.”

            Roy swallowed. “Punished? After what he went through?”

            Gonzales nodded. “Although we can’t stop violence from happening every time, we do punish those who disobey rules.”

            “What kind of punishment?” Roy was sure he didn’t want to know.

            Gonzales shrugged. “Nothing too severe. Several days of solitary confinement. Not a very pleasant place to be. Eet geeves a man a chance to theenk about his actions before he breaks any more rules.”

Roy was reeling from this new information. Barely able to find his voice, he asked, “What….what happened to the other man? The one planning….” He couldn’t finish.

Gonzales looked down, then back up at Roy. “He ees dead.”

Roy stared at the man in horror. “Dead?” His heart was pounding. “You mean, Johnny killed….” His voice trailed off.

“No. Your friend did not keell anyone. Another man put a knife een hees back. Unfortunately, we have not been able to find out who deed it yet. Apparently, your friend had someone lookeen out for heem. I’m quite sure he would be dead right now had thees other eenmate not stepped een to help him.”

Roy slumped slightly in his seat, resting his head on his hand, supported by the armrest of the chair. This was unbelievable. He finally looked up and said, “There must be something you can do?”

“We do our best, Señor DeSoto. That ees all we can do. Amereecan preesons are not that much better.”

What a consolation, Roy thought.

“I am sorry, Señor DeSoto, but your friend has a long hard road ahead of heem.”

Roy sat numbly in his seat in disbelief. A sick feeling had consumed him and he suddenly felt like he was suffocating. He couldn’t think, couldn’t believe this nightmare was happening.

Mr. Gonzales cocked his head at Roy. “Ees….there any other questions you have?”

Roy’s mouth felt like cardboard, and he found it hard to move his tongue to talk. “No. Thank you.” Roy got up, and without another word, silently turned and left.

After the initial shock of what Roy had learned in his meeting with Mr. Gonzales had worn off, Roy gathered his senses. He determinedly made up his mind that he wasn’t going to give up. On the plane ride back, he started formulating a plan as to what steps he would take to try to make things better for his partner. He had his doubts over whether anything he did would help, but he had to try.

He intended to file complaints with the Mexican government, with the American Embassy, with the U.S. Government, and anyone else he could think of to try to get the conditions in that prison changed, and possibly get Johnny released. And he would forget Barney, who he now felt had only offered a half-hearted attempt at exonerating Johnny. Roy made up his mind that he would search for another attorney, one who would be sympathetic to Johnny’s dilemma. He had no idea that all his undertakings would prove fruitless. All he knew is how rotten he felt over his confrontation with Johnny, and he admonished himself repeatedly for his insensitivity. Things were worse for Johnny than he had even imagined.

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

Once again, time faded the cuts and bruises Johnny had endured. After several weeks had passed, one day Johnny decided to take a test run while outside for his recreation time. He began with some stretches, and when his knee didn’t protest, he started with a slow jog, which he was later able to advance to almost the pace he had set before his latest injury. He felt stiff and sore, but the sun warmed his body, and soon his muscles loosened up to the point where he was enjoying his run. He had missed his daily escapes while his body was healing, again. Now he was running along the edge of some rocky cliffs, the ocean below him crashing against large gray boulders, the cold salty spray hitting him in the face. He had taken this road along the coast of northern California many times, and never tired of its majestic beauty. He could almost imagine the roaring sound of the sea as it smashed against the rocks, wearing their sharp edges into smooth ones, leaving the remains of foam bubbling backward through the crevices. Seagulls squealed overhead, following him along on his journey.

As usual, much of the time Johnny ran, he kept his eyes closed, except to occasionally keep track of where he was going. He had gotten to the point where he could feel almost exactly where he had to turn without looking. Now, as his feet continued to hit the dirt in rhythm, he was startled when suddenly another set of feet began running in time next to his. His guard immediately up, the coast disappeared; his eyes opened, and he glanced to the left to see who the intruder was. He was surprised to see the gray-haired man along side of him, keeping pace with his strides. Instinctively, Johnny slowed down.

“Lou,” he said, too surprised to say anything more. Instead, he scrutinized the man who he had done CPR on not very long ago. Johnny slowed down to a very leisurely trot. Johnny found his voice after a few more moments. Panting, he said, “You’re back? What happened?”

Lou did seem to be slightly winded now, and was glad that Johnny had slowed down his speed. “You’re what happened,” he said seriously.

“Huh?”

“I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for you.”

Yeah, you’re probably right, you would. “So, what happened?”

“Got a bad heart. Artery was blocked. They took me to a hospital, did some kind of operation with a balloon to get me unclogged. So, here I am.”

Johnny wasn’t sure if he was thanking him or not.

“I…appreciate what you did.”

Johnny shrugged, then slowed down to a walk, sensing Lou was out of breath. His response was automatic. “Just doin’ my – ah, it was no problem. Anybody can do CPR if they just learn it.”

“Maybe you can teach me.”

Johnny was surprised. This was the most Lou had ever said to him. The guy must be grateful. “Sure,” he answered.

“You mind if I run with you sometimes?”

Johnny looked away, not sure if he really wanted a running companion. These were his moments of escape, and he didn’t want to ruin it with conversation, especially when that conversation was with a murderer. On the other hand, he could use a friend. He looked back at Lou. “You think it’s smart to be running right after heart surgery?”

“The doc told me I needed exercise. Quit smokin’ too.”

Johnny was impressed, and lifted his eyebrows. This guy had some willpower. “Well, okay, as long as we don’t talk too much. When I’m runnin’, I’m somewhere else, you know?”

“I hear ya.”

“Lou, I think you should start out walkin’ for a while first, then build up to runnin’.”

“I’ve been walking. I had physical therapy at the hospital.”

“Okay. Well, just take it slow, and if you feel out of breath, I want you to slow down to a walk, okay?”

Johnny felt Lou’s eyes upon him as Lou scrutinized him. “What’d you say you used to do before you came here?”

Johnny looked out and away from Lou, wishing he hadn’t brought it up. “I was a fireman, and a paramedic.”

Lou nodded, apparently satisfied with the short answer he received. “Ready?” he began to jog again.

Lou and Johnny ran together most every day. Some days Lou was too tired, and would walk around the compound instead of running. Still, he was no slouch; he had an imposing stature, and a reputation within the walls that carried an unspoken rule not to mess with him. Despite the fact that Johnny had requested little conversation on their runs, it inevitably happened. Lou was interested in Johnny’s career, and got him talking about all the runs and rescues he had been on. Johnny actually found himself enjoying the retelling of his adventures, although it depressed him at the same time.

He learned a little about Lou’s background as a former high-powered salesman. As vice-president of sales of his division in a large pharmaceutical company, Lou had once enjoyed a playboy’s life, and quite a healthy income. His misfortune had occurred when he had traveled to Mexico for his job and had ended up killing a man in self-defense. The man had mugged Lou one night as he was returning to his hotel. Lou had wrestled the man’s knife away from him and used it to kill. Never one to take anything from anyone, Lou quickly established himself as a menacing figure who would fight back, and usually won. He had always kept himself fit, with the exception of smoking, and was a large, strong man, quite well-endowed with muscles.

The days all blurred into each other as the thick of summer settled in. The heat was suffocating some days. One afternoon, as Johnny was preparing for his run, he hung bent over stretching his leg muscles, when someone walked up quietly and dropped a small folded piece of paper at his feet. Alarmed, Johnny looked up, only to see the men milling about, unable to determine who had dropped the suspicious white note. Swallowing, he reached down and picked up the paper. Opening it, he nearly stopped breathing once he read what was haphazardly scrawled across the wrinkled and torn parcel. On it, in very bad English grammar, was a detailed description of a list of horrendous atrocities some anonymous inmate had planned to inflict upon him. The descriptions were vulgar, and what was worse was that the author took it upon himself to include some obscene drawings of his intentions that looked as though some junior high school student had drawn them. Johnny felt his face flush and he felt light-headed as the threat washed over him. He knew who it was, and knew they wanted revenge.

His eyes squinted in the sun as he keenly surveyed the compound for a suspicious party. No one was obvious; no one even seemed to be looking his way. Determined not to let the bearer of the note know he was rattled, he crumpled up the paper in his fist and began to run. Adrenalin pumped furiously through his body even before he was able to build up a sweat, and he felt on the verge of hyperventilating. Johnny forced his mind clear as his feet pounded against the dusty earth, then as he felt himself relaxing, allowed himself to let the threat seep back into his consciousness, so that he could try to find a way to deal with it. All he could comprehend was, they’re gonna do it again. God, don’t these bastards ever give up? They’re still after me; they’re not gonna stop ‘till they get me. James was just the appetizer. I’m as good as dead.

Lou had been running next to Johnny for almost thirty seconds before Johnny was cognizant of his presence. “Where are ya today?” he asked.

Johnny visibly jumped at Lou’s words, and ceased running abruptly, his breath coming in short pants as he stared wide-eyed at Lou. Nearly tripping, he stepped backwards, away from Lou.

Lou stared at Johnny a moment. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to spook ya.”

Johnny blinked and looked away. “S’okay,” he muttered.

It didn’t take much for Lou to notice the stricken look on Johnny’s face. “Is there…a problem? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Johnny scanned around him, still breathing heavily, then surreptitiously slipped the note into Lou’s hand. Lou inconspicuously opened the note and read it, his brow furrowing. Squinting, he looked up at Johnny, then did a three sixty turn, his mouth formed into a thin grim line. He crumpled the note and handed it back to Johnny. “Let’s run,” he said, and started into a jog.

They jogged in silence, side by side, for several minutes. Johnny found the run calming, but his insides were still tied up in knots.

Breaking the silence, Lou said quietly, “I think I found a way out of this place.”

Stunned, Johnny’s head snapped over in Lou’s direction; Lou saw he had his attention.

“I’m gonna break out of this shit-hole. As soon as I get everything worked out, me and Archie and a couple other guys are leavin’. You care to join us?”

Johnny’s eyes grew wide. His chest felt like it would explode from the sudden adrenalin rush and the beating of his heart. He felt like lunging to grab onto the tiny speck of hope that Lou had just planted inside of him immediately, or it would slip through his fingers like sand. The word swirled around in his brain; escape. He’d never thought it was possible. “How?” was all he managed to say.

Without moving his head, Lou’s eyes shifted from left to right, making sure no one overheard. “I’ve found a way inside one of the ventilation ducts. It leads to the roof. Every Thursday, there’s a garbage truck that parks next to the building on the east side. It’s open on top, like a dump truck, and it’s within jumping distance of the roof. We make it to the roof, jump into the truck, we’re out of here.”

It sounded too simple. A million questions poured through Johnny’s mind. “How are you going to keep the driver of the truck from seeing you?”

“I’ve got a friend on the outside who can take care of the driver.”

“You’re not going to – ”

“Nah, we’re not gonna kill ‘im; just keep him tied up for a while; put ‘im someplace out of the way.”

“But they’ll figure it out, and the police will be on that trash truck within minutes.”

“Not if they don’t know the driver is missing. My friend’s gonna pose as the driver. From there, we transfer to another truck, which takes us to the border. It’s gonna be a piece of cake.”

Johnny’s mind was racing now. The plan sounded possible, but he had to play devil’s advocate. “You mean we’re gonna try to cross the border in a truck? They’ll know we’re missing by then. We’ll get caught.”

“No. A couple miles from the border we get out and walk; get off the road. My friend knows where we can get through into New Mexico. He’ll take us there. The border patrol is inadequate; it’s impossible for them to patrol the whole thing. They’ll be expecting us to enter through Texas; that’s where everyone heads. We’re going west of there, got to avoid the Rio Grande. From there, well, you’re on your own. I’ve got a lady friend waiting for me.”

Johnny felt like he would burst from excitement. The thought of being out of this place was more enticing than anything he’d ever known. “What if they see us on the roof? They’ve got sharpshooters on those towers, you know.”

“It’s tough to see the east side of the compound from those towers. In the morning, the roof’s in shadows, plus there’s all kinds of intake vents and exhaust fans up there to hide behind. Besides, have you ever taken a look at what those lazy-ass tower guards do all day?”

Johnny shook his head. In his naivety about Mexican prison life, Johnny just assumed the guards were constantly scrutinizing the activities of the inmates, ready at any moment to gun them down.

“Half the time they’re up there playin’ cards or pickin’ their butt. Either that, or they’re stoned.”

“Who are the other guys, Leonard and Francisco?”

Lou snorted. “Those morons? Nah, two other guys I know.”

“What happens to Leonard and Francisco if we break out? They’re gonna be questioned…”

“Screw Leonard and Francisco. They never did anything to help me.”

