The Thousandth Man

  Part 8

 

 

 

Johnny was worn out when he pulled up in front of Mike Morton’s condo the next evening. Another fruitless day of diving had come and gone, this time near the caves where he’d found Roy’s boot. The water had been rough and cold, and as usual, he’d turned up nothing new. He just hadn’t been able to summon the energy to continue, and after only a few short hours he’d given up.

 

Johnny had begun to wonder recently if he’d made a mistake in his continued pursuit to find Roy. What had it gotten him?

 

He was now almost broke, friendless, and homeless. He’d lost his girlfriend and nearly lost his job. He’d lost the privilege of contact with the family he’d been trying to protect – Roy’s family. Most everyone thought he had a screw loose. Maybe they’re right, he thought somberly, as he put his gearshift in neutral and pulled on the emergency brake. Maybe I’m just a damned fool.

 

Months of searching to no avail, lack of sleep, and his current state of personal affairs contributed to his defeated attitude.

 

He wanted his old life back. But now it seemed too far away to reach for. Nothing would ever be the same again.

 

What he didn’t regret though was paying for Jimmy’s surgeries. Knowing he’d made a difference in that young life sparked a warmth in his heart, and he hoped that somewhere, wherever Roy was, he’d know that his son was going to be okay.

 

Johnny might have given up the search weeks ago if he hadn’t had his chance encounter with Matilda. She’d been so sure that Roy was alive, had even given Johnny clues as to his whereabouts, and had rekindled the hope that John would be able to find his friend. But ever since then he hadn’t been able to get a hold of her. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he’d stopped by her place again today, only to find it empty. He’d called numerous times, but she never answered. He was desperate to talk to her.

 

And then there was Jim Sinclair, his private detective. The information he’d given him had been unsettling to say the least. Neither of them knew why John was being followed by an unknown identity. The possibility that it had something to do with Roy’s disappearance was simply too strong to ignore. Now there wasn’t any choice as to whether John should give up his search for Roy. He felt he had to follow through. Something had to come to a head, and soon.

 

 

 

Mike Morton watched as Johnny pulled up in his Rover. He took a swig of his Labatt’s, set the bottle down, and rose from his porch chair to greet his guest.

 

He was still shocked by what he’d found out about Gage, and what the paramedic had done for Roy’s child. When Mike’s friend at UCLA had revealed the money had come from an LLC called Winding River Grande out of Montana, he’d suspected it then. Dixie had confirmed it in his mind when she’d revealed that Gage was from Montana. There was no other logical explanation. The DeSoto’s likely knew no one else from Montana, and the hasty sale of Gage’s home and horses seemed to substantiate his suspicion. He wondered what other assets Gage had let go of to pay for such expensive surgery.

 

The sacrifices that Gage had made opened up a new window into his personality that Mike hadn’t been aware of. While everything he’d seen from Johnny indicated a hardworking, conscientious person, he never would have imagined that level of generosity, or a loyalty that deep. It just went to show that one could never judge another based on what was seen on the surface. His mother had taught him that, and now he realized how true it was.

 

It kind of amazed him that Johnny had kept it a secret. Much as he would have liked to have questioned Johnny about it, he knew he could never reveal what he knew to Johnny, or anyone else. Doing so would put him in the same category as the other gossipers he loathed.

 

 

 

Johnny scanned the neighborhood, taking it in as he crossed the street. It was an eclectic mix of run down and renovated; a sprinkling of broken down shacks sporting front yard chain link fences mingled with fresher dwellings boasting shiny coats of paint and new landscaping.

 

Mike’s abode was one of the latter. The brick building he lived in was half of a double. He’d bought it as an investment a year ago at a steal. After renovating the other half, he hadn’t had any trouble renting it out. The old neighborhood was transforming into a hip place to live, much to the chagrin of some of the old timers that had been there for years.

 

Mike had grown up in this old neighborhood. It had been a run down place in his childhood; still, he had fond memories of it and when he saw it beginning to turn around, wanted to remain a part of it. Not only that, he wanted to be a part of the transformation. Some day when he had all his medical school loans paid off and started making real money, he’d move into a more upscale place. Maybe by then, he’d be married and have a family. Mom would come along; he’d make sure his place was big enough so she could move in and still have her privacy; he wouldn’t leave her here.

 

The current neighborhood inhabitants were splashes of different colors, predominantly black, but Johnny saw a few white and Latino kids playing together on the sidewalk. A rowdy group of teenagers sat perched on a wall in front of one of the more dilapidated structures glaring at him as he passed.

 

A dog barked as Johnny exited his car. Johnny waved as he spotted Mike on his porch. Just then, one of the teens tossed a racial slur at Johnny, who responded by turning and smiling widely at the kid. Another shouted something equally obnoxious in reply, to which Johnny waved.

 

Mike scowled at John. “You think that’s funny, do you?”

 

Johnny shrugged noncommittally, still smiling. He stepped up on the porch.

 

“You do know what they just called you, don’t you?”

 

“Sure. But that’s what’s funny. They’re so ignorant they don’t even realize I’m more of a minority than they are.”

 

“You mean being a Native American?”

 

“Nope. Being a white Indian.”

 

Mike’s brows rose and he looked John over. “Hm. Maybe you’d better work on your tan.”

 

“Yeah. Good idea.”

 

Mike picked up his beer and gestured toward the door. “Come on in.”

 

Johnny followed Mike inside. The front room was contemporary with minimalist touches. Under gray carpet, a black leather sofa sat in the center with a couple of lounge chairs flanking it. A few pieces of modern art adorned the walls, and several plants gave it a homey appearance. Mike had painted the fireplace brick cream, and a black marble insert made a nice contrast. “Nice place.”

 

“Thanks. You want a beer?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Mike went to get Johnny a beer. When he returned, he noticed that Johnny hadn’t brought any personal items inside. “Where’s your stuff?”

 

“Uh, well, before I do that, there’s something I should tell you that I haven’t mentioned.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

Johnny seemed to hesitate. “Ah…I’m being followed by the police.”

 

Mike stared at him, his face not revealing any surprise. “Well, that’s one way to keep you out of trouble.”

 

“Funny. But that’s not all. There’s…someone else following me too.”

 

“And I should be concerned because…?”

 

Johnny sounded a bit exasperated. “Because I have no idea who they are. They could be bad guys. They could be dangerous.”

 

Mike held his gaze, unfazed. “More dangerous than this neighborhood?”

 

Johnny looked backward and through the front window, his voice slightly alarmed. “This neighborhood isn’t dangerous…is it?”

 

“It has its moments.”

 

“Well if it’s so dangerous, why do you live here?”

 

Mike shrugged, putting his hand to his chest. “It’s my roots. And my mother lives near by. She isn’t in the best of health. I like to keep my eye on her.”

 

“Oh. That’s understandable.” Johnny seemed to be reconsidering Mike’s offer. “If your mother lives nearby, maybe my moving in isn’t the best idea…”

 

“John, let me tell you something. When I was thirteen my daddy bought me a gun and taught me how to use it. I still have it, and I still know how to use it.”

 

John’s brows rose. “A gun? I wouldn’t have figured you the type to have a gun.”

 

“Yeah? Well it just goes to show you that there’s a lot of things you don’t know about a person until you get to know them.” Mike looked meaningfully at Johnny.

 

“Yeah. Guess so.”

 

“You want to clue me in on what this is all about?”

 

 John inhaled and blew out the breath forcefully. “Not really. But I’ll give you the basics. I’m sure you’ve heard that I’ve been trying to find out what happened to Roy.” He eyed Mike, anticipating his reaction. He’d been careful in his phrasing so as not to imply that he was still looking for Roy – alive. Johnny already knew he’d been labeled crazy by others because of it.

 

“Um hm.”

 

“Well, the police weren’t successful in finding out anything, so I hired a private investigator.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“He’s the one that told me I’m being followed by police, and we don’t know the identity of the other organization.”

 

“Organization?”

 

“Yeah…well, I don’t know what else to call it. It could be government related…or…or not.” A worried frown creased John’s brow.

 

“I see. Well, I’m not worried. With my work schedule I’m rarely home anyway. So it’s not like we’ll be hanging around together much. I’m sure no one will bother us. Now why don’t you go get your things?”

 

Johnny looked slightly incredulous. “You sure?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Johnny stepped outside to get his duffle bag. Huh. That was strange. He didn’t ask why I’d moved, or what happened with Michaela, or any other details for that matter.

 

How refreshing.

 

Johnny retrieved his bag and whatever else he could carry. Upon further consideration, he decided to unload everything from his car and made several trips. A vehicle full of expensive camping equipment and other belongings would only be an open invitation for the local questionable types to break into and steal.

 

As he walked to and from Mike’s place, dusk settled in, and neighborhood Christmas lights winked on. Next door a tasteful display of single candles in every window highlighted the old Victorian. A beautiful wreath was on the door. Across the street, haphazardly hung strings of multicolored lights flashed on and off around the porch and windows, while a huge faded wooden cutout of Santa and reindeer sat propped up in the front yard.

 

Christmas was only six days away. Johnny hadn’t even thought about it until now. Seeing the decorations brought it to his attention and a pang of emptiness blatantly made itself known in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t bought one gift and hadn’t even thought of where he’d be for Christmas. One thing was for sure, it wouldn’t be with the DeSoto’s.

 

He wondered where Mick would spend Christmas. The thought of that made his chest constrict and the longing for her almost took his breath away. Only a few months ago he’d actually considered buying her a ring for Christmas. Now that was just a distant wish.

 

As another strand of Christmas lights blinked on a couple doors down, Johnny hastened in the door with the last of his things, anxious to get the holiday reminders out of his sight. He was glad that Mike hadn’t put up any Christmas tree or other decorations.  

 

After being directed to the second bedroom, Johnny set his bag on the bed, then lay down, testing it. After the nights he’d spent on the floor and in his Rover, this was going to be heaven. He almost wished he could go to bed now. But they had a game to go to.

 

 

 

“That was a great game, Mike. Thanks for inviting me.” John eased his Rover forward a whole six inches and sighed. “Too bad we’re gonna spend the night in this parking lot.” The arena had been packed, and now everyone was trying to leave at the same time. It had taken John ten minutes just to get from their parking space to a main aisle in the lot. The exit was still a long way away.

 

“Looks like all of Los Angeles is here tonight.” Mike leaned back in his seat. “Might as well get comfortable.”

 

Johnny snorted a laugh. “If I’d been smart, I woulda left my camping stuff in here. Maybe pitch the tent over there by the concession stand, build a little fire…” John put the gearshift in neutral and eased off the clutch.

 

Morton hmphed. “You can have the camping. I’m not a weenie-roasting kind of guy, Gage. Just give me a nice, cozy hotel room and a real bed. If I want to get back to nature, I’ll find a documentary on TV.”

 

“Aw, c’mon Mike.” John shot a glance at his companion. “I’d do you good to go camping. You oughta see Yosemite or Yellowstone on a fall morning, when the dawn breaks through the mist and the light plays off the stone faces of the cliffs…”

 

Mike laughed out loud. “Yeah, but you left out the part about the temps being in the twenties, the lack of light when nature calls at three am, and the damn rocks under your sleeping bag. No thanks!”

 

“Well, it can be a challenge sometimes and maybe not that comfortable, but it’s a great way to just…” Johnny paused to collect his thoughts. “It’s a great way to lose yourself. To just let go of whatever is weighing you down.” He sighed wearily, thinking of his present situation. “Sometimes it’s good to get out there and become…insignificant. No matter what is going on at home, the world is still gonna turn, the seasons are gonna change…with you or without you. You can tune into what’s really important.” Now if I could just take my own advice…

 

He felt Mike’s quiet scrutiny upon him. Suddenly uncomfortable with the seriousness of the conversation, John changed the subject. “So, those kids that yelled at me back at your place? You know them?”

 

“Some of them. I’ve seen them grow up, or at least grow older. I don’t know if they’ll ever truly mature. Some of them will just grow mean.”

 

“Yeah, I know the type. We had a few back home.”

 

Mike tilted his head slightly, hoping his next question would sound innocent. He thought he already knew the answer, but it would be nice to hear Gage confirm it. “Where is home, anyway? You’ve never said.”

 

“Montana. We had a ranch that bordered the reservation. Pretty country, but winters were brutal.”

 

“Are your folks still there?”

 

John sighed sadly as he stared through the windshield. “No, they’re gone now. I have some family there, though…cousins...but they’re on my mom’s side and all full-bloods.”

 

“What difference does that make?”

 

“Oh, please, Mike. You know as well as I do it makes a difference. You see it in your own people.” John glared for a moment at his companion. “The only thing worse than being the wrong color is being half of one.”

 

Mike nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s wrong, but true.”

 

“My family tried to protect me from a lot of it when I was a kid, but I learned pretty early that as long as I stayed there, I’d never be more than a ‘breed’ in most people’s eyes. That’s one reason I came to LA. I thought it would be different here.” Johnny didn’t want to get into the real reason he’d left the reservation; talking about the loss of his family was still way too painful even after all these years.

 

“And is it?”

 

“Most of the time. I don’t pay it too much attention anymore.” John eased into the flow of traffic and onto a faster-moving street.

 

“Just don’t forget where you came from. My mama taught me that from day one.” Mike quoted her, “‘That’s why God gave you two eyes, son. One to look where you’re going, and one to look at where you’ve been.’ She kept me grounded if I got too full of myself. That’s the teacher in her, I suppose.”

 

“Your mom’s a teacher?” John smiled.

 

“She retired after teaching elementary school for thirty years. English Lit.”

 

“That’s cool. My dad’s parents were professors at a University back east. They wanted him to follow in their footsteps, but he fell in love with animals and became a vet instead. He specialized in large breeds, horses and cattle mainly, and moved to Montana to become a rancher…and a vet on the side. That’s where he met my mom…”

 

An effortless conversation flowed as they made their way back to the house. Johnny marveled at the easy rapport he found with Mike Morton. It was the first real evening of enjoyment he’d had in a long time.

 

Forty-five minutes later they finally pulled up in front of Mike’s duplex and got out.

 

Johnny glanced across the street. A few shadows moved on a darkened porch and Johnny suspected it was the same group of teens he’d seen earlier. He couldn’t help but wonder what they might get into. The combination of nothing to do, no money, and no parental supervision was a recipe for trouble. He knew that only too well from his earlier life on the reservation.

 

Once inside, Mike offered Johnny another beer, which he accepted.

 

“Put some music on the stereo,” Mike suggested.

 

Johnny heard the bottle tops popping off with a fizz in the kitchen. Spying a shelf of albums, Johnny began thumbing through them, looking for something to put on the turntable. There was a mix including Roberta Flack, Aretha Franklin, Sam Cooke, and B.B. King. His eyebrows rose and he smiled as he flipped through six Jimi Hendrix albums, a little surprised that the semi reserved doctor got into Hendrix’s style.

 

 

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

 

 

Johnny dashed through the rain to Matilda’s place. After two weeks, she’d finally called that afternoon. Johnny had left Mike Morton’s telephone number so she could reach him.

 

The door jingled as it swung open, then shut against the driving rain. Nervous anticipation built as John waited in her parlor for her to appear. A hushed quiet enveloped him as rivulets of water ran off his shoulders and dripped onto the well-worn gold and red rug under his feet. He shivered slightly as he clutched the small box in his hands.

 

Soft music floated in the background, but Johnny was unable to ascertain just where it was coming from. A waft of sagey incense drifted around him; he could see soft smoke curling in the air around the flames of the candles.

 

She slid into the room, her ballet slippers silent as she padded toward him. Her half-gray half-blonde hair was pulled haphazardly into a loose bun on top of her head, and the tiny wrinkles in her face seemed more pronounced than the last time John had seen her.

 

She offered John a soft smile, and immediately apologized for her absence, explaining how her mother had died and all she had to do to get everything in order.

 

Despite all the anxiety he’d gone through waiting for her, he understood the anguish she’d been through, and steeled himself to wait for her to begin their session. Finally, she seemed ready to talk to him about Roy.

 

“Come this way,” she said softly, and led him into an octagonal-shaped room that was at the corner of the house. It went up two stories, and a beautiful old iron and crystal chandelier was hanging from the top of a cupola.

 

Candles were lit here too; the rest of the lighting was indirect from wall sconces. She gestured to a large brown velvet chair, and he sat down, setting his box down in his lap. If the circumstances hadn’t been less serious, he would have asked her if she was going to get out her crystal ball.

 

She pulled up a smaller chair and faced him. “Now tell me all you can about your friend, how he disappeared, the date, the location, everything you can think of.”

 

It wasn’t difficult. Every last detail was permanently etched in his memory, and he recanted it all to her in under five minutes.

 

She looked down at the cardboard box he had nervously been clutching in his lap. “Did you bring the item?”

 

“Yeah…” Johnny gestured to the box. “It may not be a very good choice, but it’s all I had.”

 

Matilda had asked Johnny to bring an item of Roy’s, something that had a strong connection with him. Originally Johnny had intended to bring the little trinket he’d found in his desk drawer, but Joanne had stolen it away from him in anger. One of the two leftover gears that Roy had bought for the old engine they’d restored together was all Johnny could think of to bring her. He’d kept them in his barn, along with the other things he had stored there.

 

Slightly embarrassed, he handed it to her.

 

Her hands closed around it. She looked up at him expectantly. “What is it?”

 

“Ah…it’s a gear for an old fire engine.” Then he explained how he and Roy had restored the old engine, and all the hours they’d put in together.

 

Her frown and silence worried Johnny.

 

“Is it…I should have brought something better, shouldn’t I?” Damn.

 

She looked up, wide-eyed. “No no. This is fine. I’m getting very strong feelings from it.”

 

Johnny scooted forward in his seat. “You are?”

 

“Oh yes.” Her eyes closed half way and she murmured, “Yes. This old fire engine you restored…it meant a lot to your friend.”

 

“Yes, it did.” Johnny stared at her, straining in anticipation to hear what she would say next.

 

Almost a minute went by and Johnny thought he would lose his mind if she didn’t speak soon. Finally, he couldn’t stand it, and broke the silence. “Ah, Matilda?”

 

She looked up at him. “Yes?”

 

“I’m dyin’ here. When I saw you last, you said Roy was alive. Is he…still?”

 

She nodded seriously. “Yes. He is.”

 

Johnny thought his heart would burst from his chest it was beating so hard. “And…?”

 

She seemed to concentrate hard. “I see an image of your friend.” She paused. “He’s very sad. He misses his family very much…and his friends…he wants to go home terribly.”

 

Johnny swallowed, his body paralyzed with this knowledge, his heart pounding. “How…how does he look? Is he all right?” he practically whispered.

 

Matilda nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, he seems to be. He’s tall…about six foot or so, I see a medium build, rather thin…”

 

“Thin?” Johnny was dismayed. Roy wasn’t overweight by any means, but he certainly wasn’t thin. Maybe he had lost weight…

 

“Rather thin…sandy hair…he has the bluest eyes…”

 

That’s Roy!

 

“And quite a handsome beard.”

 

Beard?! Instantly Johnny felt dismayed. Perhaps she wasn’t seeing Roy at all. “Beard? Uh, Matilda, Roy doesn’t have a beard.”

 

She looked up rather defensively, and her voice was sharp. “The man you’re looking for has a beard.”

 

Okay…maybe he grew one… It wasn’t inconceivable. Roy had once talked about growing a mustache to please his mother-in-law. Maybe wherever he is he doesn’t have access to a razor. “All right. I suppose you could be right.” Johnny licked his lips. There was one extremely important question to be answered. “Matilda, where is he?” Johnny gripped the edge of his chair tightly.

 

“He’s…” her eyes floated away and she seemed a bit puzzled. “He’s in the water.”

 

Huh? That’s not what she said before. Before she said he’s not in the water. Now she says he is. Is this chick just jerkin’ my chain? “Matilda, he fell overboard four months ago. He can’t be in the water still. That’s not possible.”

 

“I don’t mean he’s in the water. Rather, I mean, he’s surrounded by water.”

 

“He’s in a boat?” Johnny suggested.

 

“Possibly. He’s…I see some kind of vessel…surrounded by water…maybe under water…it’s hazy…”

 

“A submarine?!”

 

Matilda looked unsure. “I’m not seeing a submarine.”

 

“Well, what are you seeing?” Johnny tried not to sound exasperated.

 

Now she was frustrated. She brought her fingers up to her temple as if it would help her see more clearly. “I’m honestly not sure. I think it’s a boat. Something quite large…I see insignia on it…but I can’t make it out. It…it keeps fading in and out.”

 

“What does the insignia look like?”

 

She shook her head. “I don’t know.” Her hand came down heavily and fell into her lap. “I can’t see it any more.”

 

Johnny stared at her in disbelief, then sank into the chair. Finally, he asked, “Matilda, can you tell me where he is?”

 

This time she answered with certainty. “Yes. Actually, he’s not more than three miles from where he was lost.”

 

Johnny’s eyes popped open wide. “What? That can’t be! The LA Police, and the Coast Guard, and myself – we’ve all searched that area for miles. There was no boat; we couldn’t find anything! I found his boot in a cave at – ”

 

“Nevertheless, he is there. If you have a map, I can show you.”

 

 Johnny jumped up. He had maps all right; there were numerous sea charts in his Rover. He’d used them all the times he’d been out searching for Roy to keep track of where he’d been. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Johnny dashed out into the rain and was back with the sea charts in under a minute. Matilda helped him spread them out on a table. Then he showed her exactly where Roy had disappeared.

 

She drew a circle on the map with her fingertip. “He’s in this area here.”

 

Johnny regarded her with uncertainty. He’d been over that area numerous times. Still, she seemed so sure. He hated to question her, but he asked anyway. “You’re sure? I mean, I searched there; we all did, and we couldn’t find him.”

 

Matilda kept her annoyance hidden. She was used to those who doubted her, and she could see in the young man’s eyes how utterly important this was to him. She stared down at the map one last time as if to double check herself. Her intuition didn’t change. No, she was as certain as she could be. “This is the area.”

 

Johnny nodded, swallowing. Suddenly he felt the urgent need to go, to get to Roy as soon as possible, before his whereabouts changed. Quickly, he paid her fee and shrugged into his coat. He took her hand in his. “Thank you. I can’t thank you enough.”

 

Puzzled, she commented, “You’re in a hurry to go so suddenly.” Her expression turned to alarm. “You’re not planning to search for him now, are you?”

 

“Matilda, now that I know where he is, I’ve got to go. It’s already been too long. I don’t want to waste one more second.”

 

“No. Don’t go out in that storm. It wouldn’t be safe to take a boat out now.”

 

Johnny glanced at the window. Sheets of rain slashed across it and it was as dark as if it were dusk. “I have to work tomorrow, and I won’t have another chance until the day after. What if he’s gone by then?”

 

“He won’t be gone. He’s been there all along. One more day won’t hurt to wait. If you go out today, you’ll surely drown.” She said it with such foreboding that Johnny faltered in his decision. It wouldn’t do Roy much good if he finally found out where he was and then was killed before he got to him. But still…

 

“Wait another day. The weather will be better. You will find him.” She laid her hand on his arm. “If I sense any changes, I will call you.”

 

A lot of good that’ll do me if I’m at work. “All right,” he finally conceded. He thanked her once more, then left.

 

She watched as he disappeared into the rain. A worried frown crossed her face as she realized where he was headed.

 

 

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

 

 

Joanne put the last plate in the dishwasher then grabbed a towel to dry her hands. The boxed macaroni and cheese and frozen peas she’d made for dinner seemed lame; she’d made the dinner too many times lately because it was so easy, and she didn’t seem to have the will or the imagination to put more effort into a meal. Oh well, at least the kids liked it.

 

She glanced into the living room. Both her children were on the floor quietly making Christmas decorations. The colorful lights Johnny had put up glittered merrily outside the windows, and inside the glow from the Christmas tree added a warmth to the room that always before had lifted her spirits just looking at it. It wasn’t enough to brighten her mood this year.

 

She should be ecstatic. On the floor in between Chris and Jennifer sat Jimmy in his bouncy seat, sleeping peacefully. He’d finally come home from the hospital, and he was healing; Dr. Lawrence expected him to recover fully. It was the best Christmas present she could have ever hoped for, yet still she felt down.

 

For a long time the baby’s illness had distracted her enough to keep her from dwelling on Roy’s absence. Even though Jimmy still required near constant care, the worst of the danger had passed, and things were beginning to return to normal. It was a normal she knew she’d never get used to.

 

She’d held off making plans for Christmas, not knowing what would happen with Jimmy. Christmas Eve would be a quiet affair this year, then her parents planned to drop by Christmas day, sometime in the afternoon, after spending the morning with her sister. Eileen had invited them all over to her house, but Joanne really wanted to stay at home. It was too overwhelming to pack up all the gifts and the kids and get over there early in the morning. It probably would have been better for Joanne not to stay at home where she would be reminded of Roy’s absence, yet she couldn’t bear the thought of not being home for Christmas.

 

It would be so different. So lonely. So quiet. Tears sprang to her eyes when she thought of Roy missing it, and of the fact that her husband didn’t live long enough to see their son recover. She wondered sometimes if he’d thought about that at the time of his death, and how awful that must have been for him. She prayed to God that wherever he was, he would know that his son was okay.

 

And then there was Johnny. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in weeks. Not since she’d kicked him out of her life. Now that Jimmy was all right, she felt a deep regret in her heart over the way she’d treated him. And she found herself wishing that he could be here for Christmas. She missed him too.

 

The kids had stopped asking about him when they saw her reaction to the mention of his name. They were down too, for they had two losses now. Not only had they lost their father, their ‘uncle’ was out of their lives as well. It was almost too much to bear. Their long faces and mopiness was evidence of their own world of depression.

 

There was a way they could have Johnny there for Christmas. Joanne could apologize. She knew if she did, Johnny would be forgiving. He would come then.

 

He was likely hurting too. Joanne knew he had no family, and when she thought of that, and him spending the holiday by himself, it made her feel terribly guilty. Roy wouldn’t have wanted Johnny to spend Christmas by himself. Even worse, by cutting John out of her life, she’d cut her children out of his, a punishment that now seemed terribly unfair. She comforted herself a bit thinking that at least he had Michaela.

 

She sighed, debating a course of action. It would be painful to apologize, but now she knew it was something she had to do. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself much longer if she didn’t.

 

Joanne threw the towel on the counter and shut off the kitchen light. She would decide tomorrow. Jennifer was calling to her to help with her drawing.

 

 

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

 

 

Ventura County wasn’t lucky enough to get the rains that had drenched Los Angeles. If it had, perhaps it would have slowed the wall of flames tearing through Balcom Canyon. For the past three days, the fire had scorched over 5,000 acres. So far, only two outbuildings had been destroyed, but the voluntary evacuations for residents in some communities were likely to be upgraded to mandatory.

 

Over six hundred firefighters were already working the fast-moving fire, and a call was put out for more engines. It was forty percent contained, but had a lot of potential for significant growth, due to the volatile weather. Erratic winds were blowing the fire closer and closer to homes. Though there were no casualties yet, four firefighters had sustained minor injuries.