Johnny was silent as they continued running. A minute later, he asked, “When?”

“Next Thursday morning.”

Johnny licked his lips. Taking in the bleakness of his surroundings, he said, “Count me in.”

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

Roy DeSoto had spent most of his free time during the weeks since returning from Mexico on the telephone with Mexican officials and police, the American Embassy in Mexico City, and State of California Senators and Representatives. When he wasn’t doing that, he was checking out attorneys. It was time consuming, and many days Roy felt like he was just spinning his wheels, not going anywhere. Wherever he called, it seemed extremely difficult to get to talk to the correct person; then, when he was finally able to ascertain who he needed to speak to, he was forced to leave messages, left at their mercy waiting for return calls, which many times, never came. He was beginning to realize how much bureaucracy and red tape he was going to have to wade through to get answers. As more time went on by, Roy’s research efforts slowed down. Constantly met with road blocks, he just didn’t know where to turn, and began to think ever getting Johnny out of prison was hopeless.

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

The threatening notes continued. Johnny received one nearly every day, and each was more vulgar and frightening than the last. Sunday was the only day the anonymous note-writer granted him a reprieve, as if the inmate felt that God thought any other day it was acceptable to dole out death threats, but on Sunday, it was too blasphemous. If the situation weren’t so frightening, it would be laughable. Johnny was constantly on edge, nervous, petrified really, every minute of the day, wondering when they would strike. All he could do was hold on to the fact that, in less than a week, he would be out of prison. Hopefully, he would be gone before the next attempt on his life was made.

Again, luck was not on his side. The group of men wanting their revenge made their attempt on Tuesday, as if a week of threats had been necessary to tenderize their prey.

Tuesday afternoon found Johnny in one of the prison halls, applying a new coat of paint to the cracked and faded walls. As he neared a supply closet, the door abruptly opened, and he was quickly pulled into the darkened room, caught off guard, totally unaware that anyone was lurking behind the door. How the men managed to enter this room undiscovered, Johnny didn’t know. All he knew was that the fear inside him now threatened to choke the life from him, with the knowledge that the descriptions of vulgarities in the notes he had received were about to be carried out against him. His paint brush lay discarded on the floor outside the door, the can of paint beside it having tipped over, leaving a large puddle of the thick yellow substance slowly spreading across the tiles.

They were ready for him. Before he could yell, a gag was stuffed into his mouth, preventing it. His arms were quickly restrained, yanked behind him and tied at the wrists with some type of fabric. The dim light bulb in the closet came on, casting an eerie glow across the men’s soulless faces. He was surrounded. Johnny thought his heart would burst from his chest, it was pounding so hard. Cold sweat broke out on his face and body and dripped down his neck and back. He shook. Johnny’s deep brown eyes widened in terror as he saw the glint of a sharp knife in one of the inmate’s hands. The man stood before him, his lips splitting wide revealing a mouthful of crooked yellow teeth, his greasy hair falling into black eyes punctuating a pockmarked face. Johnny could smell the foul breath of the man as he held up the knife, his wide face evidence that he was enjoying the terror he was inflicting. Johnny began to struggle frantically; they held him firmly. The hand with the knife snaked under his tunic, ripping it open. The man slashed at Johnny’s clothes until they fell off, leaving him naked. 

Johnny tried to scream, but all that came out was a muffled moan. Now he was struggling with all the strength he had, and he fought them with his legs and his body, hands behind his back, kicking as fiercely as possible. Johnny could see them smiling; they were enjoying his struggle, like a cat playing with a mouse before it sunk it’s fangs into its prey. The level of noise grew in the closet as the men couldn’t hold back their laughter, and Johnny’s struggles caused things to tip over. Cognizant of the fact that they needed to remain silent, the men suddenly turned Johnny, forcing him to bend over. Completely consumed with panic and dread, Johnny knew what was going to happen next, and fought against them with every ounce of strength he had left. Lashing out with his foot, he managed to knock into one of the weak supports under one of the shelving units in the closet. This caused a collapse of the entire shelf; an avalanche of cleaning supplies then slid off, clattering to the floor. The noise was almost deafening, and threw some of the men off balance, as items cascaded off the shelves and fell on top of them. Johnny managed to break free for a second, and his body slammed against the door after he tripped over the handle of a mop, eliciting another noisy bang. As Johnny’s naked body lay awkwardly against the old weathered door, the men were once again upon him, hovering over him, ready for the kill. Johnny closed his eyes.

An hour later, Johnny lay on his bunk, eyes closed, his left arm draped over them. Despite the fact that he was now in excellent shape, every muscle in his body was sore from the abuse it had suffered that afternoon when he had fought the men.

It had taken him nearly an hour to calm himself to the point where he felt like he wasn’t hyperventilating any more, and his heart rate had slowed to an almost normal level. The images wouldn’t leave him, and all he could think about was the fact that if the prison guards hadn’t opened the door at that exact moment, he would be dead. Not only would he be dead, but he would have been forced to suffer horribly before a brutal ending. It was too close. He had very nearly died this afternoon. There was no question in his mind now that he had to escape. If he died trying, then so be it. It would be better to be shot down while trying to escape than to die at the hands of those monsters.

The men who assaulted Johnny disappeared. Johnny had no way of knowing how long they would be gone this time, or if they would be back. He assumed they would. The guards had whisked them away after discovering them in the supply closet. Had they not made so much noise, they might have gotten away with their horrendous deed. In this case, the lack of maintenance in the old prison that caused the shelf to fall saved Johnny’s life.

Johnny’s stomach contracted again. Since the attempt on his life that afternoon, he’d been plagued by severe stomach cramps. He’d even vomited a couple of times. Johnny suspected he was developing an ulcer. Something bad was going on inside him, that’s for sure, and he knew it was a direct cause of the emotional stress he was under. If the inmates didn’t kill him, and the prison guards didn’t kill him, his own body would probably kill him sooner or later. This kind of stress simply couldn’t go on forever without serious health consequences. After the lights went out that night, sleep never came to Johnny. The images wouldn’t allow it.

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

Three months after Roy’s father-in-law passed away, life began to settle down and return to a more normal routine. Joanne still spent a lot of time at her mother’s house, doing things for her, and her mother also spent quite a bit of time at the DeSoto’s house, to Roy’s chagrin. But at least she had finally moved out.

He had never cared for the woman; she had never thought Roy was good enough for her daughter, but he remained as pleasant and cordial as possible to her since the poor woman was mourning the loss of her husband. The only good thing about his mother-in-law spending more time at his house was that she offered to baby-sit the children quite a bit, allowing Roy and Joanne a little more alone time together. Joanne missed her father deeply, but slowly pulled herself out of her depression, allowing her life to go on.

They rarely talked about Johnny. Ever since Joanne’s father’s death, Roy had kept his worries about his friend locked up in the back of his mind, and there it had stayed. Distantly, he knew he needed to get back to some more investigating in order to help Johnny, but his past frustrations with the situation stalled his actions. Rarely had his phone calls been returned, and when they were, it seemed no one had a magic cure. Roy told himself he would resume his investigation any day, but it just didn’t seem to happen.

The sun had just begun dipping below the horizon when the squad and engine returned from a fire. Exhausted, sweaty, and dirty, the men exited their vehicles, most heading for the kitchen, where they intended to finish the dinner they had started to eat three hours ago.

Too tired to get out of the squad, Roy remained in the driver’s seat. For some reason, he felt particularly down that evening. When Roy didn’t appear, Dwyer came back into the engine bay looking for him. Poking his head in the open window of the passenger side of the squad, he leaned in, then said amicably, “Hey, partner, you can have first dibs on the shower if you want.”

Partner. Partner; the word swirled around in Roy’s brain, eliciting an unexpected rush of emotion. Dwyer was Roy’s partner now, and when Dwyer referred to Roy as “partner”, something about it sounded so wrong that it awakened an intense feeling of loss that Roy hadn’t acknowledged in quite a while.

“Roy?”

Roy glanced over at Dwyer. “Yeah, uh, you go ahead; I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Okay,” Dwyer said, shrugging. He left Roy alone.

Roy stared at the empty seat beside him, and instantly visualized his “real” partner sitting there. He imagined Johnny depressing the mike, saying, ‘squad 51 available’, as he had done thousands of times. He saw his best friend’s smiling face, imagined him joking about something, or perhaps just commiserating with him over a difficult run. Roy recalled all the hundreds of conversations they’d had in this truck, all the runs they’d been on, all the experiences they’d had together, and all at once Roy felt such a wretched sorrow overcome him that he almost broke down. Roy draped his arms over the steering wheel and laid his forehead over top, thinking that he’d failed his friend, wondering if Johnny was even still alive at this point. It might be too late.

Possessed by an overwhelming desire to make things right, Roy made the decision that he was going to go back to Mexico. With his mother-in-law there much of the time, he didn’t worry so much about Joanne being able to take care of the kids, and the two of them had each other to lean on, if only for a short period of time. Joanne would just have to understand that he had to do this. Roy felt an obligation, not only to Johnny, but to himself, to go do some investigating in Mexico on his own. Since everything he had done at home had ended up in a dead end, he decided he would have to go to the source. He should have done it long ago, and damned himself for not having done so.

Roy’s plan was to drive this time to save money. He would first head for the Acapulco airport, and just check one more time to see if anyone had found John’s suitcase. Roy would search every square inch of that airport, and insist on going through every unclaimed bag personally, and if he didn’t find it there, he would go to the Acapulco police and question them. He would visit the American Embassy, and talk to as many Mexican officials as it took until he was satisfied that something would be done. And, most importantly, he would see Johnny again, and make things right between them. He wanted to let Johnny know that he still stood by him, and would until this whole nightmare ended.

Roy sought out his Captain, wanting to inform him of his decision, and also to discuss replacements for himself while he would be gone. He would need at least a week off, maybe more. He would see if he could negotiate up to two weeks off. He had some vacation time coming, and between that and finding some other guys to pick up his shifts, Roy thought he’d be able to swing it. After that, the next step was to talk to Joanne, then make his plans. He would talk to Marco about which route to take, and drive his truck. He couldn’t wait until the shift was over.

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

It was Thursday. The inmates of El Reclusio Norte were finished with breakfast, and those with jobs began their assignments for the day. After an hour of painting, Johnny laid his brush down and slipped away. As usual, the lack of prison guards made it easy to disappear for periods of time without being noticed.

One by one, the escapees entered the men’s bathroom, and when all five were present, a shim was jammed under the door, preventing it from opening. The bathroom was cool, and the dank air hung heavily over the smell of urine and disinfectant.

Johnny’s heart was pumping furiously and his adrenalin was flowing like a river through his body as he watched Lou remove the cover to the ventilation shaft. Lou was standing on the toilet using a makeshift tool he had produced from a confiscated cafeteria spoon. It didn’t take long to remove the cover; Lou had been working on prying it loose during his daily visits to this restroom. They would have to move quickly.

Archie went first, hoisting himself up and into the hole in the wall with a small boost from Lou. The other two men went next, then it was Johnny’s turn. With one look back toward the door, Johnny pulled himself upward and inside the metal shaft with little effort. He then offered a helping hand to Lou, who secured the cover back in place after they were all safely inside.

Archie led the way; the men crawled as quickly as they could while moving stealthily without noise, which wasn’t easy. The old ducts tended to creak and groan with their weight, sending off metallic-sounding echoes when a certain portion of the metal would give slightly. They each remained a safe distance apart from one another so as not to put an inordinate amount of stress on the old metal ducts. It soon became quite dark, and though Johnny was used to working in small, tight places, the excitement of the escape combined with nervous fear and claustrophobia became a bit unnerving. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and ran down his neck into his shirt. The damp, musty smells of the old ductwork invaded his nostrils, and occasionally little drifts of dust broke loose, settling gently down into his hair and on his back.

It seemed like forever, but it was actually only about five minutes before they saw a bit of light coming from their destination: the roof. Archie worked at removing the heavy metal cover that would allow their escape, and appeared to be having a difficult time. It wouldn’t budge. After five more minutes of prying and scraping with Lou’s tool, he finally managed to loosen the rusty latch enough to pop it open. A clammy feeling of dread was building in the pit of Johnny’s stomach as he watched Archie trying to open the cover, then subsided abruptly when he finally broke through. Carefully, Archie slid it to the side, then even more carefully, poked his head out just enough to get a clear view of the roof.

He was in luck. The opening happened to be right behind a large exhaust fan, big enough to hide at least two full-grown men. The edge of the building wasn’t far from there. Boosting himself up, Archie climbed out of his enclosure, then turned to help the next man. In an instant, the two had disappeared over the side of the building, so that by the time Johnny and Lou emerged, they were the last two on the roof. Terrified of being seen, Johnny hastily helped Lou secure the cover of the vent, then, taking a quick look around, crawled unseen to the side of the building. They had been in shadow the whole time, the exhaust fan camouflaged them perfectly.

Johnny peeked over the edge of the building; the trash truck was parked below, waiting for them. It was quite large, and the other four men had already jumped to the truck and were moving out of the way so that Johnny and Lou could jump down. They were busy burying themselves in the mire that filled the truck.

Although they were three stories up, Johnny just pretended to himself that he was doing a training exercise similar to the ones he had done many times in his firefighting career, when he had to jump into a canvas net. He had always been very good about hitting his target from even much higher heights than this, and so was relieved to see that it wouldn’t be a difficult jump. His only worry would be if he happened to hit something hard or sharp inside the truck, which could cause an injury.

Lou motioned for Johnny to go first, and after a quick but meaningful glance back at Lou, his eyes did a quick sweep of the ground below, and seeing all was clear,  Johnny jumped off the edge of the building. Just as he had done in firefighting training, he pedaled his arms slightly to keep his balance while he flew downward; and just as he had experienced in firefighting training, his stomach became queasy and lifted as he fell, as if on a roller coaster. Seconds later, with a soft ‘thoomp’ and a bit of a clank, he landed inside the trash truck. Hastily, he scrambled out of the way so that Lou could jump, and moments later, they felt the impact of the weight of Lou’s body as it landed in the truck bed, sending little bits of soiled paper flying into the air as it was displaced. The driver kept a wary eye out as he dumped the prison trash into the truck bed, and the five inmates proceeded to bury themselves under the muck. It was disgusting, and the odor was incredibly foul, but no one complained as the driver climbed back into the cab and pulled away from the prison.

About five miles away, the real driver of the trash truck lay tied up and gagged in the refuse collection office’s supply closet, undiscovered as of yet.

They were out! They had done it! Johnny felt jubilant, but knew it wasn’t over yet.

The transfer from the trash truck to a new truck took place a short distance from the prison. The driver navigated to a deserted road, where an ordinary and inconspicuous U-haul type moving truck was parked and waiting; another man was positioned behind the driver’s seat. When Lou’s friend spoke the signal, the five convicts climbed from the bed of the trash truck, and quickly jumped into the back of the new truck.

Johnny was immensely glad to be out of the trash truck. The stink from the rotting food and waste was nearly suffocating, and he tried not to think about the disgusting items that he had been in such close contact with. But anything was better than what he had just come from. As a matter of fact, Johnny would take being buried in trash any day in comparison to living in a Mexican prison. As Johnny picked off little bits of slimy substances from his skin, hair, and clothing, the doors of the back of the truck were quickly slammed shut, leaving them in near darkness.

They made their way to the front of the truck, climbing behind pieces of furniture that were stacked inside, in order to hide themselves, just in case the doors ever needed to be opened. The driver of the trash truck had stripped off the refuse collector’s uniform, leaving it buried in with the other trash in the abandoned truck. The old moving truck groaned and lurched into motion, and soon, they were advancing forward, toward the border.

The plan was not to stop, except for fuel, until they reached their destination. Cans of gasoline were stored in the back of the truck along with the men and the furniture, so that the driver wouldn’t need to stop at a filling station to refuel. While dangerous, it was a necessary precaution; they would take no chances of being seen by anyone anywhere along the way.

Johnny was relatively sure no one had seen them climb into the truck, and so for the first time in days, he relaxed a little. Making a small but cramped space for himself up front behind a large desk, he took a seat on the hard dusty floor of the vehicle and settled in for the long ride he knew they would have. Leaning back, Johnny rested his head against the wall of the truck, and closed his eyes. With luck, they would be at the border in about thirty-six hours.

Within an hour of their departure, their absence was discovered, and a massive search was underway. Mexico City’s police and prison officials searched the prison grounds first, and a large amount of time was spent combing the immediate area for clues as to their whereabouts.  The refuse collector wasn’t found until much later that morning; when he was, the prison officials were then able to figure out how the crafty men had escaped. The lucky convicts now had a respectable head start of several hours.

The drive was long and tedious, and the back of the truck became stiflingly hot. The cramped men grew extremely uncomfortable as the hours passed, the heat building to sweltering proportions. At one point, Johnny was sure the temperature in the back of the truck must be at least one hundred and ten degrees, and became worried that if it got much hotter, they might all die before they made it to the border. He tried not to think about that. Even with all the discomfort, Johnny felt it was still nothing compared to what he had experienced at the prison. Fortunately, Lou’s friends had furnished them with containers of drinking water and food, which kept them alive.

They stopped three times for gas during the trip, and during none of those times did the men take a break from their hiding places. It would have been much too risky. They made stops in deserted areas, so as not to attract any attention. The driver took back roads whenever possible, in an effort to avoid contact with any other vehicles. This made their journey bumpy and time consuming, but in the end, safer.

The first day had lasted seemingly forever, and Johnny’s body was sore from being bumped around in the truck. As they traveled, the smell of their tight quarters became quite unpleasant from the accumulation of body odor from the five sweating men, and Johnny strained his face into a small open crack in the corner seeking some fresh air from outside. Things finally started cooling down in the back of the truck when the sun began to set. Curling up in a fetal position in his small space, Johnny closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

Light seeped into the cracks of the truck announcing the morning. Nearly twenty-four hours had passed without a snag. The day crept by even more slowly than the previous one, but due to an overcast sky, it wasn’t quite as hot. Johnny grew even more restless as he realized they would be there in just a few more hours. In a rush, it occurred to him that he had no plan of what he would do once he was over the border. He had no idea what he would see, or what the terrain would be like where they were going. Lou had said he had a woman waiting for him somewhere; what were the other guys going to do? Should he hang out with them? Johnny snorted to himself. It would probably look a little conspicuous with four guys walking alongside each other dressed in prison uniforms. No, he would head out alone, and figure it out as he went. The nature of his people was inbred, and his ability to remain unseen and fend for himself would instinctively emerge, unlike a typical man. One thing was sure, Johnny would have to find a way to make a new life for himself anonymously; he would never take the chance of letting his friends or anyone he knew find out where he was.

The men were startled by a sudden pounding on the roof, when the dark clouds overhead opened up and dumped a late afternoon shower on them as a large front passed through. Johnny was thankful for the rain; it cooled down the interior of the truck considerably. It soon became apparent that it was more than just a passing shower, when it intensified and was joined by loud claps of thunder and lightning.

Water began leaking inside the truck through small cracks and crevices, dampening their sitting spaces. Disconcerting booms of thunder echoed louder and closer as they continued northwest, and with the exception of flashes of lightning, total darkness descended as night fell. Johnny knew that it was almost time.

Johnny felt the truck slow down and stop. The driver backed up the vehicle, then pulled forward, as he turned it around. It stopped again. A moment later, the back doors flew open, and he heard Lou’s friend call them out. Adrenaline surged once more as they emerged, cramped and stiff-backed, and made their way around the furniture. Each of them jumped down and out into the pouring rain. As Johnny’s feet hit the wet ground, he looked around. Horizontal sheets of rain obscured the dark and desolate landscape, but they were alone. Lou’s face broke out into a wide smile that Johnny had never seen on the man in the short time he’d known him. Johnny couldn’t help but smile himself. Freedom was moments away.

Johnny listened as the man hastily gave them directions on where they should go. He pointed away from the road, and told them that the border lay only about two miles in front of them. Wishing them all good luck, he shook each man’s hand, then climbed back into his truck. Johnny looked back over his shoulder at the disappearing tail lights as they all started to run.

The men spread out, but stayed within view of each other as they ran first, then slowed down slightly to a jog. Johnny ran next to Lou, a space of about fifteen feet separating them. The others spread out a little further apart.

The rain continued. Drenched, Johnny estimated they had run nearly two miles. Way in the distance, he thought he saw something, and squinting, thought it was a fence. His heart leapt; they were almost there. Then, an instant later, distant headlights loomed threateningly from behind them. He saw Lou turn, and knew he had seen it too, and terror pulsed through him.

The headlights came alarmingly closer, and Johnny ran for all he was worth. In what seemed like slow motion, Johnny heard someone calling to them through some type of a megaphone. The voice was ordering them to stop. Johnny had never felt so totally panicked in all his life, but he knew in his heart he would not stop. This might be the end, but he wasn’t going to give up. He wasn’t going to let them take him back to that prison; he’d die first.

Then, the shots rang out. Fire tore through the back of his arm, stunning him, and he stumbled and dropped. As Johnny was falling, he saw Lou go down not far from him. Johnny lay in the wet grass, the sharp pain in his upper arm pulsing through him. Lou lay unmoving, and Johnny painfully lifted himself up and crawled through tall grassy mud to his side. He touched his shoulder.

“Lou?” he tried, then saw the back of Lou’s head. Half of it was missing. Johnny felt bile rising up in his stomach, and he managed to hold back his convulsion, as he realized with utter despair that Lou was dead, and that he was caught.

Johnny lifted his eyes and squinted through the pouring rain. The truck that had chased them was heading off in another direction! The police must have thought both Johnny and Lou were dead, because they were now chasing the three other men.

Johnny looked around, wild-eyed, panting, gasping for breath, and made a decision. Huge quantities of adrenalin releasing itself inside him gave him almost superhuman strength, and pulling himself off the ground, he ran.

He ran with the desperation of a man who knew he had to be free or die. This was his last chance. The fence loomed ahead, becoming clearer. He glanced sideways; busy chasing down the other escapees, they hadn’t seemed to notice he was up again. The fence was twenty feet away, ten, five; he was touching it! His fingers grasped the twisted metal aggressively with a clang, and he practically catapulted himself up and over it, barely noticing the razor wire that cut into his flesh. As his feet hit the ground, he heard more shots ring out.

He dared not turn back. Pouring it on with every ounce of strength he had, his legs galloped beneath him like a thoroughbred race horse.

Johnny ran blindly at top speed for almost an hour before his body gave out and he collapsed to the ground. Sitting on his knees and hunched over in a puddle of water supported by his hands, he looked around at his surroundings while he took in huge gulps of air. He was in the middle of nowhere. It was dark, and still raining, puddles consumed the grassy landscape around him. He could see or hear no one except for the drone of the rain coming down. Totally alone, his heart finally quit pounding out of control, and he looked skyward to the heavens, blinking as a mixture of rain and tears cascaded down his face. He was free.

Johnny looked down, and leaning toward the ground, kissed it. He wanted to gather up the dirt in his arms and embrace it. He was in America, his country, and he would never leave it again.

Johnny realized his arm was bleeding heavily, at least it seemed that way. His light-headedness was evidence of that. The rain made it appear as if torrents of blood were spilling from the upper appendage. Twisting to try to examine his injury, he concluded that the bullet that had hit him had passed through the lower portion of his upper arm. He had no idea how serious the injury was, but was at least thankful for the fact that there would be no bullet to remove. Shuddering, he realized that had it gone just a few inches closer, it probably would have pierced his heart. Pulling his prison tunic off, he managed to rip it into strips, and awkwardly fashioned it into a soggy makeshift bandage for his arm. Goosebumps broke out over his body as sharp pellets of rain pummeled him. Upon completing that task, the exhausted paramedic/escapee pulled himself up from the ground and began to run again, this time at a much slower pace.

Lightning streaked ominously above him, flickering eerie shadows across the landscape like an old silent movie, briefly illuminating the rough and scraggly terrain he was passing through. Water splashed from the puddles with each slap of his feet upon the earth.

By dawn, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and as light began clarifying his surroundings, Johnny looked for a place to hide. Sometime around nine o’clock that morning, Johnny found a rocky overgrowth to climb under, and after checking for snakes or any other creatures, crawled up under it. Nestling his body up against the rock, he collapsed into sleep.

The bright sun dipped in the sky just enough to invade Johnny’s pupils behind his closed lids. Groggily, he opened his eyes, momentarily confused as to his surroundings. It hit him almost immediately, and he startled upward, scanning the area. He was alone.

Scooting sideways just enough to position himself back in the shadows, he grimaced at the stiffness in his body. Attempting a stretch, that idea was immediately aborted when intense pain shot down his arm. Craning his neck backward, he lifted his arm gingerly, straining to see the damage done to it by the bullet. Johnny pulled delicately at the makeshift bandage he had wrapped around his arm, and groaned when he examined the torn flesh. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Johnny wished now he hadn’t messed with it, because blood was starting to ooze out of it again. Pulling at the torn and dirty bandage, he hastily covered it again. His hands dropped to his lap, and he realized how sore they were. Looking down, he saw both hands had nasty cuts on them, and a four inch laceration decorated his arm. Hm. Must have been the barbed wire. I didn’t even feel it. Man, I sure feel it now. The thought of Chet’s extensive barbed wire collection came to mind, and Johnny nearly burst out laughing. He would have if the situation had been funny, but it wasn’t.