 

Wednesday morning, 51’s crew was one of the LA stations called to join in the fight to contain the fire before it became more out of control. Known as a ‘hotshot crew’, they were assigned to rapidly clear the thick, heavier brush around the perimeter of the area in order to choke off the fire’s ‘food supply’, and lower the fire behavior if it reached their area, making the roads more holdable.

 

In other areas, helicopters, air tankers, and ground crews were prepping some of the structures in the canyon area. Most of the flames were burning in very rugged terrain in the high hills and mountains.

 

As 51’s engine and squad approached the area, Johnny groaned as he took in his surroundings. The air was thick with gray acrid smoke, the flames so vast they could be seen for miles away. Johnny knew then that they could be stuck here for at least two days, maybe more.

 

Normally Gage was enthusiastic about fighting a beast this large. The excitement gave him an adrenalin surge. Not this time. A sense of urgency filled the pit of his stomach when it became apparent that he likely wouldn’t be off work tomorrow to search for Roy.

 

After he’d left Matilda, he’d ignored her plea not to go out in the storm, and had driven straight to the boat rental, determined to find Roy no matter what. But when he got to the dock, the office was closed because of the rain. He had no way of getting out on the water. Disappointed, he’d fretted about it most of the night, preventing him from sleep.

 

Now he felt drained and exhausted. Not entirely beaten, the cold he’d battled recently still lingered in his chest like a lead weight. Sleeping as late as possible had stolen time away to eat breakfast, and he had hoped someone might have brought in some donuts. There hadn’t been time for that either. They’d gotten the call at eight-o-five.

 

The thought of trudging through a scorching hot and dusty mountainside for hours or even days felt like a burden John had no strength to bear. Far worse than that, he would likely be delayed from searching for Roy the next day, or maybe several. What if one more day did matter? The tiny window of opportunity that had finally opened could easily be slammed closed if the timing was wrong. He desperately hoped that the fire could be contained quickly.

 

When they arrived at their post, Gil and Johnny worked for an hour treating firefighters, while the others moved on to an area a mile away. There were no serious injuries, just some minor burns, smoke inhalation, and heat exhaustion. No one needed transport to a hospital. Johnny’s relief at their easy job was dashed around nine-thirty that morning when they were instructed to assist with evacuations.

 

For three hours they removed both willing and unwilling people from their homes, often extinguishing blazes inside ignited by the burning brush.   

 

When a backup crew arrived to help, Johnny and Gil were sent to join up with their own station, who were in the process of extinguishing small brush fires near the perimeter of the conflagration, creating firebreaks. They also removed brush, grass, and dried out pine needles down to the dirt, so that no fire could pass through the area. It was dirty, hot, backbreaking work.

 

Johnny’s sweating as he drove was caused more by an uneasiness than by the intense heat. His greatest concern was getting trapped between isolated ‘fingers’ of fire that commonly extended from already blackened areas of earth. Sometimes these long, thin strips of fire extended downwind from the main fire. They were caused by airborne burning embers which the wind had blown from the main fire. The smoldering cinders landed on vegetation, creating little patches of burning brush. Unfortunately, those small patches could quickly grow into very dangerous places to be.

 

The ride out was uneventful, and the heat hit the two paramedics like a blast furnace when they exited their squad. Gil drew back slightly in surprise, not expecting such intensity. He looked around, his eyes widening in awe at the devastation around him.

 

It looked like a war zone. In front of them the ground was charred and blackened; steam curled up in spots like some of Yellowstone’s hot springs. All that was missing was the bubbles. Thick gray smoke hung in the sky for miles, while ashes blew around them, some glowing orange with the threat of sparking a new blaze.

 

Johnny threw him a knowing look. “Gives you an appreciation for mother nature, doesn’t it?” Lightning had been named the culprit this time.

 

Gil wiped the sweat off his forehead and snorted. “Looks more like Hell to me.” He looked up. “Guess I better be good if this is what I’ve got to look forward to when I bite it.”

 

Johnny smiled wryly and walked around to the back of the squad. “You ever fight one of these before?”

 

“No. You?”

 

“Yeah. A couple.” He pulled out shovels, rakes, and an ax and handed Gil his share. His tone turned sarcastic. “You’re in for a real treat.”

 

 

 

The two paramedics joined a team of about twenty other firefighters, covering an area of about a tenth of a mile. Though they were heavy and cumbersome, the men donned masks and air tanks, unable to take the heated and smoky air. It was hot and grueling, yet no one stopped, except for an occasional drink of water. Sandwiches brought for lunch were gulped down between shovelfuls of dirt or pulls of the rake. Everyone knew the stakes as the fire threatened nearby homes and livelihoods. There wasn’t time to rest.

 

Four hours elapsed at a snail’s pace. The men became like machines, backs arching and arms swinging in a rhythm they no longer thought about, but just did. No one talked. The only sounds came from the collection of harsh intakes and exhales of oxygen forced through their breathing apparatus, joined with the soft hiss of the raging fire in the distance.

 

Johnny startled as he heard his captain’s voice shouting.

 

“Heads up guys! The wind’s changing! There’s another gust coming up this way. I want you all to start moving toward the left flank!” His arm swept in a wide gesture indicating where he wanted them. “We’ve got some pockets of brush that need to be taken down. Let’s get to it!” He walked on by, heading toward the next group of men. Johnny heard his voice fade in the wind as he moved down the line to alert the other men.

 

Johnny straightened, his back aching from his position. A face swathed with sweat caused his air mask to slip down, and he reached up to tighten the straps, hugging it against his face tighter. A wisp of hot air swirled up under his turnout, making the perspiration he was drenched in actually feel cool for a moment. He staggered a few steps before got his equilibrium, then stumbled off in the direction the Cap indicated, head down.

 

His throat was parched, but John was too exhausted to walk the few extra steps to get a drink of water. He vaguely considered that he was near collapse but the fog in his brain prevented a proper evaluation of his well-being. A cramp in his leg caused him to falter, and the light-headedness he suddenly felt almost took him down. Stopping for a second, he leaned against his shovel for support; his hands swollen and clumsy as he gripped the handle.

 

Johnny gazed up at a drone he heard in the distance. He watched as one tiny speck appeared and then another; two C-130 airplanes were dropping water and fire-retardant liquids over the remote areas of the large fire where their hand crews could not reach. The air show had been performing all day, helicopters and air tankers pounding the canyon relentlessly to try to squelch the blaze.

 

Diverting his gaze from the sky to the ground caused a severe wave of vertigo that dropped him to his knees. The shovel fell to the side. When his hands hit the ground, his arms began shaking so violently he couldn’t hold himself up. His shoulders gave way and he fell to one elbow.

 

The symptoms hit him fast and all at once. Confusion prevented Johnny from understanding exactly what was happening to him, but his stomach made one thing perfectly clear, and that was that he was going to throw up. An urgency to get his mask off before that happened resulted in a frantic clawing at his face to remove it. He managed to lift it high enough to clear his mouth, but it was still tight under his nose when he began vomiting.

 

Hank Stanley trudged heavily toward his men, ready to herd them onward when he noticed a hunched figure on the ground rising slightly above the brush. The tan turnout coat blended so well with its surroundings that, until it moved, he thought it was a mound of dirt.

 

He ran toward it, able to identify the man in it by the faded ‘Gage’ stenciled on the back of the coat. Hank grabbed a hold of his gagging paramedic’s shoulders, then noticed that John was frenetically clawing at his facemask. Moving around to Gage’s other side, he saw the problem, and reached to loosen the straps of the mask.

 

John’s helmet was in the way, so Hank loosened that first, tossing it aside. John continued to struggle with the mask, still unable to remove it.

 

“Hang on, John; I’ll get it off.” When he wasn’t able to loosen the straps, he tried grabbing the mask and pulling it upward. Gage howled as it caught on his nose, and Cap stopped.

 

“Damn it,” Cap growled, once again fighting the straps. Gage puked again, and Hank could feel his whole body shaking. Frustrated, he withdrew a knife from his pocket, and in one swift movement, sliced through the strap holding the mask to John’s face. It fell away just as Johnny’s back arched again in response to the convulsion going on in his stomach, only this time all his effort only produced a small drop of spit.

 

“Robinson!” Hank yelled as loud as he could to his other paramedic, who was about twenty yards away. He looked back at Johnny in concern. The paramedic was white as a sheet and dripping with sweat. Shit.

 

Gil looked over blearily, his legs taking a second’s hesitation to catch up to his mind’s request before he ran over. 

 

Spent from vomiting, Johnny collapsed onto his side, his glassy eyes half open as he lay gasping. Every few seconds one of his arms or legs would spasm.

 

Gil arrived and knelt down. “What the hell happened?”

 

“Heat exhaustion, I’d bet. But you’re the paramedic; you tell me.”

 

Gil leaned down, positioning himself closer to John. He touched the paramedic’s face with the back of his hand. It felt warm and clammy. “John? Tell me what’s going on, man.”

 

Johnny tried to focus on Gil but everything was spinning. It took him a moment to speak. “D-dizzy…nauseous…really hot…” he winced as a cramp knifed through his stomach, “got…got cramps…”

 

“Where? In your stomach?” Gil gripped his wrist, taking his pulse. It was way too fast.

 

Johnny closed his eyes in affirmation. “Stomach…legs…augh…” he rolled, trying to get a knee under him, and his stomach contracted again in a futile heave.

 

A new set of feet appeared beside them. Gil looked up and saw the thick mustache through the heavy plastic. “Chet, can you go get the supplies?”

 

The Irishman’s worried expression was clearly visible through the facemask. He took a quick backward glance before he replied, directing his answer at the captain. “Uh, Cap, I think we better all get the hell out of here. Look.” He turned, nodding in the distance.

 

The other two swung around. The gust of wind coming in from the east had erratically turned south in their direction. The fire was now surging toward them, swallowing up trees and brush less than a mile away. Men from other companies could be seen running toward their engines, their arms overloaded with rakes and shovels. The captain from Station 36 was jogging in their direction.

 

“Holy shit,” Cap whispered. “Let’s go. Chet, help Gil get John up.” He then turned and ran toward the other captain, simultaneously drawing his handi-talki towards his mouth. They heard his shouts in the distance calling for a water drop.

 

Before Chet could get his hands under John’s arms, he’d already sat up. Gage was coherent enough to know that time was very short. And he was well aware that the last thing they needed was a sick man jeopardizing their safety. He weakly got one foot on the ground and tried to push himself up.

 

“C’mon, John, let us help you,” Gil chided.

 

“Okay, hurry up then,” Johnny groused, annoyed that they weren’t moving faster.

 

They pulled him to his feet and he stood there trembling, half bent over, leaning into Gil. Stumbling, he slowly put one foot in front of the other and tried to move forward.

 

“Wait,” Gil ordered, stopping abruptly. “Get his coat off. We’ve got to get him cooled down.”

 

Johnny glanced up in alarm. Tiny orange glowing particles swirled in the air around them like fireflies, alight then randomly burning out. A lone deer appeared out of the smoke, galloping by them in a zig-zag pattern, then disappearing. “No,” Johnny breathed. “S’no time. C’mon!”

 

Reluctantly, Gil urged him forward with Chet’s support on the other side, moving as quickly as they could. Halfway to the squad, John’s stomach cramped again, and he doubled over, groaning.

 

They kept moving until they made it to the squad. Chet threw the door open and together they poured Johnny into the front seat. Chet left momentarily. Gil’s fingers flew over the clasps of John’s turnout, ripping them open, then coaxed his coat off. He ran around to the side of the squad to get some supplies.

 

Johnny leaned forward, hanging his head between his knees to quell the dizziness and nausea. His body twitched every few seconds. He couldn’t understand why they weren’t moving. “Gil? We need to get goin’, man,” Johnny moaned.

 

Chet returned with a canteen in each hand. He set one on the seat and unscrewed the cap from the other. Chet began pouring the water over Johnny’s head.

 

John jumped at the sudden wetness. “Kelly…what the hell are you doin’?”

 

“Tryin’ to cool you down.” The water soaked John’s hair, running down onto his neck and shoulders. “You know, bein’ a paramedic for so long has made you a lightweight, Gage.” 

 

“Like…hell it has,” he countered. Even as he chastised Chet, John lifted his head to allow the coolness to run down his face. It felt heavenly.

 

Chet kept pouring and grinned at Gil as he slipped into the squad’s driver’s seat. “Yep; gotta leave the really tough work up to the real men, right Gil?”

 

Gil smirked at Chet.

 

“Chet…why don’t you go…eat some dirt?” John offered.

 

“Gotta take care of my pigeon first and  – ”

 

“Kelly!” His captain was calling from the engine.

 

Chet threw a hasty glance at Johnny, then to Gil. One by one, Chet picked up John’s legs and stuffed them into the truck. “Follow us out of here. Then you can take care of him.”

 

“Right,” Gil said worriedly.

 

Chet patted John a couple times on the shoulder. “You’ll be okay man.”

 

“I know,” Johnny answered weakly. “Go on, Kelly; get outta here,” Johnny waved his hand at him.

 

Chet slammed the door closed and ran to the engine.

 

Dripping with water, John laid his head between the window and the door, slumping into the corner of the vehicle. Gil hurriedly started the motor and followed the rig’s cloud of dust as it made its way down the winding hillside.

 

 

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

 

 

Gil cringed as Johnny hugged his helmet in his lap and dry heaved into it again. Gage remained bent over it, spitting the saliva that kept gathering in his mouth every few seconds. Gil had to find a place to stop and get Gage’s vitals again. They were still a half hour from Rampart.

 

How did I let him talk me into this, he thought for the tenth time.