It occurred to Johnny that he was intensely thirsty, and hungry too. He looked up in the sky just as a cloud pulled in front of the sun, determining that there must be about three or four hours of daylight left. Knowing he should stay put until dark, but driven by hunger, Johnny decided to chance walking. He pulled himself off the ground with difficulty, surprised to discover how weak he was. I must have lost a lot of blood. He swayed on his feet, white spots sparkled before his eyes. Reaching out to steady himself, he took a deep breath and waited until the dizziness passed, then slowly set out again. Using the sun as a gauge, he headed northwest. He had no idea where he would end up, but hoped he’d find food somewhere. Even though it occurred to him that he could easily die out here in the desert without food or water, it didn’t frighten him. The things he’d faced at the prison had been more frightening than anything else he’d ever faced in his life, and the prospect of dying here rather than there was much preferred. At least he would die free.

Johnny walked for nearly three hours; his consciousness narrowed to only putting one foot in front of the other as he stumbled onward. In all the time he had walked, there was no sign of human life anywhere, not a road, nor a house, nothing. So, when Johnny saw what he thought was a cornfield in the distance, he was sure it was a mirage. Humoring himself, he stumbled toward it, certain it would evaporate as soon as he reached it.

He stood in front of a six-foot stalk of corn, afraid to touch it, fearing it would disappear. Tentatively, he reached a hand out; it was real. Momentarily closing his eyes in thankfulness, he then reached forward again, looked around, then ripped an ear of corn from the stalk. He parted the husks of the corn, then sunk his teeth into the juicy vegetable. Even uncooked, juice spurted from the sweet morsels, and he sunk to the ground, hungrily devouring the corn. After four ears, he stopped, his appetite sated.

Feeling a little better, Johnny stood up and craned to see over the cornfield. Way in the distance, he spotted a farmhouse, but it was quite far away. A dog barked from afar, alarming him. He dared not walk anywhere near the farmhouse, for fear of being spotted or smelled by the dog. Johnny decided to stay where he was until nightfall, camouflaged by the tall corn, then he would set out again under night’s cover. He lay down in the field, and drifted off to sleep to the droning sound of crickets, and the gentle wind that rustled the fields.

Darkness came, and Johnny awoke to find himself gazing up into a full moon. The soft amber light from the luminescent globe appeared and disappeared as a soft breeze pushed fluffy clouds across it. It was a warm, wonderful summer night, the kind Johnny loved to camp in and sleep out under the stars. It seemed like a million years ago since he’d been able to enjoy that freedom. The crickets were in full chorus, and Johnny listened to their comforting tune as he set out again. Before leaving, he confiscated two more ears of corn.

Setting a pace that wouldn’t tire him too quickly, he began walking, making a wide pass around the farmhouse. The last thing he needed was for that dog to sense his presence. Soon, the farmhouse had disappeared from sight. Johnny trudged on through the night. The landscape varied from fields of high grasses, to barren hills, to sandy and rocky areas to climb over. Johnny was glad for the flat areas, but there were plenty of hills and rocks to climb. He walked all night, never seeing a road or any sign of civilized life.

Sometime near dawn, he saw the hazy outline of a structure. Cautiously, he approached it, and after careful scrutiny, surmised it was abandoned. It was an old dilapidated farmhouse; its owners obviously left decades ago. Johnny walked the circumference of the shack, and when he was satisfied of its emptiness, went around to enter.

As his hand closed around the weathered old doorknob and pulled, he jumped when the entire door fell from its rusted hinges, making a loud crash as it hit the wood floor. His heart pumping wildly from the noise he had made, Johnny quickly looked around, making sure there was no one in sight to have heard it. He needn’t have worried; there wasn’t a soul around for miles.

Taking a deep breath, Johnny painstakingly lifted the door upright and leaned it up against its frame, then entered the farmhouse. The rotted and insect-eaten plank floor creaked in protest as it felt his weight. An old broken wooden chair lay tipped over in the corner of the room, time and weather long ago destroying what might have been at one time a fine piece of furniture. Yellowed and moth-eaten lace curtains still hung in one window, the glass of which was mostly missing; the panes that remained were all splintered. Old faded wallpaper peeled from the crumbling plaster walls, the lath showing through in places. A broken lantern lay forgotten against one wall. The tiny three-room home was empty, save for those items, and one filthy and chipped claw-footed antique bathtub left behind in a small bathroom. A cracked mirror hung precariously on the wall across from it, its silver plate now cloudy and blackened.

In the back of the structure was evidence of a kitchen, and Johnny went to examine the sink area, having spotted an old pump next to it. Anxious and hopeful, he strode over to it, hoping to coax a few drops of water from it. Johnny tugged on the old handle with every bit of strength he had, but it wouldn’t budge. It was rusted in place. Johnny suspected that even if he could have moved it, it would not have produced any water anyway.

With a sigh, Johnny decided to bed down here for the day. It would keep him hidden and out of the powerful rays of the sun. He went back outside, and ripped up handfuls of tall grass in an effort to make something soft to lie on. A half hour later, with that task accomplished, he sat down on his makeshift bed and proceeded to eat one of the ears of corn he had stolen. Exhaustion had settled into his bones, and he lay down to sleep, having successfully avoided capture for the second day since his escape.

Johnny didn’t wake until evening. Again, he felt sore and stiff. His arm was hurting worse; he could barely lift it without causing agony. Brushing it off, he decided that anything was better than what he had suffered in prison. The thought of infection nagged the back of his mind, but he refused to acknowledge it, hoping his antibodies would kick in and take care of it.

Johnny decided to consume the last ear of corn before he left. He felt incredibly weak, and knew he wouldn’t be able to walk all night without some kind of nourishment. He wished now that he had picked more. He also knew that while the corn provided a tiny bit of liquid, he was going to need to find some water soon if he wanted to survive. The effects of dehydration were starting to weigh on him.

After eating the corn, Johnny pitched it out into the fields as far as he could throw it, and scattered the grass he had picked for his bed. He ran a hand across his tired face, feeling the stubble of several days of beard. His mouth was dry and he ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to work up some spit into his mouth. Man, I’d give almost as much for a toothbrush and toothpaste right now as I would for a glass of water.

The sun was setting. Johnny had just started to walk away from the old farmhouse, when he stopped abruptly in his tracks. Furrowing his brow, he slowly turned. Is that what I think it is? His eyes widened as he realized what he had overlooked earlier in the day. Man! I must have either been blind or just too tired. There, in front of him, stood an old apple tree. It was on its last legs, and was splintered with age, but it had a few pathetic-looking apples on it. Johnny ran to the tree, then clawed at the few apples that had dropped to the ground. Picking up one of the bruised and shriveled fruits, he found a good spot and bit into it, its miniscule juices feeling like heaven in his mouth. When he had finished, Johnny pitched the apple core as far as he could, then began gathering more, climbing up the tree a short ways to get the choicer pieces. He ate two more, then formed an ingenious idea. Running back into the house, he removed the old lace curtains from the window, and wrapped up as many apples in it as he could, tying it at the top. Finally, the sun set unceremoniously behind some dark gray clouds, and toting his bag of apples, he set off on his journey again.

Johnny walked all night, taking ten minute breaks about every hour to eat an apple or just rest. It got to the point where Johnny decided not to take breaks, because when he did, he had so much trouble getting up again he was afraid if he sat down one more time, he wouldn’t be able to continue. The terrain had become increasingly more rugged, and it sapped his strength enormously, so that by the wee hours of the morning, he was starting to stumble, dragging his feet.

The apples had helped somewhat, but somewhere in the middle of the night, he quit eating them; his stomach had started to cramp. With the onset of a headache and some dizziness, Johnny knew he still needed water badly if he were to make it.

Johnny thought he was hallucinating when he saw the old clapboard house just before dawn. Nearing collapse, Johnny eyed the pre-depression era home and a shabby-looking carriage house some thirty feet from it. The dark outline of an old pickup truck rested just outside the carriage house, so Johnny surmised that someone must be home.

The first rays of dawn were peeking over the horizon, and in desperation, Johnny stumbled toward the carriage house. If he didn’t lie down soon, he would collapse. I’ll just check in here for a minute, then after I rest, I’ll move on, he reasoned.

The carriage house was more like a combination barn and garage, with bales of old decaying hay stacked at the far end and scattered over the dirt floor. Useless items were everywhere, most of it rusted, and boxes sat piled on top of a precariously unsteady workbench, its handmade legs rotting. Johnny picked his way through the mounds of forgotten tools and junk to the back corner and sank down onto a pile of hay. Falling backward, he reclined into a nearly horizontal position. His eyes slid shut and he fell asleep in seconds.

The sound of a loud click startled Johnny awake. He jerked upward to find himself face to face with the barrel of a gun. Shaking with panic, his eyes followed the barrel backwards to the person holding the gun. A late-forties or early fifties-something woman’s fingers were clenched tightly to the handle of the gun, her cold, watery eyes squinted in fearless determination. She was a slender woman; her plain face, now weathered with the harshness of life, was once very beautiful. Her half gray, half light brown hair was pulled back haphazardly into a bun, wisps of it falling around her high cheekbones.

Terrified at being found, his emotions showed on his face, and in a cracked voice Johnny uttered, “Please,” holding up his hand in a defensive gesture.

When the woman said nothing, Johnny added, “I didn’t mean any harm. I just…needed a place to rest. I wasn’t gonna steal anything, honest.” His deep brown eyes looked up at her beseechingly.

The woman took in the bedraggled looking man sprawled across the hay. He was dirty, unshaven; his hair a tangled mess, and shirtless. A small pile of rotten apples lay atop an old piece of fabric next to him. It was obvious he was injured; she noted the soiled and torn bandage he had tied around his arm. Her brow furrowing, she asked, “You homeless?”

Johnny considered her question. “You could say that…yes.”

Her eyes narrowed at his. His speech was too refined for a bum. “I don’t believe you. That looks like a prison uniform,” she gestured with her head to his pants.

Johnny looked down at himself, mortified at the fact that he was still wearing prison garb. Swallowing, he looked up at her. “It is,” he said quietly. “I won’t lie to you. But I’m no criminal,” he added defiantly.

The woman smiled slightly. “Um hm,” she said skeptically.

“I’m not!” Johnny’s head pounded when he said those words, and he squinted in pain. Taking a deep breath he said, “I’m telling you the truth.”
            “Go on. What’s your sad story?” she asked.

“I’m a fireman with Los Angeles County,” he started, seeing no point in telling her he was also a paramedic. Johnny figured this woman in this remote part of the country had never heard of paramedics. “Back in January, I decided to take a vacation. I flew to Acapulco to relax, you know, get away from work and all.” Johnny’s stare dropped to somewhere off in the distance as he replayed his nightmare to the woman. “I picked up the wrong suitcase at the airport. It was full of drugs. Dogs at the airport sniffed it out, and I got arrested.” Johnny shook his head, as if he himself couldn’t believe his own story. “I told ‘em it wasn’t my bag, that they had the wrong guy, but they wouldn’t listen. They took me to a jail in Mexico City. I….escaped from there about three days ago.” Johnny looked back up at her. “That’s the truth. I’m not a drug dealer, and I’m not a criminal.” Once more, he looked back down into his lap. Almost inaudibly, he muttered, “I just couldn’t stand it any longer.”

When Johnny finally looked back up at the woman, her expression had softened, and she had lowered the gun slightly, now only holding it in one hand.

Now, with his dry parched throat begging him for relief, Johnny took a chance and asked, “Do you think….I could have a glass of water? Then I’ll leave, and won’t bother you again.”

Johnny felt hopeful when he saw her lower the gun and take in a deep breath. Blowing it out, she said, “Stay here. I’ll be right back,” and with that, she disappeared through the large open doorway. Johnny watched as she strode toward her house.

A minute or two later she returned with a tall glass and a pitcher of water. With the gun safely tucked into the waistband of her blue jeans, she set the pitcher and glass down a few feet in front of Johnny, and took a step backward.

Johnny looked up at her with grateful eyes, then slowly and carefully reached for the pitcher. His hands trembling, he poured the cool water into the glass and gulped thirstily. So desperate for water was he that it dripped down the sides of his face as he drank. When he had consumed all he could, he whispered, “Thank you.” Unable to read her expression, he very hesitantly got to his wobbly knees and said, “I’ll…be going now.”