 

After they’d made it a safe distance from the fire, Gil had stopped to examine Johnny and contacted the Santa Paula hospital where they had been instructed to take any victims. The doctor there had ordered an IV, which Johnny succumbed to grudgingly, although he really felt too sick to do much protesting. Besides, he knew he needed it.

 

When they’d arrived, the ER was a madhouse. A serious freeway accident caused by the smoke was demanding every doctor’s immediate attention. On top of that, they had an unusual amount of patients, some due to the fire itself with cases of smoke inhalation and asthma.

 

Since John’s illness wasn’t life threatening, and he already had an IV established and a paramedic with him, John and Gil were told they would have to wait. With patients doubled up in each exam room, and the waiting room overflowing with people, it became apparent that it could be hours before Johnny would get to see a doctor.

 

 Unwilling to wait, and worried about getting stuck in Ventura County with no way to get home, Johnny ordered Gil to take him to Rampart, which was about an hour and a half away – no more than they would be waiting at Santa Paula anyway, and possibly less.

 

At the Santa Paula hospital Gil argued, suggesting they try another hospital. “I can’t take the responsibility of driving you all the way to Rampart. What if this is more serious than we think? What if something happens on the way? No, we’ll try another hospital first.”

 

Despite the fact that he was sick and weak, Johnny still had the energy and the stubbornness to fight. He gritted his teeth and ground out, “No, we won’t try another hospital. We’re going to Rampart. I’ll take full responsibility.”

 

Gil didn’t back down. “You’re in no condition to be making any decisions right now, Johnny. And if you die on the way you won’t be around to take responsibility.”

 

Johnny stared at Gil, incredulous that he was defying his order. For a moment, the two men faced off, inches apart, each staring the other down, the whites of two sets of eyes glaring at one another like beacons behind the dirt, sweat, and grime surrounding them.

 

Gage leaned so close to Gil that their noses were almost touching. In a very low, slow, and almost growling voice, Johnny made clear who was boss, articulating each word. “I’m NOT gonna die on the way. The discussion is over, Gil. I’m the senior member here and I’m telling you you’re driving me back to LA. Now. Help me up.” He struggled to rise from his waiting room seat.

 

Gil’s jaw was set, and he hesitated a moment, but only just that. Gage had given him no choice; he had to follow his orders. Reluctantly, he stood, then reached under John’s arm to help him to his feet.

 

An hour and fifty-five minutes later, and after two pit stops to check Gage’s vitals, Gil pulled the squad up to Rampart’s ER. Johnny refused the wheelchair Gil offered, insisting that he walk. It ended up more like he was carried, as Gil had to support him all the way down the corridor.

 

As they neared the base station, Johnny spotted Dixie and pushed Gil away. As he staggered forward, the nurse’s smile fell into a puzzled frown. The man walking toward her looked more like a drunken street bum than Johnny. His face was black with soot; the sweat and water that had run down it painted uneven vertical stripes on his cheeks. His shirt fared no better; it was wrinkled, sweat-stained, and filthy; had she not known it was once blue she would have said he dug it out of the garden.

 

Three steps away from the base station, a wave of light-headedness hit him, and Johnny tipped sideways to the floor, his arms unsuccessfully flailing to right himself. The IV bag that he’d been carrying burst open as Johnny landed on it.

 

“Johnny!” Dixie ran to him to see if he was all right. Gil was right behind her.

 

Embarrassed by his lack of grace, and annoyed that he hadn’t been able to pull off his act as only a tired and dirty paramedic instead of a sick one, he rolled away from the wet IV solution he was laying in and threw a grimaced look upward. Dixie’s face appeared to be moving in a slow arc, and he blinked. “Hey…Dix…”

 

Dixie threw an incredulous look at Gil, her expression conveying that she expected an immediate explanation, not only as to why Johnny had just collapsed, but why he was walking around with an IV snaking from his arm. She knelt down next to him.

 

Johnny felt something warm on his side and looked down. A rivulet of blood was trickling down his arm where the IV had been torn out when he fell. Crap…this’ll keep me here longer…The sight of his own blood welling up out of the new wound renewed his nausea. He searched for Dixie’s face again. “Uh, Dix…could I…see a doctor?” His arm twitched and he winced as a bolt of pain shot through his head.

 

Alarmed, Dixie turned and called to a nearby nurse. “Sandra, get Dr. Brackett!”

 

Johnny lunged forward anxiously, swiping for her arm and missing. “No!” He clawed for her again, this time snagging her wrist. “No, Dix! Not…not Brackett. Get me Mike. I wanna see Mike. Or Early,” he added as an afterthought. The last words came out as a distressed sigh, and he sagged back, his arm now smarting quite badly.

 

Dixie was taken aback at his outburst, but even more shocked by the fact that Johnny had asked to see Dr. Morton. “Johnny, hold your arm still.” She clamped a hand on his forearm to immobilize it. His movement had caused an increase in the blood flowing from his arm to the floor.    

 

“Gage, what are you doing on the floor?” Having just exited one of the treatment rooms, Mike Morton grabbed a nearby wheelchair and rolled it over. He kneeled down next to Johnny and took his arm from Dixie’s grasp, examining it. “Sandra, get me a Kerlix,” he called to a nearby nurse. He then addressed Johnny, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Laying down on the job again, eh?”

 

Johnny coughed some of the smoke from his lungs and gave a half-hearted smile. “Just thought I’d…drop in.” For once, he was extremely relieved to see Mike.

 

Mike glanced around. “Well, you certainly know how to make a grand entrance.” He looked at Gil mischievously. “Does he always make such a spectacle of himself?”

 

“Creates a scene everywhere he goes, Doc. I can’t take him anywhere,” Gil joked, then almost laughed remembering what Johnny had said about his high school girlfriend, Karen Goddard.

 

Dixie threw a disbelieving stare at Gil, and then Mike.

 

Morton placed the Kerlix pad over the bloody wound on John’s arm. “Hold it still.” He glanced at the square tiles he was kneeling on. The mixture of filth from John’s clothes, the IV solution, and his blood was creating a slimy brown mess on the floor. “What a mess. You know they just cleaned this floor today,” Morton said lightly. “You could have at least waited until we got you into the exam room.”

 

“Mike!” Dixie admonished, at a loss to understand why the three of them were joking around.

 

Johnny glanced down at the disgusting combination of fluids around him and his body tightened up as his stomach cramped again. “About to get worse…” he chagrinned with a choke before gagging.

 

“Keep your arm straight!” Mike turned serious now, fighting to unbend John’s arm as his whole body contracted.

 

Johnny groaned in misery, his head pounding even more fiercely. Blood poured from his wound.

 

“C’mon, let’s get you into the treatment room. We’re all set up for you, John,” Mike added more sympathetically. He nodded at Gil, who, along with him, scooped a hand under the paramedic’s arms and lifted him into the wheelchair. 

 

Dixie struggled to put two and two together. Mike seemed to have expected Johnny, but she didn’t know anything about it. There had been no call in to the base station about it. “Would someone mind telling me what’s going on? Who ordered this IV?”

 

“Santa Paula Hospital,” Gil answered.

 

Her face lighted up in recognition after a few moments. “Ah…I get it. You two were at the fire.”

 

“Right,” Gil confirmed.

 

“So what are you doing here?” She followed them as they wheeled Johnny into the exam room.

 

“Johnny collapsed at the fire. There was a long wait at Santa Paula.” Gil’s face twisted into an expression of mild irritation. “He insisted I drive him here.”

 

“I see. Mike, then you knew they were coming.”

 

“Yeah, Dix. Gil phoned it in asking for me personally.”

 

She nodded slowly. It wasn’t a surprise that Johnny hadn’t wanted to see Kel, but Mike? She’d always thought the two of them butted heads. Johnny had often complained about Mike’s bedside manner. She wondered what had changed.

 

In the exam room, Gil and Mike helped Johnny onto the table. “Gil, get a new IV started in the other arm. Dix, draw some blood. Let’s get some oxygen on him.” While the others complied, Mike began examining the broken IV embedded in Johnny’s arm.

 

Johnny hissed in pain as Mike palpated his arm, but he didn’t mind, really. Right now he’d take the dizziness, headache, and even the vomiting over the alternative – staying in Ventura and fighting that fire.

 

Half an hour later, Johnny was feeling only marginally better. Mike had given him something for the nausea and the headache, but he was still very weak and dizzy. Extreme thirst made his throat ache, but the doctor had instructed him to sip his water slowly. Nothing had been done about the arm yet; Mike had kept it bandaged while he waited for test results to come back in.

 

Gil left to drive back to Ventura. Johnny was sorry he had to make that drive because of him, but it was worth it. Gil would forgive him, and he’d gotten what he wanted. Unwittingly, his illness that afternoon had solved his problem. In a few hours, he’d probably be released to go home. He could get a good night sleep and recover, then be free in the morning to search for Roy as he’d planned. The Department would never make him work the next day after being a patient in the hospital. He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to relax. He couldn’t wait to get home, take a shower, and get to bed.

 

The door opened and Dr. Morton walked in with a manila file folder in his hand.

 

John opened his eyes wearily. Finally. Now he can fix my arm and get me outta here. “What’s the verdict, Doc?”

 

Mike walked over to the table John was lying on. “Tell me everything you had to eat and drink today.”

 

Johnny frowned, trying to remember. It wasn’t much. There hadn’t been time at the fire. He relayed what little he’d had. “Why? What’s wrong? It’s just a little heat exhaustion, right?”

 

Mike folded his arms, his mouth twisting. “A little,” he said sarcastically. “Yes. And your electrolytes are all screwed up. Your sodium, potassium, chloride and phosphate levels are all out of balance. That’s why you’re feeling so crappy.”

 

“So…fix ‘em.”

 

Mike’s eyes narrowed into an irritated glare. “I’m going to start a couple of IV’s and get you back in balance. Then you should be feeling a lot better.”

 

Johnny relaxed a little. “Good. Uh, how long till I can get out of here?”

 

Mike lowered his head and peered at John over the top of his glasses. “Gage, you’re not going anywhere. I’m admitting you.”

 

Johnny sat up abruptly. “What?!” Vertigo overtook him immediately and he almost fell off the table.

 

“Hey!” Mike grabbed him by the shoulders and caught him before he sailed to the floor.  “Cool it, will you? You’re not in any condition to be getting up and moving around. All you need to do is fall off this table and break your arm or something.”

 

Johnny fought an impulse to vomit, waiting for it to pass. Weakly, he tried to argue, his eyes closing as his head sank back to the pillow. “Mike, I can’t stay here tonight. I’ve gotta go home.”

 

“Sorry. Nothing doing. Your BP’s still too low, your heart rate’s too high, you’ve got a fever, you’re dehydrated, and your lungs don’t sound clear…that enough for you?”

 

“Johnny raised his other hand, reaching for Mike’s arm. “Doc, c’mon, be reasonable. I don’t need to stay here tonight. Listen, I can just go home with you when you’re off shift. You’ll be there if anything happens.”

 

Mike’s expression turned to annoyance. “First of all, I’m not off until morning, and there’s no way I’m letting you go home with these readings. Second, when I’m off shift I’ve got things to do, not sit around and babysit you.”

 

“What if I’m not better by tomorrow?”

 

“Then you’ll stay here another day.”

 

That situation was unacceptable. There was no WAY he was going to stay in the hospital tomorrow too. “Mike, couldn’t I just stay at your place tomorrow since you’ll be off? I could just ride home with you.” And when you go out, I can leave.

 

“John, look, I’m sorry. But I’m busy tomorrow too. I’ve got Christmas shopping to do. I can’t stay home and be your nursemaid if you’re still sick. You need to be in a hospital where you can get the attention you need.”

 

Johnny lay there miserably, thinking that come hell or high water, he wasn’t going to stay here tomorrow. He’d agree to stay tonight, but tomorrow was out of the question, whether Mike was home or not. The thought that they couldn’t force him to stay calmed him somewhat.

 

Mike saw Johnny’s intense dismay. “Don’t worry. More than likely you’ll be just fine in the morning. Now, let’s get your arm taken care of.” He walked off to prepare a syringe so that he could numb the skin on Johnny’s arm in order to stitch it up.

 

“I’m counting on it,” Johnny murmured, shutting his eyes.

 

 

At ten thirty that evening, Mike Morton stepped into Johnny’s room for a late night check on his patient. When he peeked in the door Johnny stirred, and so he walked in.

 

Mike stood at the foot of the bed and perused John’s chart. “How’re you feeling?”

 

Johnny yawned, spurning a cough forth from his lungs. “Better. Just really tired.”

 

“Good.” Mike fitted his stethoscope in his ears and listened to John’s lungs. After that he took his wrist to check his pulse. Then he got a blood pressure reading and counted John’s respirations. “Well, your vitals look pretty good. We’ll draw some more blood later and recheck things.”

            “Yippee. Can’t wait. Another hole in my arm.”

 

Mike grimaced a smile. “You’ll be out of here in no time. Get some rest.”

 

“That’s what I was tryin’ to do when you came in here and woke me up.”

 

“Then I won’t disturb you any longer.” He walked back to the foot of the bed and picked up the chart again, entering the latest vitals. Mike stood there for several minutes reading everything over just to make sure he didn’t miss anything. When he replaced the chart and looked up, it appeared Gage was sleeping again. He silently walked toward the door.

 

Mike almost bumped into Kel Brackett on the way out. “Hey, Kel,” he said quietly. “What are you doing up here?”

 

“Just came up to check on your patient. Dixie told me about Johnny. How’s he doing?”

 

Mike thought Kel seemed preoccupied. “Much better. Vitals are almost back to normal. I’m going to run more blood before he leaves, but he should be fine. He’ll probably be able to go home in the morning.”