The woman’s eyes flashed with uncertainty, but Johnny saw another emotion cross her face – almost a look of…panic, combined with desperation. Her head twisted quickly, looking outside at the blazing sun that was making its way upward. Turning to her intruder, she said, “No. You don’t want to go out into that hot sun. You can stay a while…and rest…here.”

Johnny didn’t have the strength to argue with her. He could only hope that he could trust her enough not to call the police, but he had to ask. “You won’t…call the police…will you?”

A trace of a smile appeared in the left corner of her mouth. “No. I won’t call the police. Just don’t steal anything,” she said sternly.

“I told you I’m not a criminal,” Johnny said defensively.

The smile that played at the corner of her mouth increased ever so minutely, and she turned and left.

Johnny allowed a small smile of victory for himself. For a brief moment, a shadow the old John Gage materialized, and he thought, I’ve still got it. Even with the way I must look, I’ve still got it.

With his thirst finally satisfied, Johnny decided to lay back down. He felt weak and exhausted, and the ache in his arm had settled in deep. He collapsed back down onto the hay, and lay in a twilight mode for quite awhile before drifting off once more. When Johnny awoke, the sun was high in the sky; after a look out the window, Johnny estimated it to be mid-afternoon. Slowly, Johnny made his way to the open carriage house door and looked out. Save for a slight breeze scattering around bits of dust, it was quiet. The woman’s old truck was gone, and John decided she must have gone somewhere. Hopefully, it was not to the police. Since he was in no condition to travel any further in the hot sun, he would have to take the chance that she would keep her word.

Johnny stepped out into the hot sun for a look around. After a perfunctory examination of her house, he decided it was much too hot and he felt too light-headed to be out walking around in the heat. At least the carriage house was fairly cool; all the heat had risen to the peak of the high ceiling.

Johnny glanced around at the scattered mess. One could hardly walk through the area without tripping on something. A mixture of boredom and gratitude prompted him to do the woman a favor, and tidy up her garage, or barn, or whatever it was. It was the least he could do after her graciousness toward him, and would help pass the time.

Surprised to discover she had refilled his water pitcher while he had slept, he gratefully poured himself another glass before he started. Then, he got to work, hoping the work would keep his mind off his tired body and aching arm. The first thing Johnny tackled was the workbench. He took his time, first fixing the legs, temporarily securing them until a more permanent repair could be made. He cleaned it off and organized it, putting all the tools in logical places. He found an old tool chest, and organized that as well. An hour went by without the woman’s return, and Johnny started in on the items strewn across the ground. He put all the broken and useless items in a pile in order to dispose of them later, then set about stacking the boxes of miscellaneous items out of the way. He found an old broken pencil and used that to label each box. Hanging items were hung up on hooks placed long ago, but now empty. Other items were either boxed or stacked or rearranged in a place where they would be easily accessible.

Two more hours had gone by. Johnny was now sweating and overheated; as a matter of fact, he decided that he really wasn’t feeling too well. His arm ached miserably; after all the movement and lifting he had done that afternoon, now he could barely move it. His stomach growled insistently; it had been quite some time since he’d had anything to eat. Deciding to stop and rest, he finished the pitcher of water, then sat down to rest, leaning his head against one of the bales of hay he had stacked.

A short time later, he heard the rattling of a truck as it grew nearer, and assumed the woman was back. Just to be certain it was her, he peeked out the window. He relaxed a bit when he saw her behind the wheel of her old vehicle.

The truck door creaked and slammed, and she tentatively made her way toward the carriage house to see if he was still there. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened as she took in the newly arranged garage with its neatly stacked items. She looked from the interior of the carriage house to Johnny, flabbergasted. “You do all this?” she gestured with her hand.

Johnny wasn’t sure if she was pleased or not, so he joked, trying to sound totally serious, “No, I was asleep, and when I woke up, it looked like this,” he extended his arm out with his open palm up. “It’s the damnedest thing; isn’t it?” His most charming crooked grin appeared on his face.

She looked at him skeptically, trying hard to hold back the smile that threatened to crack open on her stern face. Instead, she walked into the garage and began looking around, shaking her head. She placed her hands on her hips. “I’ll be damned,” she said softly. Her eyes went to the pile of discarded junk.

“Ah, all that stuff was broken; I thought you ought to get it out of the way before you tripped on it and got hurt. I tried to fix that old lamp, but it needs a new socket and the wires inside are frayed; I think it’s past the point of repairing.”

The woman continued to stare incredulously, alternating between Johnny and the garage she barely recognized. She finally managed to close her mouth, and, with a nod toward Johnny said, “I thank you. That’s been needin’ to be done for a long time. I jus’ haven’t been able to bring m’self to do it, after Kenny died, well….” Her voice trailed off.

“Kenny?” Johnny said softly. “Was that your husband?”

“No. Kenny was m’son.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Johnny said genuinely.

“Well, I got groceries to bring in,” she turned away from him.

“Would you like some help?” Johnny saw several bags in the back of her truck.

Johnny saw her chew her lower lip as she considered his offer. He didn’t blame her if she didn’t trust him. Softly, he said, “I didn’t lie to you earlier. I’m not a criminal. I don’t mean you any harm; I just want to pay you back for lettin’ me stay in your barn and for the water. If you want, I’ll…I’ll leave after I help you with the groceries.” He truly hoped she wouldn’t ask him to leave now, for he didn’t think he’d have the strength to survive very long on his own.

Staring into those deep brown puppy-dog eyes made her melt. She knew she probably shouldn’t trust this stranger, but something about him convinced her he was being honest. The fact that she was so terribly lonely much of the time tipped the scales in Johnny’s favor. It wasn’t often that she had a visitor, other than her doctor friend from time to time, but most days any conversations she had were held only with herself.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scolded, and walked toward her truck. She reached inside the cab and pulled one of the bags out. Johnny stayed rooted to his spot, unsure of what to do. “Well, c’mon; I haven’t got all day,” she said.

Johnny nodded, and hastily made his way to the truck. His gasp of pain as he reached into the back was not lost on Willa, although she didn’t acknowledge it. The two of them walked toward the house, and fishing her key out of her pocket, she unlocked the door. The woman motioned Johnny inside the small old house and to the back where the kitchen was, following behind him. Together, they set the bags on the old white porcelain kitchen table, its chrome legs now tarnished with age. She scooted one of the turquoise vinyl chairs across the worn speckled linoleum floor and out of the way. Willa began unpacking the groceries, and Johnny followed suit, emptying the bags wordlessly.

The sun streamed in through the west-facing windows of the kitchen, and Willa got a good look at Johnny as he stood there waiting for her next orders. She scrutinized at him a moment, then wrinkling up her nose said, “You need a bath.”

Embarrassed, Johnny looked down. “Ah yeah, I suppose I do. Uh, I’ll go back out to the barn.”

He turned to leave, but she said, “The bathroom’s down there,” she pointed down a short hallway. “I ain’t got no shower, so you’ll have to use the tub.”

Stunned, Johnny stared at her. “You mean…you…I can use your tub to take a bath?”

“That’s what they’re generally used for, ain’t they?”

Johnny’s trademark crooked grin sprouted, and a smile grew on his face that it hadn’t felt in months. “Thanks, uh,” his brow crinkled and he asked, “what’s your name, anyway?”

“Willa. Willa Whips,” she answered.

“Thank you, Willa; and my name’s John.” His smile fell away, and for a moment he was afraid to give her his full name. “Uh, you can call me Johnny. All my friends do,” he said warmly. That statement hit him hard as he realized he didn’t have any friends any more. He felt a lump grow in his throat as he remembered the last time he had seen Roy and how he’d treated him. An ache filled him when he thought to himself that his old life was over, gone forever; he would probably never see any of those people again. This was his life now.

Shaking those depressing thoughts off, he set his jaw determinedly, and tried to be thankful for this woman who seemed to be befriending him. Heading toward the bathroom, he began to look forward to getting clean, a feeling he hadn’t had in a very long time.

An old corner cast-iron tub was situated against the wall, the baby-blue tiles above it faded and nearly groutless. Across from the tub was a small two-faucet sink, with an etched mirrored medicine cabinet above it.  It sat between two bare light bulb sconces, the glass from which had broken decades ago. The one-inch white tiled floor was badly chipped, but clean. Johnny reached for the old-fashioned tub handles, turned on the water, and pushed the rubber stopper into the drain. After that, he peeled off his clothes, used the toilet, and then examined himself in the mirror. Ugh! Man, I look scary.  He ran his hand over his facial stubble, taking in the sunken look of his eyes, the filth covering his face and unruly hair, and the general overall look of uncleanliness about him. If I were her, I wouldn’t have invited me in.

Stretching his hand over to reach the other arm, he began removing the grimy bandage he had tied over the gunshot wound he’d suffered a couple of days ago. Just moving his arm sent pain shooting all the way up and down the appendage, and he grimaced as he got a look at his injury.

The skin where the bullet had pierced was red and inflamed, and was beginning to ooze; Johnny knew it was infected. Groaning inwardly, he knew it would do no good to worry; he just hoped the infection would eventually heal on its own, or he could get very sick. It would have to; there was no way he would take a chance by seeing a doctor. Most doctors were required to report gunshot wounds, and Johnny wasn’t about to risk the possibility that he would be found out and sent back to prison. He’d rather die of infection before that happened.

The tub was full; Johnny turned off the water, then stepped in, slowly lowering himself down. It felt heavenly, until his injured arm touched the water, and he nearly screamed from the pain. Yanking his arm out, he looked at it again, then slowly, gingerly lowered it into the water, knowing it should be cleaned. By the time he was able to immerse it fully, he was panting, his watering eyes squeezed tightly shut. Finally, it eased up a bit, and Johnny relaxed against the back of the tub, his eyes closed.

A minute later, there was a quick knock at the door, and Willa barged in, her hands full of items. Johnny jerked upward, the water sloshing about, frantically trying to cover himself; he had a stunned open-mouthed look on his face.

Willa looked him right in the eyes and said, “Don’t worry. It’s not like I never seen a naked man before.” She dropped the lid of the toilet seat and plopped some items down on top of it. “I forgot your towel. And here,” she turned and handed him a razor and shaving cream, “I thought you might use these.”

Red-faced, Johnny took the items from her, and swallowed embarrassingly. He thought he saw her gaze drop from his eyes ever so slightly, but said nothing except, “Thanks.”

“There’s shampoo and soap on the shelf up there,” she nodded to a small shelf on the wall, then turned and left as quickly as she’d entered. Johnny stared after her, eyeing the doorknob, deciding to lock it next time, if there was a next time.

His eyes lingered at the door a moment longer to make sure she was gone, then Johnny reached up and grabbed the shampoo and soap. There was a washcloth on top of the towel she had brought, and he snatched that up as well. He noticed thankfully that she had lain a toothbrush and toothpaste atop the towel as well. Sinking down into the water, Johnny immersed his entire head, then surfaced, his hair thoroughly drenched. He shampooed his hair, then scrubbed his entire body. It was very slow going since he found he could only use one hand; his arm hurt so badly he could barely lift it.

He was tempted to empty the tub and fill it again since the water was so dirty when he had finished, but he decided not to. After a long, heavenly soak, he pulled himself out, dried off, and wrapped the towel around his waist. Next, he combed his hair and applied shaving cream to his face. He was startled at another knock, but was glad that this time the towel covered him as Willa once more barged into the bathroom, this time carrying clothes.

“I didn’t think you’d wanna put those back on,” she said, gesturing to the filthy prison pants. “I brought you these; they were my son’s. You’re about his size; I reckon they’ll fit all right.” She had a pair of blue jeans, and a plain t-shirt in her hands. She almost looked disappointed that Johnny had the towel around him. Again, Johnny merely said a surprised, “Thanks,” and took the items from her hands. Then she was gone again.

When Johnny had finished shaving, he pulled on the jeans she had brought, and sat down bare-chested on the toilet lid. Once more, he twisted to see his arm. Other than the fact that it was cleaner, nothing had changed. It hurt as bad as it looked. Johnny didn’t know what to do; he needed to bandage it up, but had nothing clean. Quietly, he opened the medicine cabinet, where he found only basic first aid, a box of Band-aids, and an old bottle of methiolate. Grimacing, he thought it was better than nothing.

He opened the bottle of methiolate, and squeezed a small portion of the fuchsia -colored liquid experimentally over the torn skin on his upper arm. Gasping, he nearly passed out from the excruciating pain the medication caused, and grabbed his arm with his other hand, rocking back and forth, trying not to cry out. When he had recovered from that, he tried again, knowing he had to get the infection stopped. It felt like someone had poured boiling acid on his arm, and again, he rocked in pain, his eyes watering. Breathless, he decided he could take no more, and after a good five minutes, screwed the lid back on the bottle and gave up.

He decided to take the strip of fabric he had torn from his prison uniform and wash it out, then reuse it to make a new bandage. He scrubbed at it and rinsed it with scalding water until he felt relatively sure that it was clean. Then, he twisted it in his hands to get the water out, and wrapped it around the wound once more.

A quick one-handed towel drying to his hair completed his routine, and he painstakingly pulled the t-shirt over his head and took one more look in the mirror.

He sighed. Better; much better. At least I look like a human being now. I almost feel like one too. Almost. And with that, he exited the bathroom in search of Willa.

A wonderful aroma hit his nose as he opened the bathroom door, and almost like Pavlov’s dog, he started to salivate. Wandering into the kitchen, Johnny saw Willa stirring something on the stove. She looked up at him, and did a double-take that she tried not to show. The good-looking man standing before her looked nothing like the disheveled character she had found in her carriage house that morning. His handsome face was clean and smooth, his shaggy dark hair now gleaming and combed neatly. The jeans he wore were slightly large around the waist; her son had attained a bit of a belly, but they still fit him snugly in the hips, and were the right length. His toned and muscular biceps filled out the t-shirt nicely, and when his clean white teeth broke into a shy crooked grin, she felt her breath catch. Oh, if only I were about twenty years younger, she thought.

“Thanks for lettin’ me use your bathroom,” Johnny said. Now that he was done, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Should he stay and talk to her or go back out to the barn? It seemed that she wanted him to stay; why else would she have gone out and bought those items for him?

“Well, you sure look a might better,” she answered.

“I feel a lot better too." Except for my arm, which feels like it’s on a skewer being roasted over a spit. His eyes were tired. “Sure smells good in here. What’cha makin’?”

“Irish stew.”

Johnny’s face lit up. “Really? Irish stew, huh? I work with…uh, I used to work with a guy who made it all the time.” The thought of Chester B. made Johnny feel sad; he never thought he’d be longing to see that curly-haired pest who constantly played tricks on him. He wondered how the Phantom was; maybe he was planting a water bomb right at this very moment. I wonder if Chet misses me; I guess Dwyer’s his new pigeon now.

“When you was a…fireman?” Willa dished up two bowls of stew, placed them on the table, then proceeded to pour two glasses of milk.

“Yeah,” Johnny said sadly, looking down.

Willa sat down and put her napkin in her lap. Johnny stood there awkwardly. “Well, you gonna stand there all night, or are you gonna eat this stew I went to the trouble to make for ya?”

Johnny’s jaw dropped. “You…you made that for me?”

“There ain’t nobody else around here. Now sit down ‘fore it gets cold.”

Dumbfounded, Johnny fumbled with the chair as he pulled it out and sat down. He picked up his spoon, and just as he was about to shovel the first bite into his mouth, Willa said, “Wait a minute; we gotta thank the Lord first.”

“Oh,” Johnny said, embarrassed, “sorry,” and he set his spoon down and bowed his head, folding his hands together as Willa said grace. Johnny fixed his gaze upon his two now crooked fingers, and thought how truly thankful he was right now to be here with this kind woman.

“Okay,” she said, picking up her spoon. Johnny’s head was still bowed, lost in thought. “Well,” she raised her voice, “ain’t you gonna eat?”

Startled, Johnny jumped slightly, “Oh, yeah!” With that, he began shoveling the stew voraciously into his mouth, suddenly realizing he was starving.

Johnny reached for a cracker, and the intensity of the pain that he felt in his arm upon doing so caused him to drop his spoon and gasp. His eyes watered as he gingerly moved his bad arm back into place. Johnny shakily reached for the cracker with the other hand, then dropped it into his stew, then slowly picked up spoon up again. Willa lowered her spoon, staring at him.

A moment later, she pushed out her chair with a scrape, and went to his side. Before he knew what was happening, she was pulling the makeshift bandage off his arm. Just having her touch it caused severe pain, and he gasped again, pulling away from her.

“Let me see it,” she ordered.

“It’s all right,” he panted. He knew it looked bad, and he joked off the cuff, “Just a flesh wound,” and he chuckled feebly. “That’s what they always say…on Bonanza, isn’t it?”

“This ain’t nothin’ to joke about,” Willa said sternly. “What happened to your arm?”

Johnny looked down, sighing, “I got shot, tryin’ to escape. We were all at the border; we were almost there, then the border patrol saw us, and started shooting. I was lucky; they only got me in the arm.”

“You was with other guys?”

“Yeah, me and four others.”

“They make it?”

Johnny swallowed and shook his head. “I…I don’t know…I don’t think so. I got away ‘cause I think they thought I was dead.”

Willa nodded, remaining quiet. Finally, she said, “You need a doctor.”

Johnny’s head snapped up and he said a little more forcefully than he intended, “No!” Seeing her surprise, he said, “No. No doctors. I…I can’t take the chance of being caught. I won’t go back there, Willa.”

She looked at him meaningfully, then said softly, “I understand. Don’t blame ya.” Willa understood only too well. With that, they both quietly finished their stew.

After dinner, as Johnny helped her with the dishes, Johnny mentioned to Willa that while in the bathroom, he had noticed that her toilet was running. He asked her if she would like him to fix it, explaining how much water she was losing by letting it run.

Surprised, she turned to him. “You can fix that? I thought I’d have to get a plumber, and I ain’t got the money for that.”

“Sure,” Johnny said casually. “It’s easy; just a couple of adjustments.” He set his towel down. “I’ll go take care of it for you.” Throwing a confident smile at her, he walked out of the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later, the toilet was repaired.

Willa couldn’t help but think to herself how nice it was to have a man around again, especially one who wouldn’t beat her; not to mention the fact that it was awful nice to have someone to talk to. She had grown so lonely since Kenny had gone.

Later that evening, the two of them sat on the swing of Willa’s front porch, and began to get to know each other. Johnny learned that both Willa’s husband and her son were dead, but she offered no details, and steered away from the subject by changing it. He did find out that what little money she had was a combination of a small social security check combined with money she made as a seamstress doing repairs and alterations for the local townspeople. She also made quilts, which proved to be quite profitable when she was able to sell one.

Willa peppered Johnny with questions about his job, which started a slew of stories about rescues and fires he had fought. She was fascinated by his paramedic career; she had never heard of paramedics. Johnny became animated as he talked, describing some of the more harrowing situations he had been in; it was clear he was a man who had loved his job. There was little doubt in Willa’s mind he was telling the truth by the end of that conversation; she didn’t think there was any way a man could have made up all the things he told her.

After a while, Johnny seemed to run out of steam, and became quiet. Willa didn’t know if it was because he was tired, or he just didn’t want to talk any more, but a somber fog seemed to have descended over him, and now he just seemed to be staring into space, unfocused. Willa had no way of seeing the memories that danced in front of his eyes at that moment, or the brokenness of his heart as he remembered. It was all gone now, all gone. The best part of his life was over; the worst had just happened, and the only road that lay ahead was a dead end.

The porch swing had stopped, and when Willa looked back over at Johnny, his eyes were closed, his head beginning to loll backwards. She looked down at his arm that she had rebandaged after dinner with fresh gauze, and silently shook her head.

She pulled herself out of her seat; it was late and she was ready for bed. Johnny’s eyes slid open with the movement, and all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep. “I guess it’s pretty late, huh?” he mumbled.

“Yep.” It had grown dark while they talked. Willa looked around uncertainly, unable to decide if she should invite him to sleep inside or not.

Johnny sensed her hesitation and said, “Willa? Would you mind if I…slept in your barn again tonight?”

She looked down, feeling guilty, knowing a bed would do him good. She had just started to suggest that he sleep inside, when he said, “I’ll be fine out there. The hay’s pretty comfortable,” he lied.

“Well, at least let me get ya a blanket to lay on,” and she retreated inside the house.

Johnny waited for her, swaying slightly, feeling almost like he could barely stand for another minute. Finally, she returned with a blanket and a pillow.

Gratefully, Johnny took the items from her with a ‘thank you’, then turned and trudged toward the barn. Once inside, he spread some hay around for himself, threw the blanket down on top of it, dropped the pillow, and sank to his bed. He was asleep almost the minute his head hit the pillow.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Willa awoke to a distant screaming. Sitting up in bed, she heard the cries of a man in the midst of a horrible nightmare as they filtered through the flowered curtains hanging from her open bedroom window. She sat frozen, her eyes closed, hoping it would stop, but they went on for quite some time, occasionally dying to a whimper, only to rise again to anguished yells.

She finally made the decision to climb out of bed, and putting on her slippers and robe, felt compelled to move faster as she made her way out of the front door. By the time she reached the barn, she was running, suddenly possessed with compassion for this man.

She found him writhing on the ground, covered with sweat and hay, crying tears through gasps of desperate words begging the demons who were hurting him to stop. 

Reaching out, she touched his shoulder gently, and kneeled by his side. “Wake up,” she commanded, “wake up; you’re dreaming.”

His cries continued, then more forcefully, she shook him, saying loudly, “John? Johnny! Wake up!”

Suddenly eyes filled with terror and tears popped open, and Johnny saw Willa’s shadow hovering over him. “NO!” he screamed, “Get your hands off me! Get away from me!” He scrambled backward against the wall, trying to move away from her.

In a very gentle but stern voice she said, “Johnny, listen to me. It’s okay. It’s me, Willa; remember?” She could tell she was getting through to him as he stared at her, panting, his head slowly shaking. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Now, wake up; you’re just havin’ a bad dream, honey.”

Johnny’s shoulders slumped as awareness slowly returned, and he choked out, “Willa?”

“That’s right. You’re just havin’ a dream.” She moved close to him now, and when she sensed he needed it, stretched out her arms to him, wrapping them around him.

The relief that his nightmare wasn’t real, and the realization that he was really here in this barn with her and not in prison overwhelmed Johnny, and he sank forward into her arms, unable to contain his emotions. The dream had been the worst he’d ever had, a realistic combination of the rape, the beatings, and James’s death, and his shoulders shook as she held him.

Willa’s hand gently rubbed his back, as she had done with her own son, and she crooned very softly, “I know. I know. I know what they did to you. They’re not gonna hurt you no more. I promise. Willa will see to that; don’t you worry.” Johnny was unable to see the tears that were also spilling down her cheeks.

Johnny opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling in the barn. The daylight was filtering through the cracks, and he began to recall what had happened that night. Oh, man, he groaned inwardly as he rubbed his hand over his tired eyes.

He sat up, looking around. Willa was gone. Was she really in here last night, or did I dream that? He thought a moment. Yeah, she was really here. Oh man. He looked down at himself; little bits of straw were stuck to him and he began to pick them off. He was hot; he took the t-shirt and lifted it to wipe the sweat off his face. Pain shot through his arm. Before he could give that another thought, he looked up; Willa had entered carrying a tray.

Pretending that everything was normal and that nothing unusual had happened during the night, she said, “Brought you some breakfast; thought you might be hungry.”

Embarrassed by his nightmare, and more so by his earlier behavior in the barn, Johnny was thankful that Willa made no mention of the incident. Now she stood before him as if nothing had happened with a steaming tray of food. Johnny couldn’t help but smile at her. She was really something. “I didn’t know this place offered room service,” he joked. That coaxed a smile out of her, the first real one he’d seen since he arrived.

She set the tray down. “Eat,” she ordered. The tray held a plate with eggs, bacon, toast, a glass of milk, and coffee.

Johnny looked up at her gratefully. “Thanks, Willa. Oh, coffee! Man, I haven’t had a cup of coffee in months!” He was a little taken aback when he picked up the cup and his hand shook so badly he had trouble drinking it without spilling it. Very slowly, Johnny brought the steaming cup up to his face, and inhaled. He closed his eyes and took a sip of the heavenly brew, a daily staple in his past life he had dearly missed.

Willa noticed the shaking, and the sheen of sweat covering his face. She folded her arms in front of her. “That arm needs doctoring,” she said sternly.

He looked up at her just as sternly. “No doctors,” he said matter-of-factly.

“If you’re really a…a…para…para-whatever - ”

“Paramedic,” Johnny corrected.

“Whatever; then you should know that arm there is infected. ‘Fore long, you’re gonna get sick if you let that go. Now, I got a friend who’s a doc; his name is - ”

“Willa, I told you, NO doctors. I can’t take that chance.”