 

Kel peered into the room. “He asleep?”

 

“Yeah. I think so.”

 

“Good.” Brackett took a couple of steps away from the door.

 

Inside John’s room, voices stirred John from his light sleep. He though he recognized Morton’s and Brackett’s voices. He suspected they were talking about him. Straining to listen, he kept completely still.

 

Brackett’s mouth twitched and he seemed to hesitate. “Mike…in the morning…don’t discharge Johnny. I’d like you to keep him here.”

 

Mike’s brows rose in surprise. “Why?”

 

Kel brought his hand up to his face and rubbed his mouth. He appeared to be debating what he was going to say. “I’d like to send him down to see Dr. Sharp.”

 

John’s eyes popped open. He shut them quickly in case they should notice. Now blaringly awake, he fought to hear them.

 

Mike’s eyes widened in surprise. “Sharp? Why?”

 

“I want to get a psych evaluation on him.”

 

Morton narrowed his eyes, sensing a conspiracy. He was surprised at the rising feelings of animosity towards his boss, and defensiveness for his patient. He also wasn’t too wild about another doctor stepping in and taking over his patient, even if it was the Head of Emergency. Especially when it wasn’t needed. “May I ask why?”

 

Kel could hear the skepticism in his tone. “A number of reasons...I don't have time to go into them all right now.”

 

“Wait a minute. This wouldn’t have anything to do with Roy DeSoto, does it?”

 

Kel’s cheek twitched. “It has everything to do with it.”

 

“Ah, so you're in with the crowd who thinks Gage's been acting, shall we say, out of the norm?” 

 

“I wouldn’t exactly put it that way. I’m not going along with a crowd, Mike. I’ve made my own observations.” Kel paused, taking in Mike’s reaction. “I take it you have reservations, Doctor.”

 

Mike crossed his arms. “Yes, I do. Despite all the gossip I’ve heard, I don't think there's anything wrong with him. Other than a little edginess from time to time, which is pretty normal for Gage, he seems all right to me.”

 

“Well in my opinion, he's not.”

 

It was all Johnny could do not to jump out of bed and give Brackett a piece of his mind. He wanted to. But he knew if he did it would make him look as out of balance as Brackett was accusing him of being. He kept silent, lying as still as possible. Inside he was boiling.

 

Mike didn’t want to overstep his bounds. Brackett was his boss, and he was just an intern. Still, he felt strongly about his position and felt that someone needed to defend John. “Look, Kel, I think I know John pretty well and I don’t think he’s done anything to warrant this.”

 

Kel looked puzzled. “Since when have you been such an authority on John Gage? Or an advocate for that matter?”

 

Mike only hesitated a second before saying, “Since he moved in with me.”

 

Brackett was taken aback. “Moved in with you?” Johnny moved? A pang of guilt stabbed at him. Dixie had said John and Michaela had broken up, likely because of his actions, or rather, the actions of Admin. But he never dreamed that Johnny would have moved from his home because of it. Johnny had horses, didn’t he? What did he do with them? What kind of uproar had all this caused in his life?

 

“Yeah. He and Dr. Marcantonio broke up.” Mike didn’t want to reveal the real reason Johnny moved – so that the money from the sale of his home could go to DeSoto’s son’s operation. That was something that Johnny obviously wanted kept secret, and Mike respected that.

 

Kel thought Mike’s face held a trace of accusation, or was it his imagination because he felt guilty? He was unable to hide the pained expression on his own face. “Oh…yes; I heard about that.”

 

Johnny couldn’t believe the conversation he was overhearing. Brackett and Morton were out in the hall discussing his personal life – and his breakup with Michaela! How the hell did Mike know about that? Mick must have told someone. Maybe Dixie. That’s probably how Brackett knew too. God, it must be all over the hospital by now the way gossip in this place flies. I wonder what else they all know?  

 

Kel’s brows furrowed questioningly. “Why you, Mike? I never would have thought…I mean, I guess I always thought you and Johnny were a bit at odds with each other.”

 

“Actually, I’ve found we have quite a bit in common. And as to why me…” he shrugged, “because I offered.” And because John was living out of his car because he didn’t feel like he could turn to any of his other ‘friends’.  Mike didn’t feel he needed to elaborate on the details; it was none of Brackett’s business.

 

Brackett seemed frustrated. Things weren’t adding up for him, but it wasn’t professional for him to keep talking about John’s personal life. He decided to let that part of the conversation drop. “At any rate, Mike. I’d still like John to see Dr. Sharp. He’s been under a lot of stress in the past few months. Add to that the daily stresses of his job and it’s enough that it could affect his work. It’s my job to make sure every paramedic working out of Rampart is at one hundred percent – mentally and physically. If he, or any other paramedic isn’t, it could affect the life of a patient. I’ve got to be sure.”

 

Mike sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to win this battle. “All right.” He nodded toward Johnny’s room. “But he’s not going to be very happy about it. He’s anxious to get out of here.”

 

“You can blame me. Tell him I ordered it.” Johnny probably can’t dislike me any more than he already does anyway.

 

“I will. Good-night, Kel.” Resignedly, Mike turned and left.

 

When Johnny was sure they’d both left, he opened his eyes. Shaken and angry, he sat up.

 

A psych exam!? This is bullshit. Brackett’s gone too far.

 

I thought he respected me. I actually even considered him my friend! Now he wants to put me in the loony bin! He could have come to me and talked to me about it, but he didn’t even have the decency to do that.

 

 Betrayal welled up inside of him until it felt like he would burst. First he stabs Michaela in the back, now me. And he just keeps twisting the knife in deeper.

 

Guess it’s no different than what the Department has done. Even Cap won’t defend me. And my other so-called friends, Chet, Marco, Mike…none of them believe me. None of them have any faith in me.

 

Johnny raised his hands to his head and raked both sets of fingers through his hair. God, what is happening? Every single person I know thinks I’m wrong – that I’m crazy because I just want to find Roy.

 

 Well, I guess there is one person on my side. Huh! Morton of all people defending me. I guess it’s times like this that tells you who your friends really are. Apparently all of mine have deserted me.

 

The one friend who likely would have stood by me is gone…Johnny felt his throat swell suddenly and an overwhelming sense of loss washed over him.

 

No. He’s not gone. I’m gonna find Roy. I’ll prove them all wrong.

 

And then what? A thought that hadn’t even occurred to him before raised the hairs on the back of his neck. How can I keep working with them? How can I keep working with those who distrust me?

 

A different, more logical voice answered him back. You have to keep working with them. You need a job. You need money. Despite the fact that Joanne DeSoto won’t have anything to do with you, you’ve still got to help provide for those two kids. At least until Roy gets back.

 

He sighed, leaning back into his pillow. His mind was a jumble of thoughts.

 

He glanced at the wall clock. It was almost eleven. He suddenly wondered what Michaela was doing, then realized she likely was at the hospital. Surely someone told her I was admitted. I know Dixie would have. Yet I’ve been here hours and she hasn’t come by. I guess I’m deluding myself to think that she still cares. Man, even though we broke up, I would have thought she still had enough feelings for me to see if I was okay.

 

I can’t think about that now. It’s over anyway, so what good does it do? Johnny struggled to put the feelings of anger, hurt, and betrayal aside and think things through.

 

 One thing was clear: he wasn’t going to be transferred down to psych tomorrow morning. There was only one way to avoid that; he knew he’d be powerless to convince Brackett otherwise; he’d have to leave the hospital sometime before the morning, undetected.

 

Exhausted, he decided it was imperative to get some rest before he left to ensure he would be up to his planned caper. He had to put his problems out of his mind for now and calm down. Deep slow breaths finally allowed him to fall into a much needed sleep.

 

If he’d only stayed awake a little longer, he would have seen Michaela slip into his room to see if he was all right. In shadow, she stood at the foot of his bed debating whether to wake him. When he didn’t stir, she walked over to the side of the bed and looked down at him. He looked so peaceful. A hand reached out tentatively toward his face, then withdrew. She didn’t have the heart to wake him, especially since her presence would probably only bring him anguish. Her face was sad as she quietly kissed her fingers then blew it toward him. Turning, she left.

 

 

Dr. Kelly Brackett walked the darkened hall slowly, heading toward the elevator. The lights were dimmed down and the hospital seemed unusually quiet. He glanced down an adjacent hall to the nurses’ station. It was unoccupied at the moment. He saw no one.

 

He stepped into the elevator and punched a button. It too was eerily quiet, except for the low hum of the mechanics above and the usual creaks and groans.

 

For some reason, it felt disconcerting.

 

This hospital was a second home for him; he’d always been comfortable with the rather sterile atmosphere and never thought too much about the lack of hominess. Tonight, however, he felt lonely and uneasy within its pale white walls.

 

His conversation with Mike bothered him. Never one to be persuaded by others’ opinions; Brackett had always been able to make up his own mind about things, and usually acted on his convictions, even when they were unpopular. This time, though, he didn’t feel as confident about trusting his intuitions.

 

Rarely did he have thoughts like those plaguing him now. What if I’m wrong? What if sending Johnny down to get a psych evaluation reveals nothing? He watched the buttons as they lighted for each floor.

 

Am I hoping for otherwise?

 

He answered for himself. Of course not. But what if I am right? The poor man lost his partner, his best friend. He’s broken up with his girlfriend, moved out of his house. He’s come close to losing his job as well.  What if the stress has weighed John down so far that he’s teetering on the edge? What if it gets to the point where he makes a mistake and a patient suffers? I can’t let that happen. I’ve got to know, despite how Johnny reacts. He should be professional enough to understand my decision.

 

 The doctor sighed deeply, getting off the elevator. Mike’s right; Johnny will be livid. Our working relationship will be tarnished, maybe forever. Kel thought about the last several weeks. With the exception of what was only necessary for the job, Johnny had barely spoken two words to him. Why did that bother him so much? If someone had told me years ago that I would one day consider John Gage a friend, I’d have scoffed at them. But he is, damn it.

 

Brackett’s worries were for naught. His morning orders never got carried out, because his patient wasn’t around to be transferred.  

 

 

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

 

 

The night was still black. Johnny walked along the pier searching for the proper slip. Wooden planks wet from an earlier rain reflected glaring orange sodium lights above. He squinted, trying to remember exactly where the boat was.

 

Paranoid that he was being followed. Johnny kept a careful eye out for anyone who might be watching. They’re probably still following me, he figured, but stayed resigned, knowing there was nothing he could do about it. He fingered the knife folded up in his pocket to make sure it was still there.

 

His escape from the hospital had gone smoothly. After Brackett and Morton’s departure, he’d lain in bed for a short while working out his plan. Having been a patient enough times to know that a nurse would wake him up promptly at four a.m. for a check and probably bloodwork, he relied on that as his alarm clock, and allowed himself to sleep. It wasn’t easy, given his anger. Once that scheduled early morning nurse check was over, he knew no one would be back until seven a.m.

 

The nurse had arrived a few minutes early. At exactly four-o-nine, Johnny pulled the tape from his arm and slid the IV out from under his skin. He was very careful to keep pressure on the area for several minutes to ensure a clot. The last thing he needed was a sudden bleed while he was making his escape.

 

Sliding out of bed, he sat on its edge for a moment to gain his equilibrium. He still was feeling weak from the effects of his earlier collapse. After a few long moments, he tentatively put his feet on the floor and stood up. Tired and slightly dizzy, he went to the closet and opened it.

 

Unfortunately, he only had his very dirty and smoky turnouts to wear, but luckily Gil had left his keys and other personal items for him before he departed. Dixie had stored them in the nightstand drawer. It was imperative that he get to Mike’s to change and get his gear before Mike finished his shift at the hospital.

 

Sliding the bed pillows under his covers to make it appear he was still there was the oldest trick in the book, and he felt quite silly doing it, but he did it anyway, hoping to delay the discovery of his missing status. He figured it might just be dark enough to fool them, for a while anyway.

 

Sneaking from the room undetected had been nerve wracking, and the walk from his room to the stairs had caused him to break out in a cold sweat, but he made it uneventfully. Knowing the ins and outs of the hospital had helped tremendously, and he was able to avoid contact with anyone. Johnny heaved a sigh of relief when he finally walked through the doors and got a lungful of heavenly cool outside air.

 

Once he was away from the hospital and out on the street, it didn’t take long to hail a cab, and ten minutes later he was at the station. The fact that the station crew was still at the fire was another lucky break, and he was able to get his car with no intervention from anyone.

 

 

A low fog rolled off the water and over the wooden deck, obscuring his feet. Johnny glanced over his shoulder once more, eyeing the closed and darkened dock office for the fourth time.

 

I shouldn’t be here, he thought guiltily, feeling like a criminal. Yet there was no law against someone coming down before dawn and taking their boat out. Lots of guys did it when they wanted to be out on the water when the fish woke up. Except that Johnny wasn’t taking his boat out. He was borrowing someone else’s.

 

“Ah,” he said to himself as he spotted the Sea Ray sport cruiser, and headed toward it. Johnny hesitated a moment before climbing in, convincing himself that Patrick wouldn’t mind, that he would have called first to ask, but didn’t want to wake him up. With any luck, Johnny would have the boat back and refueled before Chet’s brother missed it.

 

He smiled in satisfaction as he fished around in the box of nuts and bolts for the key. It was still there. Anticipation began to build. Luck had been with him so far. Deep down something told him that today was the day. Today would be the day for the answers he’d waited so long for. Without hesitation, he started the boat, and slowly cruised out to sea.