“But he wouldn’t – ”

“NO!”

“Stubborn man,” she grumbled. “Fine. You do what you want. I got to go into town.” She turned and walked out of the barn, then Johnny heard the door to her truck groan open and creak shut. Carefully, he picked up his fork to eat the eggs and listened while she tried unsuccessfully to start the engine. After a few minutes of hearing the engine cough and try to turn over, he laid the fork down and wandered outside.

Willa was inside the truck, pounding her hand on the steering wheel. “Dern truck!” She forcefully turned the key in the ignition once more to no avail. “Oh, well, damn it!” she cursed.

Johnny tried to suppress a grin as she continued trying to start the truck, getting progressively angrier and angrier. She finally looked up and saw him smirking at her.

“Would you like some help?” Johnny offered.

Stubbornly, she refused, saying she was sure she could get it started. He watched until she finally gave up. Resignedly, she opened the door and climbed out. “You know anything about trucks?”

“I’d be willing to give it a shot. My dad used to have one just like this, only a few years older,” he said of the old Ford pickup.

Willa nodded, and Johnny pulled the hood open, one-handed. He spent the next two hours bent over the inner workings of the truck, trying to adjust it enough to get it started. He doubted there were any towing services around. By the time he was finished, he was drenched in sweat, but for some reason, he was shivering. Johnny realized his breathing was labored and that his heart was pounding way too fast. He felt dizzy and achy, almost as if he had the flu.

I’ll sit down in a minute. “Try it now,” he told her.

Willa sat back down in the truck and reached for the ignition. The engine sputtered to life, and a smile spread across her face. She let out a small whoop and called, “Well, I must say you’re a pretty handy fellow to have around.”

Johnny didn’t answer, he didn’t think he could. Ready to collapse, he reached up and pulled the hood down. After that, his knees gave out, and he sank to the ground, his hand sliding down the grill and latching onto the front bumper of the truck for support. Alarmed at seeing him sink below her line of vision, Willa shut off the truck and ran around. She found Johnny slumped on the ground, his one hand weakly clutching the large rusty chrome bumper. Reaching out, she felt his sweaty forehead only to discover he was hot with fever. Groaning, she scolded, “I knew you was gonna get sick.”

Johnny looked upward at her out of the corner of his eye, his breath coming in short gasps. She was right; he knew now that the infection had probably spread into his blood. Without help, it would only be a matter of time. “You women,” he breathed, “think you know everything.”

“Hmmfph,” she muttered. Willa looked around, not quite sure of what to do next. She knew she wasn’t strong enough to lift a full-grown man. “C’mon; we’ve got to get you into the house and out of this sun.”

She started to put her hands under his arms and began to pull upwards, but stopped abruptly at the “Aaaughhh!” that came out of Johnny’s mouth.

Letting go immediately, she tried another approach. Taking his good arm, she knelt beside him and draped it over her shoulder. “Look at me,” she ordered.

Blearily, he looked up into her gray-blue eyes.

“I need your help. I can’t lift you by m’self. Now, when I say three, you push up with your legs, got it?”

“’Kay,” he managed.

“Okay. Now, one, two….three!” With that, she pulled upward with all her strength while Johnny struggled to get his feet underneath him. Wobbling precariously, she ushered him into the back of the house to a twin bed, where she helped lower him down. Exhausted, Johnny lay on the bed, panting. His heart was racing, and he felt like someone was lowering an ax on his head with every beat. Lying with his eyes closed, he soon felt a cold damp cloth on his forehead. Next, he became aware that the t-shirt he was wearing was being cut away, and soon, another cold cloth lay across his belly. After that, he felt a thermometer being inserted under his tongue. It was a good thing gravity was holding it there, because he wouldn’t have been able to. Three minutes later, the thermometer was removed and he heard Willa mutter, “A hundred and two,” then a sigh.

He felt too shitty to care, until suddenly excruciating pain surged through his arm as she removed the bandage. Crying out again, he tried to pull away. Willa stopped her ministrations, instead doing a visual examination of his wound. She found herself becoming nauseated at the sight of the angry red, and inflamed wound oozing infection, and looked away.

A few moments later, Johnny was vaguely aware of more cold cloths laid across his head and body. Willa tried to get him to lift his head to have a drink of water, but he was too weak. The infection in his blood had crept up slowly, and pounced on him suddenly, like a slowly stalking lion attacking a defenseless zebra. The echo of a door slamming shut and an engine starting reverberated in his mind, but he was too sick to even wonder why.

Johnny lay dazed. The excruciating pain in his arm seemed to be growing and seeping into the rest of his body. His joints ached and felt hot, his head ached, his mouth was bone dry, and he was shivering severely, but sweating at the same time. His heart pounded uncomfortably fast. Johnny looked up at the square etched glass light fixture on the ceiling and blinked. I’m dying, he realized, matter-of-factly. Strange…didn’t think it would be like this…thought I’d be scared. I wonder how long…it’ll take. I’m so glad I’m here…and not in that…hell I was in. It might have offered Johnny some small comfort to know that his best friend was on his way down to see him, but that information was not available to him as he lay dying. He closed his eyes, waiting for it to happen.

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

Roy DeSoto arrived at the Acapulco airport after two days of driving. He had crossed the border without any problem, and stopped for the night in a small hotel about halfway to Acapulco. He had decided to drive to save money, and also because he had plans to travel through Mexico. Leasing a rental car would be an expense he couldn’t afford, so he had decided to drive his own truck.

Roy parked his truck and made his way into the airport, immediately heading for the baggage claim to observe the procedure of picking up luggage. He found that it wasn’t a whole lot different than in an American airport; the passengers simply waited for their bag to be unloaded from their plane, then pulled it off the carousel after identifying it. No one was checking to see if people claimed the correct bag.

He watched the happy people, most of them vacationers, as they gathered their luggage, then made their way out of the building to catch a bus or a cab, and imagined what it must have been like for Johnny as he was apprehended, after being discovered by the dogs. Roy noticed the security guards standing in the hallway with their animals; it sent a chill down his spine thinking about it. Here’s where all of Johnny’s troubles had started. Roy made his way over to talk to one of the uniformed guards.

After introducing himself, Roy explained what had happened to Johnny nearly eight months ago. He told them he was here to try to find the missing suitcase, and asked if either of them remembered Johnny.

Both looked at him uninterestedly and shook their heads, until Roy pulled a picture of Johnny out of his wallet and showed it to them. It took a second, but recognition came over one of the men’s faces as he held the photograph closer and squinted at it.

“Yes, Señor, I remember heem,” he sneered. “Hees suitcase was full of heroeen. We arrested heem,” the man’s lip curled in distaste.

“Look, I’m sure he told you, it wasn’t his suitcase. He picked up the wrong one. He was arrested unjustly.”

The man regarded Roy through eyes narrowed with contempt, ignoring his comment.

Roy sighed. “Look, I’m here to try to find my friend’s suitcase. Can you tell me where to look? Do you have a lost and found here? Or do you remember anyone turning in a suitcase?” Roy was deciding even as he was talking that the men obviously weren’t going to be able to help him. He would seek out another airport authority when he was done talking to these two clowns.

The men stared at Roy, not trying to hide their disdain. One pointed to a room down the hall. It had a sign on the door, but it was written in Spanish. He pointed to a young woman behind a customer inquiry desk, and told Roy he had to speak with her.

One of the dogs began pushing his nose into Roy’s leg, and Roy decided to get away from them as soon as possible. The dog didn’t look friendly. Roy strode over to the woman behind the desk and spent five minutes explaining things to her. Listening intently, she was much friendlier than the security guards, and offered to accompany Roy to the lost and found baggage area. He followed her to the door the security guards had pointed to, and waited while she unlocked it.

Roy described the bag to her the way Johnny had described it to him, and they began to search. There was quite a bit of luggage in the room, and the lighting wasn’t the best, but Roy was determined to check each and every bag to make sure it wasn’t Johnny’s.

A half hour later, Roy was convinced he had checked every bag in the room. There had only been three gray suitcases, and none of them had belonged to his best friend. Deeply disappointed, Roy left the room with the woman, and asked to speak to an airport authority in charge. She led him down a hall to a door and knocked first, then entered upon hearing a response in Spanish. The woman introduced Roy to a Mr. Manuel Zapata, and after thanking the woman, he began explaining his dilemma to the man. Mr. Zapata listened politely while Roy explained his purpose for being there, but unfortunately, wasn’t able to get any further with the man than Barney Oleson had. The man explained that he had no control over any arrests made by airport security or the police. Mr. Zapata could only suggest to Roy that he contact someone at the American Embassy in Mexico City, and see if someone there could help him. He also suggested Roy find a good attorney for his friend.

Fifteen minutes later, Roy exited the man’s office feeling defeated. He had gotten nowhere here, so he decided to leave and head toward Mexico City. Feeling thirsty, Roy stopped at a vending machine outside a restroom and purchased a soda. Spying the restroom, he decided to take advantage of its convenience, knowing he wouldn’t have a chance to go for awhile.

Roy pushed open the door of the dingy restroom, and locked the door. It was meant for only one person. He set his soda on the counter of the sink, and, unzipping his pants, decided to sit on the commode instead of stand in front of it. He was tired.

He rested his head on his hand, his knee supporting his elbow. Sighing, he wasn’t looking forward to the long car ride; he was tired of driving. He had been so hopeful that by some remote chance he would be able to locate Johnny’s missing suitcase, which would immediately vindicate his friend. He’d had visions of arriving at the prison delivering the good news to Johnny that he would soon be on his way home. Now, he’d experienced his first big disappointment, and feared he would face more.

Roy sighed, content to rest a moment, his eyes wandering around the room. Something compelled him to look upward, and his brow furrowed as he noted the bent ceiling tiles bowing down under the weight of something unseen. Standing up, he pulled up his pants, curious to know what exactly was weighing down the cracking tiles. It never occurred to him it could be something unseemly; he was more interested in it from a safety point of view, thinking that if the ceiling gave, whatever it was could possibly fall and injure someone.

Roy flushed the toilet and pulled down the lid. Stepping up onto the seat of the toilet, he reached up and lifted off the ceiling tiles. Adrenalin surged through him when he realized what it was above him – a gray suitcase. Clawing desperately at it, he yanked the suitcase down from the ceiling, sending little bits of dust and debris billowing everywhere. Hopping down from the toilet, he laid the suitcase on the floor. With shaking hands, he opened it. His heart almost exploded with joy upon recognizing his friend’s clothes. There, right on top, was the blue striped shirt that he and Joanne had given Johnny for Christmas! Roy dug furiously through the bag, just wanting to make sure. Yes, there were the jeans; he knew the size, 34/36 Wranglers. Below that, Roy recognized the hiking boots instantly.  Apparently, Johnny had been planning on doing some hiking on his vacation, and had packed the boots. Roy found Johnny’s toiletry bag and opened it, and again recognized the items belonging to his friend. There was a manicure set that Roy’s kids had given Johnny for his birthday. Roy found one more item in the toiletry bag that made him catch his breath. It was a small framed photograph of Roy’s kids. Jennifer had given it to Johnny once; Roy had no idea Johnny took it with him when he traveled. It nearly brought tears to his eyes.

Shoving the items back inside the bag, Roy latched it closed and burst out of the bathroom with it, clutching it so tightly one would have thought Roy was holding a bag full of diamonds.

Like a man possessed, Roy tore through the airport, seeking the man whose office he had just come from. Skidding to a stop in front of his office door, Roy knocked urgently. He heard the man answer in Spanish, and assumed he could enter, so he did. Mr. Zapata looked up at Roy in surprise as Roy stood before him, breathless, holding the suitcase.

Three hours later, Roy was seated in a waiting room, anxious to see Eduardo Cortez, the Acapulco police chief. The authorities had taken the bag, and were examining it for fingerprints. Two officers had been questioning Roy for over an hour, and to Roy’s relief, they seemed to believe that the bag did truly belong to Johnny.

Unbeknownst to Roy, the suitcase that Johnny had mistakenly picked up months ago had also been dusted for fingerprints, and the police had been able to find not only Johnny’s on the bag, but also some belonging to two members of one of the more corrupt drug rings circulating through Mexico who were at large. The lazy judge had decided at the time that even though Johnny’s background didn’t fit the description of a drug dealer; he had punished a man for the crime, which looked good on his record. He wasn’t about to admit to anyone that possibly both he and the police had made a mistake.

The police chief finally dismissed Roy late that afternoon while they conducted a further examination. He told Roy to stop back in the morning to discuss the details, when hopefully they would have a better grasp of the situation. Roy left reluctantly, nervous about leaving the treasure he had found with the police, for fear of them losing it, or worse, denying they ever had it. That night, after he called his wife, he made another call to station 51 informing his coworkers of his discovery. Needless to say, the guys were ecstatic, and told Roy to be sure to tell Johnny they were thinking of him, and that they looked forward to seeing him when he returned.

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

The door slammed loudly, breaking the complete silence. Johnny heard footsteps; he thought he was dreaming. Then he heard voices, one male, one female. The female one seemed to be talking to him.

“Johnny? John! Wake up, now,” she urged.

Johnny pried his eyes open, recognizing Willa.

“This here is Doctor Balthaser. He’s a friend of mine. He’s gonna take good care of you.”

Another face hovered over him. The man was sixty-ish, with thick gray hair and a cherubic face that was red from the heat. It had only taken a little convincing to get the doctor to come; he and Willa were old friends, and after she explained everything that had happened, he was only too happy to help the woman out.

Johnny’s eyes wandered lazily to the man, then he groaned, closing them. “Oh, no, Willa,” Johnny moaned. “I told you…no doctors….”

“Now you just hush up and let Warren take care of you. I won’t have anyone dyin’ in my house!”

“I’d rather die…than go back to prison. I won’ go back….”

Dr. Balthaser laid his stethoscope on Johnny’s chest and listened. “Now, you listen here, young man. No one said anything about sendin’ you back to prison. Willa, get me that thermometer, please.”

Willa handed it to the doctor and he inserted it into Johnny’s mouth. While waiting for the temperature to register, he carefully examined Johnny’s arm. Just touching his forearm caused Johnny to cry out, and the doctor gave Willa a concerned look, pursing his lips together while shaking his head. Next, he took Johnny’s pulse and felt his respirations, then finally pulled the thermometer out of his mouth. Grunting, he mumbled, “A hundred and three. Sepsis, I think, and pretty serious. Your young friend here needs a hospital.”

“No!” Johnny cried out. “I won’ go…”

Dr. Balthaser gave a look of exasperation to Willa. “Stubborn one, isn’t he?”

“Yup,” was all she said. “Warren, can you do anything for him here?”

The doctor nodded. “Willa, you go get as many ice packs as you can. Set that fan up and turn it on high. I’m going out to get my bag.” With that, both the doctor and Willa stepped out of the room for a minute.

Johnny’s heavy eyelids lifted again when he felt someone pick up his good arm. The doctor was now sitting beside him and had laid his arm across his lap. A cold wetness rubbed against his skin, and he looked downward just in time to see a needle inserted into his vein. Though he barely felt the prick, he still cringed; needles never bothered him unless they were going into his own body. Dully, he noticed the strips of sticky tape as the doctor applied them to hold the IV needle in place, then felt a little jostling as he connected the medications to the IV. The doctor had taken a picture over the bed off the wall, and hung the IV bags from the nail.

Willa returned with an ice bag, and several other bags she had made by filling a plastic bag with ice and wrapping a towel around it. “This be enough, Warren?” Johnny heard her ask.

“That’s good, Willa. Now put one under each of his armpits. Johnny shivered as he felt the cold bags come into contact with his underarms. Two more were positioned at his neck. His eyes slid closed again until he felt his jeans being removed.

“Help me get these off him, Willa.”

Johnny raised his head weakly in protest. “Wait…don’t – ”

Warren and Willa continued pulling until Johnny was lying only in his underwear. He was afraid they were going to remove that as well, but instead, two more bags of ice were settled onto his groin, causing him to convulse in more shivers. “I’m fr-fr-freezing,” he complained.

Dr. Balthaser circled the bed and sat down in the chair next to it. “John? I want you to listen to me.”

Johnny’s eyes wearily met the doctor’s.

“If you’re indeed a paramedic like you told Willa, then you know what sepsis is. You’ve got a serious infection from that gunshot wound. You’re a very sick man. You let it go on too long, and now I’m certain it’s in your blood. Your fever is rising trying to fight that infection. It’s going to keep rising if we don’t find a way to lower it. You need the ice bags to cool your body. Now, I’ve given you an IV with fluids and a broad spectrum antibiotic in the hopes of alleviating some of this infection. I’m going to draw some blood for analysis. We’ll take a look at the bacteria and then we’ll be able to treat you with the right kind of antibiotic. Then we’ll just have to hope that does the trick.

I’d like to get you admitted to a hospital, but if you refuse, I can’t do anything about it. The nearest hospital isn’t too awful far from here, but you need immediate treatment. At the moment, they wouldn’t be able to do any more for you there than I can here.

Now, I’m going to instruct my friend Willa here how to change the IV bags when they’re empty. She’ll be keeping an eye on you for tonight, and I’ll be back tomorrow. I want you to rest; don’t try to get out of bed, all right?”

Johnny nodded.

“Now, let’s get that blood drawn.” Johnny’s response was to close his eyes. Seconds later, he felt another quick sharp pinch in his arm, then it was over. He shivered again. Doctor Balthaser turned to Willa. “Willa, you can turn that fan down one notch.”

The doctor put the blood sample and the rest of his medical supplies back into his bag, then motioned Willa aside to talk to her. Quietly, he said, “That arm needs some attention, but I don’t have what I need to take care of it right now. I’ll be back in the morning; I’ll do the best I can. Let’s hope those antibiotics work tonight.”

As the doctor gave further instructions to Willa on what to do with the IV bags, Johnny drifted off, too weak to hold his eyes open any longer. Sometime later, the doctor left.  Except for the soft drone and rattle of the old Westinghouse fan she had placed on the dresser, the room was as quiet as a tomb.

The next thing Johnny was aware of was that someone was sticking something into his mouth. He pulled his eyes open and saw Willa pushing a thermometer under his tongue. Glancing toward the window, he noticed it was dark. He tried to talk, but she shushed him. After a few minutes, she pulled it out.

“A hundred and two. It’s come down a little.” Willa poured a glass of water for him and coaxed his head forward to drink. “Doctor says you need fluids. Try to drink.”

Though his temperature was down a bit, his eyes were still bright and glassy with fever; his arm still hurt, and his body still ached. Johnny felt Willa lift his sweaty head and support it as he drank. When he was finished, she lowered his head back down to the pillow, and his eyes slid shut. He didn’t awaken until morning.

The bright sunshine streaming through the open window prompted Johnny awake. Looking up and straining his neck backward, he noticed that Willa had changed the IV bags sometime in the night, because they were nearly full. She would have made a great nurse, he thought admiringly.

Though still hot and achy, he did feel somewhat better. His arm was ever so slightly less sore, and his heart was beating at more normal rate. That in itself helped matters immensely. Johnny figured the fluids had helped a lot, and was hopeful that the antibiotics were killing the infection.

Before he had too much time to consider his prognosis, he heard the good doctor’s voice coming from the living room. Moments later, Warren Balthaser entered the bedroom, evidently pleased to see Johnny awake.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “Willa tells me your fever was down last night. That’s a good sign. Let’s just check it out again.” He moved toward the bed.

“Here ya go, Warren,” Willa said, handing him the thermometer.

As Johnny’s temperature was registering on the skinny glass device, Doctor Balthaser proceeded to check Johnny’s vitals. After removing the thermometer, Johnny watched the doctor’s face as it scrunched up, and he held it up to the light, trying to turn it just right to see the mercury.

Weakly, Johnny asked, “What’s the verdict, doc?”

“A hundred and one. Still not where we want it, but much better. I’ve got the results of your blood work, however, and we’re going to start you on a different antibiotic. Given your improvement overnight, I’m hopeful this will take care of it.” He began to open his case, and withdrew an IV bag, and he replaced the old bag with the new. That being done, Doctor Balthaser turned his attention toward Johnny’s arm. The skin was still red and tight, but the oozing was slightly better, and the swelling was down proportionately. Grunting at his examination, he said nothing, with the exception of, “Um hm.”

“You know,” Johnny said, “I didn’t think doctors made house calls any more these days.”

Warren looked over at Willa and responded, “I don’t as much as I used to, except for…special customers and friends. Besides, these days, there’s not that many people around here to treat.”

Johnny looked over in time to see Willa blushing slightly, and began to piece together a puzzle that said this doctor either had something going with Willa, or wanted to.

Dr. Balthaser cleared his throat, faintly embarrassed. “Now, let’s talk about this arm.”

Johnny looked up nervously; he didn’t want anyone coming near his arm.

“We’ve got to take care of this abscess. I’m going to do a procedure called a debridement. I’ll clean the wound out and pack it with antiseptic pads. Then when they dry, I’ll remove them; this takes out a lot of the dead and infected tissue. We want this to heal from the inside out. Do you understand?”

Johnny’s expression had changed from mild concern to outright dread. He nodded slightly, indicating he understood the doctor. He knew exactly what debridement was, and he knew it would hurt – bad.

“Okay, then, I’ll get started.”

Johnny’s eyes opened wide. “H-here? Now?!”

Warren could see the anxious look in his patient’s eyes. Obviously, the young man knew what was in store for him. Dr. Balthaser laid his hand on Johnny’s knee. “Yes, here, and now. Now there’s nothing to be concerned about. I’m going to give you a local anesthetic first. You don’t think I’d try to work on that arm without it, do you?”

Johnny let his breath out, somewhat relieved. “You, you brought everything with you?”

“That’s what you paramedics do out in the field, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but we don’t anything quite this complicated, doc.”

“Well, I’d be more than happy to do this in a hospital – ”

“No way,” John interrupted firmly.

“Okay, then.” He turned to dig into his bad. Over his shoulder, he said, “When you get better, John, I’d be interested in talking to you about your paramedic career.”

Johnny’s face fell, but he didn’t voice what he was thinking. What paramedic career? It’s over. I’ll never be able to help anyone again. Instead, he said unenthusiastically, “Sure, doc.”

Dr. Balthaser proceeded to lay out a sterile sheet under Johnny’s arm, and after retrieving all his supplies, slipped on a pair of latex gloves. Willa positioned a light over Johnny’s arm, and the doctor began. Johnny’s body tensed and his eyes squeezed shut tightly as the doctor injected the local anesthetic around the wound site. It was excruciatingly painful. Just touching the area around the injury was horrible enough; having a needle puncture his skin there was agonizing. Clutching the sheet tightly, Johnny held on while he administered five injections. When it was over, Johnny lay spent, his eyes closed, and the doctor waited for the anesthetic to take effect.

“Okay, the worst part’s over,” the doctor said gently. Shortly thereafter, he cleaned the wound out, packed it with the medicated gauze, and rebandaged it. Afterward, he added some medication to Johnny’s IV for pain. The whole procedure took about an hour. Having completed his task, and after supplying Willa with new IV solutions for Johnny, he and Willa drank a cup of coffee out on her porch. They talked awhile, then the doctor checked on Johnny once before he left. Johnny slept the entire day.

Two days later, Johnny was feeling much better. The fever was nearly gone, and the aches and flu-like symptoms he had been experiencing had greatly subsided. The doctor had come by again and changed the packing of Johnny’s wound, and had been able to discontinue the IV. The doctor brought with him a prescription for oral antibiotics and pain medication, so that Willa wouldn’t have to have them filled at the pharmacy in town, thereby avoiding any suspicion.

Dr. Balthaser shook Johnny’s hand before he left that day. “You take care, young man. I’ll be stopping by next week to see how you’re progressing. I strongly suspect you’re going to need some surgery to repair some of the damage done by the bullet, but at least I think we’ve got the infection under control.”

“Doc,” Johnny’s eyes were full of gratitude, “thanks for everything. I…” Johnny looked down in embarrassment, unsure of how to phrase his thoughts. “I…look, I don’t have any money to pay you, for everything you did.”

Warren smiled warmheartedly. He had made more than enough money in his career as a doctor to satisfy himself; he didn’t feel he needed to squeeze money out of someone who was so down on his luck. “You just help Willa out here. That’ll be enough payment for me.”

Incredulous, Johnny said, “I will. Thank you sir. And – thank you for not…reporting me to the police.”

The doctor’s face turned serious. “Son, if Willa believes you, then I believe you. Just getting to know you over the past few days has convinced me you’re no drug dealer. Sometimes injustices happen to people.” He looked meaningfully over at Willa. “I’d like to think I’ve done my little bit to help pay back some of that injustice.”

Johnny was speechless. Nodding, he finally uttered an emotional, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And don’t forget, I still want to talk to you about this paramedic program.”

Johnny smiled. “Right. I’ll be happy to.”

With a wave, Warren Balthaser stepped out of Willa’s house and went on to make his rounds.

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

Part 5