 

 The wind hit his face in a cold chill, but it invigorated him. Adrenalin surged as he steered the boat toward his destination – the coordinates that Matilda had given him. He knew it by heart, could almost feel his way blindfolded; he’d been this way so many times in the last few months.

 

That thought sent a sliver of discouragement through him, and he wondered how he could have missed Roy all those other times.

 

A hefty dose of reality shot through him. He frowned. What if she’s wrong?

 

What if she’s a fraud? What if I’m just on a wild goose chase?

 

John squinted in the dark, considering his last thought unhappily.

 

If I don’t find out what happened to Roy, I’m gonna look like a total fool. Brackett’ll crucify me. Headquarters will too. They’ll take me off duty…God knows what else they’ll do. Hell, I might wind up in jail for stealin’ this boat…

 

He wouldn’t allow himself to think that things could ever get that bad.

 

 If I don’t find Roy…if that happens…he sucked in a deep breath…then I’ll quit. I don’t want this job any more. It’ll almost be a pleasure to hand Brackett my paramedic pin.

 

A wave jostled the boat roughly, nearly throwing John out of his seat. Slowing slightly, Johnny looked at the instrument panel to ensure he was headed the right way. The darkness was eerie and foreboding and he had to strain to see. Being out on the ocean in the night was both exhilarating and frightening at the same time. He would be glad when the sun peeked over the horizon.

 

A wave of nausea went through his stomach. He swallowed it down. He wasn’t quite recovered from the day before. He wiped the spray from the sea off his face. Man, I’m tired. I want this to be over. John’s shoulders sagged as he made another decision.

 

If the worst happens and Matilda is wrong, and I’m wrong, then…this’ll be it.  I’m gonna give up.  I’m not going to put myself through this any longer. I’ll know I did everything I could do, and that it wasn’t good enough. I’ll just have to accept that I’ll never find out what happened to Roy. This is my last shot.

 

He sighed deeply, already feeling the profound sense of loss as he worked to prepare himself mentally for the extreme disappointment that could very well become reality today.

 

Johnny tensed, realizing the implications of finally making a definite decision. A finalization.

 

And he was scared. Scared that maybe he was wrong, when all along he’d felt so strongly that he was right. It shook him to finally acknowledge that possibility. For it meant that he couldn’t trust himself in the future.

 

The future. Where would that take him? With a jolt, he realized that even if he did find Roy, he knew his future with LA, Rampart, and Station 51 was over. He couldn’t work with guys that didn’t trust him, or for a doctor who thought he was crazy. But what would he do?

 

I can still be a paramedic. I don’t have to work in LA. Hell, I could move somewhere more remote. I’ve got nothing to keep me here. I’m sick of the city and the smog anyway.

 

A thought hit him and his chin lifted.

 

I know where I could work! I could go back to Santa Rosa County! Blaine would hire me! I know he would! I couldn’t be a paramedic, but I could still be a rescue man. Or maybe I could be a paramedic. Who  knows?

 

Man! It’d be a beautiful place to work. I’d get to do what I love most – hiking and climbing, and maybe even do a little fishing! Hell, I could help Blaine try to start up a paramedic program, or at least some kind of a rescue program with the local EMT’s like we discussed. I could be in charge of it.

 

Having a possible game plan comforted him somewhat. As he neared his destination, he turned his attention away from his uncertain future and concentrated more fully on his surroundings, formulating a strategy as to how to find his partner.

 

The sun was just coming up over the horizon when he neared the location Matilda had specified. Brilliant hues of tangerine and purple beamed their way through low lying clouds, painting a magnificent watercolor across the sky.

 

Johnny slowed the boat and took a moment to enjoy the view, its breathtaking beauty calming him. It seemed like such a long time since he had enjoyed anything. Life had become a trial of heartache and mistrust, of lost friendships and lost love. It sometimes seemed like everything that had meaning to him had slipped through his grasp. This reminded him that at least he still had nature. Its awe-inspiring splendor was greater than anything man could create. No one could take that away from him.

 

When the colors began to fade, he turned his attention back to the task. Johnny wasn’t exactly sure what to do or where to look. In the water or under it? Matilda hadn’t been clear on that. Readying for the water, Johnny shimmied into his dive suit, but decided it would be prudent to comb the surface of the water first.

 

For the next two hours, he searched, looking through binoculars, for signs of anything. He saw a few boats here and there, scrutinized each one meticulously, but nothing seemed out of the norm.

 

Johnny looked down at his waterproof watch in concern. By now they know I’m missing from the hospital. Brackett’s probably got an APB out on me. God, I bet he’s pissed. And if Patrick has discovered his boat is missing for some reason, my goose is cooked. They’re gonna be looking for me, and/or whoever took Patrick’s boat. They probably won’t discover the missing boat right away; Patrick never gets up before noon with that bar he owns, so he won’t know it’s gone. The question is, will they assume I’m out here looking for Roy and come after me? He sighed. Probably.

 

I’m runnin’ out of time. I don’t see anything up here. All along Johnny’s gut instinct had been to look under the water. Johnny turned off the boat’s engine and dropped anchor. The boat rocked as he reached for his mask, breathing apparatus, and fins. A swift breeze whipped by as he fitted a fin onto his foot. His world darkened in shadow, and he looked up, seeing the sun slip behind a mass of black clouds.

 

A sensation of danger forced his attention and he stopped, his hand suspended in mid-air. A pulse of adrenalin surged through him and his heart rate increased.

 

It was a rule never to go diving without a dive buddy. Johnny had broken that rule already several times, but for some reason it hadn’t bothered him until today. Here he was, out in the middle of the ocean with no one around to help him, and he was about to dive into the dark depths of the sea by himself. Alone.

 

Who knew what he would find. It suddenly occurred to him that Roy’s fate could befall himself as well. If foul play had taken a part in Roy’s disappearance, the same could happen to him. That thought was frightening. 

 

What am I doing out here? What am I thinking? I’ve been searching for Roy for months. No one has been able to find him. I couldn’t find him. What makes me think I’m going to find any answers today? Could Brackett be right?  Am I insane?

 

The boat bobbed up and down. Waves smacked against its hull loudly. Johnny looked around. There wasn’t a boat in sight. He thought about Matilda and her foretelling. He thought about his life. He thought about Roy, and his family and children, and once again knew that he’d never be able to live with himself if he didn’t try one more time. Fuck it. I’m going in. Johnny fitted his facemask on and flipped backwards over the side of the boat.

 

 

PART III

 

 

The nurse who had neglected to discover Johnny’s absence that morning stood uncomfortably stiff as Brackett rebuked her. Then the doctor stormed off in the other direction, calling for security to see if they’d found their missing patient yet.

 

In the ten years that Beverly Carter had been a nurse, she’d never had a patient “escape” before. It had never even occurred to her that a patient would just walk out of a hospital. If she hadn’t been so overloaded with work that morning, she might have scrutinized the lump in the bed more closely. But a quiet patient was a blessing, and she’d taken advantage of his lack of needs and gone on to others. She knew one thing: when word got around that John Gage had fooled her with the old ‘pillow under the blanket’ trick, she’d be the laughing stock of the hospital. She didn’t look forward to the humiliation. At this point though, anything was better than Dr. Brackett’s wrath. Maybe it would be a good time to take a few days off.

 

Mike Morton had been the one to make the discovery when he’d entered the room at just before eight o’clock that morning. Not looking forward to the task, he’d come to give Gage the bad news about being transferred down to psych before he left. When he found nothing but pillows stuffed under the bed linens, he had little doubt that the fireman had flown the coop on his own. The fact that Gage’s belongings and turnouts were missing confirmed it.

 

Mike had immediately reported his findings to Dr. Brackett, who was none too happy.

 

“Damn it!” Brackett had exclaimed. “Why would he leave in the middle of the night?”

 

“He wasn’t too keen on spending the night in the first place. He was quite anxious to get home for some reason. My guess would be he found out about the psych exam…”

 

Kel looked suspiciously at Mike and interrupted. “How did he find out about it?”

 

Mike shrugged. “I didn’t tell him. But when you told me about it we were right outside his door; he probably overheard us.”

 

Kel scowled, angry with himself for such a blunder. Gage obviously had very good hearing.

 

Mike didn’t offer any condolences to Brackett’s feelings. While he didn’t approve of what Gage had done, secretly he cheered him on. Still, once Brackett got a hold of him, Gage would be precariously close to losing his job, temporarily at least. Mike knew Kel wouldn’t back down on the psych exam; Gage’s jailbreak only added fuel to the fire.

 

“At any rate, I want him found. He shouldn’t have gone off without being checked. Who knows what could happen to him.” And if he collapses somewhere and gets hurt it’ll be partially my fault.

 

“His vitals were good last night,” Mike tried to reassure.

 

Brackett still looked worried.

 

“Look Kel, I’m off now. I’ll go home and see if he’s been there, then call you.”

 

“Why don’t you call him before you leave?”

 

“You honestly think he’d answer the phone?”

 

“No, I suppose not.”

 

“I’ll call you when I get there.”

 

“Good. Thanks, Mike. I’ll go talk to security and see if they’ve found any information.

 

 

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

 

 

Captain Brock Peterson puffed on his pipe and studied his log. He sensed a presence and knew who it was without looking up. “Rex,” he acknowledged.

 

Commander Rex Crawford was lean and clean cut, his short brown hair not showing any signs of gray yet, though he was in his forties. He had a handsome face with a square jaw. He stepped up to the captain, his face grim. “He’s at it again, Captain.”

 

Navigator Leslie Burns, who was in the wardroom with the Captain, straightened from being bent over his charts. “The fireman?”

 

Rex’s gaze shifted from Burns to Peterson. “John Gage. They’ve been monitoring him. He took a boat out registered to a Patrick J. Kelly just before zero-five-hundred hours.” Concern tinged the man’s voice.

 

The captain chewed on his pipe for a moment. His response was a grunt.

 

Crawford hesitated. “Captain, he’s quite close this time. It’s as if…he knew exactly where we were.”

 

“What are his coordinates?” Peterson asked.

 

Crawford answered. “Omega shows he’s portside; LOP bearing approximately 38:01N 076:21W.”

 

Peterson paused, considering the information. “Noted. Keep monitoring the situation. Carry on, Commander.”

 

Burns and Crawford exchanged glances.  

 

Crawford hesitated, standing his ground. “Suppose he should get close enough to discover us?”

 

“Then we’ll do what we have to.” Peterson never looked up from his log as he made another entry.

 

A frown indicated Rex didn’t like that answer. “If he spots us, he’ll report back to the authorities.”

 

“He won’t. But if he does, they’ll find nothing, same as before. He will be made to look a fool, once again.”

 

Just then, a young uniformed man knocked, standing at attention in the doorway.

 

“Seaman Riley,” Acknowledged Crawford. “Come in.”

 

The young man entered. “Commander, he’s in the water.”

 

Peterson turned. “Get a depth sounding on him and report back to me.”

 

“Aye, Captain.”

 

“Dismissed.”

 

Riley left.

 

“Fool. Diving alone,” Burns groused.

 

“If he passes under the perimeter of the distortion field – ” Rex started.

 

“He’ll get one hell of a surprise.” Peterson said without emotion.

 

“Shall we shake him up a bit, Brock? That ought to make him think twice – ” Burns smiled as if he would enjoy this.

 

Captain Peterson pulled his pipe out of his mouth and rubbed at his chin. “I’ve got a feeling he’s a man who doesn’t scare easily.”

 

Crawford shifted his weight uneasily. “If he discovers us…”

 

Peterson’s eyes were stone cold. “Then he’ll end up suffering the same fate as his friend.”

 

“We can’t allow that to happen again. And it’s the last thing we need. It’ll arouse too much suspicion. They might believe it once, but twice…”

 

“We ought to back off,” Burns suggested.

 

Peterson’s eyes blazed. “Back off? Is that what we’ll do when we encounter the enemy? Turn tail and hide?”

 

“Sir…we’re already hiding. Isn’t that the idea…”

 

Peterson stood up, erect. His six foot five frame towered over the others. “Exactly. But there’s a difference between hiding and running. We’re on a mission, in case you’ve forgotten. We’ve spent the past three years testing this prototype. I’m not going to be distracted by some fireman.”

 

Brock Peterson laid his pipe down in an ashtray on his table, tapping out the tobacco. “We’ve got a crisis situation in Iran. Operation Eagle Claw failed, and now we’ve got eight dead troops. Negotiation isn’t going to free those fifty-three Americans have been held hostage there for over a year. Why this president won’t give orders for us to proceed is beyond me.” Harrison walked around the table, scowling. “In a few weeks, we’ll have a new president who’ll actually support what we’re doing. You know how he feels about a strong defense. With this ship and this technology we’ve got one. I don’t intend to disappoint him.”

 

Burns crossed his arms and leaned against a table. “You know once Gage gets within fifty meters our radar won’t pick him up.”

 

“I’m aware of that. I’m not worried. It’s going to take a lot more than one man to ruin this mission.”

 

Yes. Maybe two men. “Your orders, Sir?” Rex said stiffly.

 

He sighed heavily. “Wait. Let’s see what he does.”

 

“You’re sure you want to take the chance of sacrificing years of research?”

 

“Nothing’s being sacrificed. Our track record is already proven. We need to know all our weaknesses, and we need to know them now, not when the stakes are much higher. When the time comes, if it comes, we’ll deal with him.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Resignedly, Commander Crawford left.

 

Burns scowled in irritation at the situation. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

 

“Les, I always know what I’m doing.”

 

Burns scratched at his ear and looked away. “Yes, Sir.”

 

 

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

 

 

The coldness of the water came as a shock as Johnny felt it engulf him. Except for his hands, feet, and face, the wet suit kept him fairly warm. He moved quickly, scissor-kicking powerfully downward to keep his blood flowing.

 

Darkness permeated his surroundings, and he quickly grabbed the flashlight from his belt pack and flicked it on. The yellow beam cut through the water, illuminating an area about fifteen feet in front of him.

 

Shit; if I see any sharks they’ll be on me before I get a chance to get out of their way. I hope they don’t like to eat breakfast. Subconsciously, he felt for the billy and the knife secured at his waist, making sure they were still there. His hand moved to the nylon rope he’d attached to himself, making sure it too was still secure. A thousand feet lying on the deck of the boat was slowly playing out as he descended.

 

He kept moving, waving the narrow beam back and forth, making sure he didn’t get caught up in any kelp. Slowly, he relaxed as his nerves settled.

 

One of the things Johnny liked about diving was that it offered complete quiet, shutting out the noises of every day life. Under the water, it was peaceful and calm, and if only he weren’t looking for Roy, it would have been an enjoyable dive.

 

Schools of fish swam around him, darting away as he neared. A bright yellow fish crossed his flashlight beam, and he allowed himself a second to admire its beauty and grace.

 

Johnny wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for, hopefully some type of vessel – maybe even a submarine, or that’s what he had imagined in his mind. Except submarines never came into these waters. But what other explanation was there, given what Matilda had said?

 

Three quarters of an hour went by, and Johnny saw nothing unusual. He was considering taking a break when he felt a chill go down his spine. If the hairs on his neck hadn’t already been standing up from the cold, they would have.

 

Something…felt near by. A ripple in the water spun Johnny around, pushing him sideways a few feet until it calmed. Regaining his equilibrium, he frantically searched with the light, looking for the cause of the turbulence. He saw nothing.

 

It suddenly became apparent that the fish were gone. No sea life was moving about at all. Something ominous swirled around him, and his heart rate shot up again, his senses alert for danger. He remained completely still, not wanting to divulge his presence, even though he was out in the open with nowhere to hide.

 

Slowly, Johnny turned, sensing a presence. Squinting, he strained to see through the darkness. Out of nowhere, it came.

 

The small amount of light that had filtered through the water disappeared first. A black wall seemed to appear and move above him, turning things frighteningly darker. Johnny blinked, not sure of what he was seeing. Ignoring the impulse to flee, he stayed where he was, watching, as it came closer in tiny increments.

 

What in the hell is that? Whatever it was, it seemed to waver before his eyes, preventing a clear view of it. Instinctively, Johnny shrank back, the thing above him seemingly growing before his eyes. When visibility above him became totally blocked out, the panic in his gut demanded recognition. Suddenly, the urge to escape preceded everything else, and he moved.

 

Terrified, Johnny swam furiously to get away, his instincts instructing him to get to the surface. Anxiously, and barely in control of his thought process, Johnny kicked sideways and upwards, hoping whatever it was wouldn’t overtake him before he made it to safety.

 

Wound around his waist, his rope caught on something, and it abruptly wrenched him downward, digging into his side. His painful “ugh” rose to the surface in silent bubbles. Frantically, he tugged at it, trying to loosen it. Johnny fumbled for the knife in his waist pack and withdrew it, ready to saw through the rope. Just when he thought it would cut him in half, it suddenly broke free. The sudden jerk caused Johnny to drop his knife. He watched as it floated downward, uncaring that he’d just lost the only protective weapon he had. At that moment, he was blind to anything other than escaping.

 

Kicking with every ounce of strength he had, he ascended. Up, up, he went, completely forgetting to make safety stops to allow the excess nitrogen to leave his bloodstream.

 

It seemed an eternity. The thing above him seemed to move slightly, allowing a thin beam of light to puncture the murk he was swimming in. He aimed for that light. Finally, his head broke the surface.

 

Frantically gasping and choking, Johnny tore the mask from his face and ripped the regulator from his mouth in one swift motion. Above him, the sky was gray, and the sea churned around him, its white foam smacking up against him as he bobbed in the water.

 

The thing he’d sensed below was now visible, and only about ten yards away. As his chest heaved with the effort to get a breath, his eyes widened, his gaze lifting as he took it in. Looming above him was the large steel hull of a ship.

 

Johnny couldn’t believe his eyes. How could I have missed that?! His head swiveled from right to left in amazement. I couldn’t have. No way. Something really weird is going on here.

 

It suddenly occurred to Johnny that he could be in danger. This could be an enemy vessel. Fortunately, it was not a sunny day, and the pallid daylight cast him in shadow. Quickly, Gage scanned the ship, looking for identification. He spied some lettering near the bow, on the escutcheon, and swam toward it.

 

It read, U.S.S. Mirage. An American flag was painted next to the name. Johnny was stunned. He stared at it a long time, trying to comprehend it.

 

American. What the hell is a ship this size doing out here? And the name. Mirage.

 

How appropriate.

 

Now what do I do?

 

Johnny considered swimming out in view and yelling to see if anyone would notice him. Yet something told him that was not wise. Something told him that this boat wasn’t supposed to be seen, although how it had remained hidden, he couldn’t fathom. But more than anything else, Johnny had an overpowering notion that this ship would contain the evidence as to Roy’s whereabouts. Maybe Roy was even on board. All he had to do now was find out.

 

Easier said than done.

 

The rope John had tied to his waist tickled his foot, and he reached for it, pulling it toward him. A long section floated in the water around him, the rest apparently severed by something as he’d tried to ascend.

 

What to do next?

 

Johnny decided he would have to board the boat. The dilemma was, how to get aboard? Craning his neck, he looked up for something to grab a hold of, but there was nothing low enough, nothing in which to climb. The deck of the boat seemed miles above him.

 

The nylon cable moved in his hand, giving him an idea. Johnny gathered up the rope and began tying it. His training in cattle roping as a boy was about to come in handy. That, and his ability to climb were going to get him onto this ship.

 

Gage fashioned a lasso out of the leftover coil he had. His hands were numb with cold and fumbled with the rope, but he managed to get the job done. He shivered, ignoring a pounding that was beginning in his head. Swimming back and forth, he searched for something to lasso the rope on in order to gain access. There were lots of small protrusions, but finally he spotted a small scuttle with some iron framework around it. Near that was a short ratline, or a small rope forming a rung of a rope ladder. It was attached to a taffrail around the stern, which would be ideal. Better to board at the stern than at the bow, he reasoned.

 

Swinging the rope, he heaved it upward, attempting to catch a hold of the ironwork. Misjudging the distance, the rope flew up, then fell, slapping the water as it descended. He adjusted the length and tried again. It fell again, falling short of his target. For a moment, John lamented that he didn’t have enough rope. Trying two more times, he snagged it on the fourth attempt.

 

Smiling at his ingenuity, Johnny pulled on the rope, tightening it. After two hard tugs, he took a breath and began climbing. It quickly became apparent that he wasn’t going to be doing any climbing with his flippers on, so he kicked them off. They hit the water, floating at first, then one went under. As he watched, he thought, hm, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. He decided he’d worry about getting back later. Hopefully, if everything turned out all right, the guys on the ship would return him to his boat. Where they can arrest me for theft, he thought morosely.

 

Johnny heaved himself upward, hand over hand, his feet swinging from side to side as they dangled. It was much harder than he’d anticipated. He couldn’t understand why he was so weak. He’d done this hundreds of times on the job; now lifting his own weight seemed a huge burden. Maybe he was still feeling the effects of his collapse the day before at the brush fire, he reasoned. His arms were tingling and almost gave out as each trembling hand strained to hold on, the rope sometimes sliding through his flesh, burning. His nostrils flared with the effort of drawing in oxygen.

 

When he was close enough, with great effort he swung a leg out and caught hold of the ratline. Once securely positioned, he let go of his rope and clung there for several long seconds, panting. A wave of dizziness passed over him and he squeezed his eyes shut as vertigo threatened to send him crashing back down into the sea. He held on tight, knowing that if that happened, he’d never make it back. All his strength had been sapped getting this far. Not only that, but he doubted he’d ever find his way back to his boat, now that his connection was broken. Having thought in terms of living or dying, his resolve strengthened and he climbed on.

 

Once at the top of his climb, Johnny peered over the gunwale, marveling at the size of the deck. He saw two crewmembers crouched and talking in the distance, their attention focused on some piece of machinery. He glanced around. No one else seemed to be about, although he knew that on a ship this size, surely there had to be a good-sized crew.

 

It was now or never. If he didn’t go now, he might never get another chance. Glancing over his shoulder, he eyed the tank and regulator he wore. Climbing over would be difficult with that baggage on him, and once over he’d have nowhere to store it where it wouldn’t be found. What to do?

 

Boarding the boat and finding Roy was the number one priority right now. Getting off and making it back were secondary. He’d have to take a chance. Today seemed to be a day for a lot of last chances. He’d already tossed his fins. The rest would have to go. Throwing caution to the wind, he shrugged out of the gear and let it drop into the sea below. 

 

Risking the two sailors seeing him, he clambered over. As soon as his feet hit the deck, he darted for a large pillar, hiding behind it, and lowered himself into a crouch. Heart pounding, he waited there to make sure no one else was about. A few seconds later, Johnny disappeared through a companionway and down the stairs to a lower deck.

 

 

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

 

 

The bearded man sat restlessly, staring into a cup of lukewarm black coffee. He’d learned to drink it that way, having never been offered the sugar he preferred.

 

Geno had gone to get him breakfast, as he did most mornings. He wasn’t a bad roommate, in fact, he’d tried to be as good of a friend as one could be given the circumstances. But the man didn’t want his friendship. What he wanted was his freedom.

 

 Being confined to the bowels of the ship had depressed him even more deeply, if even that was possible. Only a few times, maybe once a week, had he been allowed above to enjoy some fresh air. It was too risky, they said. Why, he didn’t know. What did they think he was going to see? It was just a ship, like any other Navy ship.

 

They’d told him it was a matter of national security. He didn’t have clearance to visit the other areas of the ship. They were on a mission that could only be interrupted for one reason – upon orders from the Secretary of Defense. He didn’t care about any of that. Even though he had once been a military man, he had no interest in it.

 

At first, after he’d recovered from the accident, he’d tried to be patient and to immerse himself in the daily goings on, which wasn’t easy to do since no one bothered to enlighten him as to exactly what that was. But any interest he had evaporated after realizing that they weren’t going to let him go anytime soon.

 

Later, he’d begun to entertain the notion that he may never go home again. Then he’d grown angry and even belligerent at times, making hollow demands and threats he had no leverage to carry out. The anger wore him down, slowly dying off. Now, long past despair, his hopelessness had waned into despondency.

 

The only things that sustained him were thoughts of his family, his wife and children. He obsessed on a daily basis what they were doing, how they were getting along without him, despairing at how he imagined they must have felt about his fate. He had no idea how any of them were or if they were even alive, or what they’d been told about him. The rules were clear:  absolutely no communication with the outside world, not even for the crew.

 

He wondered too about his friends and coworkers. How were they handling this?

 

By now, someone would have replaced him; that thought twisted his gut. And more than once he’d surmised that his best friend was probably blaming himself for what had happened. If only he could talk to him, and tell him it wasn’t his fault. He thought it likely that the other man was being quite hard on himself over it. The one comfort he got was from knowing that his friend was likely taking care of his wife and family. He knew he could count on that loyalty. But how long could one expect him to do that?

 

Geno came in carrying a tray and set it down on the small table next to him. He lifted a metal lid off a plate similar to the ones they used in hospitals. “There ya are, mate. Dig in.”

 

The bearded man stared distastefully at the food, an omelet, some fried potatoes, toast, and orange juice. He had no appetite.

 

“C’mon, Rogers. It’s good. Cookie made it especially for you.” Geno had nicknamed him this after the famous cowboy.

 

“I’m not hungry, Geno.”

 

“You never are. I tell ya, if you don’t eat, you’re going to evaporate.”

 

It was true. The man was painfully thin. He’d lost nearly twenty pounds. He hadn’t weighed this little since he’d been sixteen years old. His face was gaunt and pasty. He looked Ill. Sometimes he still felt ill.

 

Geno looked at him in concern. “Ya gotta eat. Your wife won’t recognize you when she sees you.”

 

He looked up, wincing. Geno often said these kinds of things to cheer him up, though he felt they were just empty platitudes. “My wife. You and I both know I’ll never see her again.”

 

Geno looked pained. “Come on, Rogers. You’ll see her again. Everything’ll be all right. You just gotta be patient.” He crossed his arms. “Now eat. You keep losing weight and they’ll have to put you in the hospital for malnutrition.”

 

He considered this. Hm. That was an idea. Maybe if he quit eating altogether, he’d get so sick they’d have to let him go. Maybe a hunger strike…“Geno, aren’t you wanted on the quarterdeck or something?”

 

“I’m not leaving until you eat.”

 

Sighing, the man knew he was beat, at least for now. He cut a bite of the omelet with the side of his fork and slowly put it into his mouth. It was tasteless.

 

 

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

 

 

Like a black cat, Johnny slinked along stealthily, weaving his way in and around the different compartments of the ship, slowly navigating the different decks. Relying on intuition alone, he felt which direction to go, peering through hatchways and ducking under bulkheads as he went. Twice he managed to hide when he encountered voices, once by slipping into an empty stateroom, and the other by climbing into a shaft tunnel. Each time he had barely missed being seen, which sent his heart rate skyrocketing.

 

Time crept by slowly; Johnny was unsure of how long he’d been searching. So far he’d been extremely lucky. But the gig could be up any second. Sooner or later he’d be caught. And he wasn’t exactly going to blend in wearing his wetsuit. He had to keep moving.

 

Doing so was becoming more difficult. The weird tingling sensation that had started in his arms earlier had progressed to his legs and was just on the verge of being painful, especially in his knees and elbows. Not only that, but for some reason he felt short of breath. More focused on his task than his discomfort, he chose to ignore all his symptoms.

 

Slipping into a narrow stairway, he descended further. Being barefooted helped muffle the clang of noise normally made by boots on the metal steps. Inside the wetsuit he was sweating, despite shivering with cold, or maybe it was more anxiety than anything.

 

An echo of footsteps in the distance sent him scuttling for a place to hide. Stooping low, he dropped and rolled under a large tank. Moments later, three sets of booted feet walked by. They stopped a mere four feet from him, and if he hadn’t been in the shadows and wearing black, he was sure he would have been seen.

 

Johnny lay paralyzed, too frightened to move. His face was pressed to the floor, hands tucked under his body, so that no part of his skin would be showing. Like Chinese water torture, condensation from the tank dripped steadily onto his head, dripping down the back of his neck.

 

He heard them talking. About him. He couldn’t hear every word, but he heard bits and pieces.

 

“Commander Crawford…another visitor.”

 

“Yeah…depth sounding didn’t turn up anything…”

 

“…maybe got under the distortion field…”

 

“…aboard?”

 

“Probably not…never get by…”

 

“…ordered a search anyway.”

 

The voices disappeared down the corridor. Johnny lay still, daring to turn his head a fraction of an inch so that he could see out of his hiding place. It appeared that they were gone, but he wasn’t sure. It had been close, too close. He decided to wait a few minutes more.

 

Johnny found himself growing shorter of breath, and feeling weaker. Nausea rolled over his stomach and he closed his eyes, feeling sick. Several minutes went by and when he opened his eyes, he felt disoriented, forgetting for a moment where he was. A spasm in his calf sent his leg shooting out, and he yanked it back in. Abrupt cognition startled him and his whole body jerked. I’ve got to get out of here.

 

With a great effort, he rolled out and stood up, almost losing his balance when his knee buckled in pain. His equilibrium was definitely off. The room tilted slightly and he shook his head to clear it, forcing himself onward.

 

Stumbling now, Johnny edged around girders and brackets, bulkheads and pillars. Each corridor was a maze of pipes and riggings, tunnels leading here and there, and strange angles. He passed several compartments, concluding they were crew’s quarters.

 

Slowing, he heard more voices, two, from inside one of the rooms. Flattening himself against the wall, he listened, at first thinking his mind was playing tricks on him, then his eyes widened in disbelief as he heard one of the voices and recognized it. A voice he’d know anywhere. A voice he hadn’t heard in almost four months, since the night Roy DeSoto disappeared.

 

Shaking with anticipation, Johnny inched his way toward the room. The voices were clearer now, and he was certain now that he’d heard Roy’s.

 

He peered around the doorway. Inside were two men, one seated, one standing. Johnny stared at the seated one, eyes now narrowed in uncertainty. The man sounded like Roy, but didn’t look much like him. He had a beard and mustache, his hair was much longer than Roy wore his normally, and he was much thinner. But still, he’d have sworn it was Roy he’d heard.

 

Sensing a presence, the eyes belonging to the bearded man slowly lifted to meet John’s. Immediately, the man’s face transformed into an expression of utter disbelief. His mouth formed an O and he stood up abruptly, knocking his coffee cup to the floor with a crash. Johnny, Roy DeSoto mouthed, too shocked to produce a sound.

 

Johnny stood there barefooted and swaying, an almost surreal figure clad in black. He stared, his mind muddy, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him or not. The man before him was the right height, the expression familiar, the blue eyes and voice unmistakable. Still, he didn’t feel one hundred percent certain. Maybe he was seeing what he wanted to see, not what really was. Confused, he took one tentative step into the doorway, and in that instant, all hell broke loose.

 

Geno lunged toward Johnny, yelling, “Hey!” causing him to stumble backwards.

 

At the same moment, voices from down the corridor called, “Stop! Halt!” In an instant, two men were jogging toward Johnny.

 

The instinct to flee was overwhelming and Johnny took off running, the others chasing.

 

Roy and Geno collided in their struggle to get through the doorway. Two crewmen passed them as they came through, and they followed closely behind, running.

 

“Johnny!” Roy yelled while craning his neck around the others to see, hoping to stop him.

 

One of the boatswains drew a pistol, stopping to aim.

 

Horrified, Roy shouted, “No!” grabbing at the man’s arm. “He’s a friend!” he admonished breathlessly.

 

“Put it away, sailor,” Geno warned, laying a hand on the boatswain’s arm until he’d holstered his gun. Roy had already gone on, following the first man.

 

Terrorized, Johnny ran for his life, looking for a place to hide. He’d seen the gun. Yet his jumbled mind was still trying to decipher whether that was really Roy back there, or if he should keep running. He glanced over his shoulder; they were still after him – all four of them now.

 

The cacophony of footsteps banging the metal floor was deafening as five sets of feet slammed into it.

 

Johnny ran erratically, his lack of balance worsening. His shoulder crashed painfully into a doorway as he turned a corner, spinning him around three hundred and sixty degrees before he righted himself and continued. His pursuers slowed cautiously as they drew nearer, puzzled by Gage’s awkward gait.

 

Roy realized something was dreadfully wrong. Johnny was moving as if he were drunk, arms flailing for balance, one foot crossing in front of the other. Seemingly unable to run straight, he staggered through the corridor, bumping into walls before continuing. Roy tried calling out to him one more time, resulting in Johnny’s running straight into a wall when he dared look over his shoulder.

 

Stunned, Johnny leaned back heavily against the wall, the palms of his hands splayed behind him. His eyes were glassy and his pupils looked dilated. He panted like a frightened caged animal.

 

The two boatswains were near now, and called, “Hold it!”

 

John’s eyes darted between the four men for a moment before he took off again.

 

Shaking his head, one of the seamen easily caught up to him and lunged out, tackling John around the hips as he rounded a corner.

 

Gage was twisted awkwardly off his feet, his head slamming into a metal pipe protruding from the wall. Stunned by the blow, his vision dissolved as he fell. He didn’t feel the impact as his limp body hit the floor with a thud.

 

Aghast, Roy ran to his side, kneeling and carefully rolling John onto his back, still in utter disbelief at the sight of his friend. “Johnny. Johnny!” Roy grabbed his shoulders, giving a slight shake.

 

Unseeing brown eyes opened half-way.

 

“Can you hear me? Johnny, it’s me…Roy.” His voice broke with despair as his elation over being rescued was suddenly wrenched away from him, his short-lived freedom seeming to have been taken away before it began.

 

John’s eyes slid shut.

 

 

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

 

 

Sequestered to his quarters, Roy sat deep in thought, waiting to hear news of his injured friend. Waves of emotions assaulted him. Joy and shock over so suddenly and unexpectedly being reconnected with his past mixed with renewed anger and indignity at being kept in the dark, not only now, but for so long. Grief over the robbery of the last few months of his life refreshed itself anew.

 

Roy took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, reminding himself that the end of his ordeal was over. Finally, after all this time, he had hope. Johnny’s sudden appearance had changed everything.

 

Astonishment overcame him as he wondered how Johnny had located him. And why now and not months ago? Had anyone else searched for him? Of course they did. They must have searched in the beginning; maybe when they couldn’t find me, they gave up. That’s what Roy had assumed from the very beginning when no one came. He reasoned that the ship had traveled far away after they’d picked him up. He’d never understood why they hadn’t simply reported finding him and let him go home. That was the part that didn’t make sense. Still didn’t. Their only explanation was the rule: no contact with anyone.

 

 A whole new set of questions demanded answers. How did Johnny find me after all this time? Could it be conceivable that Johnny had never given up searching? Roy smiled to himself, looking upward and silently thanking a God he’d long since quit believing in. Gage is dogged; he never gives up on anything.

 

How the hell did Johnny get on board? Obviously, Johnny had been on a dive, since he was dressed in a wetsuit. That much was for sure. Had Johnny been diving looking for him specifically, or for other reasons? Johnny must have been searching for me. He doesn’t often dive for recreation except for the few times Chet has invited him to shark fish with him. No, he prefers climbing. So that must mean…Roy sat up straighter, excited at the implications of his next thought. Surely, Johnny’s dive partner would come looking for him, or alert the authorities if John didn’t show up. 

 

He puzzled through it, trying to reason it out, trying to come up with every possible scenario over how this might turn out.

 

The most troubling possibility was, what if they didn’t let Johnny go? What if they were both made to stay here? Roy had no wishes for Johnny to be held captive, but having a friend with him would sure make things more bearable. No. I can’t think that way. I wouldn’t wish this existence on anyone, especially my best friend.

 

No, this was going to be a turning point. With Johnny here on his side, they’d find a way out. Though he himself hadn’t been able to come up with anything, Gage would. He felt certain. He remembered the time Gage had talked bank robbers that had held them hostage during a run into giving up, and he smiled. Suddenly the burden he’d been carrying got a whole lot lighter.

 

Roy fidgeted, then stood up and paced the room. He longed to talk to Johnny to find out about his family. But what the hell was happening? After they’d apprehended Johnny, they’d taken him away, still unconscious. Roy was worried. He didn’t know how badly John had been hurt. He hit his head pretty hard. He cringed thinking about it. A sternal rub hadn’t produced any reaction whatsoever. And something had obviously been wrong with John before that ever happened. But what? Why the hell won’t they let me know what’s going on?

 

A dreadful thought occurred to him. What if they take Johnny away somewhere, and keep me here, stuck on this ship, indefinitely. A chill ran down his spine. They wouldn’t be that cold-hearted, would they? Roy felt his blood thudding at his temples.

 

If that happens, I’ll jump overboard and take my chances. God knows I’ve thought about it plenty of times.

 

All he could do was hope that Johnny would be okay. After all, he himself had survived after the terrible blow he’d taken to his head from the sailboat.

 

Barely.

 

 

 

Geno walked in, interrupting his thoughts.

 

Roy rushed toward him. “Johnny. How is he?”

 

Geno motioned with his hand. “C’mon. I’ll take you to him.”

 

Roy was stunned. He hadn’t expected this. Eagerly, he followed Geno out into the corridor. Roy questioned him as they walked. “Geno. Have you heard anything? How is he?”

 

Geno’s expression was unreadable. “You’ll find out in a few minutes.”

 

Uneasiness gripped his stomach at the short answer. “Where’re we headed?”

 

“Sickbay.”

 

Sickbay. Roy swallowed. That word dredged up an onslaught of memories. He’d spent weeks there after his rescue. It had been the place of some of his most unpleasant days. It was the last place he wanted to visit right now, yet that’s where Johnny was.

 

Roy remained silent as they navigated the bowels of the ship, occasionally moving upward. Unwillingly, his mind was yanked back to that fateful night, replaying it for the hundredth time.

 

He hadn’t remembered anything about it at first. Memories of the run and the rescue had taken weeks to fully return to him. His first cognizant thoughts had occurred lying on his back in a frightfully unfamiliar place after being plucked drowning in the water. He tried to push the memories away, but they came anyway.

 

“He’s coming around.”

 

The unfamiliar male voice was the first cognition Roy had, and he briefly wondered who had spoken. His curiosity was quickly dampened by the blinding, white-hot pain that enveloped his chest each time he tried to take a breath, and a relentless pounding in his skull. He soon discovered that much more shallow breaths were barely tolerable, but would at least allow air to flow in and out of his lungs, a necessity that even his foggy brain recognized.

 

“What’s the O² sat now?” The still unidentified voice echoed surreally in the room.

 

“Ninety-six, on ten liters,” another voice answered.

 

That wasn’t Dr. Brackett. Morton maybe?

 

“Let’s keep it there for now. Get another PA and lateral of his chest and call me when it’s ready.”

 

The voice seemed to be moving away, and Roy pried one eye open, squinting against the bright light of the exam room. His vision seemed to be affected; everything looked so blurry that he could barely make out shapes or movement. He started to lift his head in an effort to see, but a firm hand on his shoulder returned him to the surface he lay on.

 

“No, you stay right there. You’re not in any shape to be moving around.” The voice was definitely not one he recognized, and Roy tried to make out his features.

 

“You can’t see very well right now, can you?” It was more of a statement than a question, and Roy could only nod. “We put some ointment in your eyes; they were very irritated when you came in. Probably from the salt water and diesel fuel you were swimming in. They’ll clear up soon.”

 

“W-Where…” Roy coughed convulsively at the attempt to speak, his hands moving to support the chest that felt as if it would break into pieces if he coughed like that again.

 

“Ah, ah...that’s why you don‘t need to try talking yet.” The fuzzy face was closer now, but still featureless. “You’re in a safe place. We’ll try to answer your questions when you’re feeling better.” The face moved away, and reappeared at his arm. “You’re going to sleep awhile, and we’ll see how you’re doing when you wake up again.” Roy didn’t have the energy to protest that he’d just woken up, and was soon slipping into blackness again.

 

 

Roy shook his head to dispel the memory.

 

They never did answer any questions to his satisfaction. They’d only explained how they’d found him bobbing in the water during the storm, drowning and unconscious, and bleeding from a bad head wound. They’d chosen not to elaborate about how the Omega system had revealed him. The sailboat he’d been so rudely expelled from had been reduced to a pile of toothpicks. And so they’d brought him aboard, saving his life. The rest, as they say, was history.

 

Roy shivered at the sight of the doorway they were about to enter. Yet as he neared it, his gait became purposeful, the yearning to see his friend stronger than any fear he was dealing with.

 

He hesitated for a moment, then entered the room. Geno briefly laid a hand on his shoulder, then turned and left.

 

Part 9