Chapter 25

 

     Hank Stanley hadn’t slept well the night before, and it had nothing to do with the two runs the station had been toned out on during the early morning hours.  It wasn’t very often that Chief Robert Marcuson paid a visit to the stations under his command.  Generally he was holed up in his office at headquarters, and though not inaccessible, definitely a busy man.  Hank knew something was wrong the minute he saw the chief’s car pull up.  The man entered Station 51 through the front door, which meant he walked directly into Hank’s office.  In doing so, he bypassed the dayroom and apparatus bay where he was most likely to encounter the men of the A-shift. Hank stood to greet the tall, broad shouldered man with the short cropped salt and pepper hair. 

 

     “Chief,” Captain Stanley nodded. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

 

     The chief had indicated toward the other door in Captain Stanley’s office that opened into the apparatus bay.  “Shut the door please, Captain.”

 

     Hank did as the man requested.  As soon as the door was shut the formalities of ‘chief’ and ‘captain’ were dropped, to instead be replaced with the men referring to one another as “Bob,” and “Hank.”  Bob Marcuson was thirteen years Hank Stanley’s senior, and was the engineer at the first station Hank had been assigned to upon joining the fire department.  They hadn’t worked together for very long before Bob was promoted to captain and given command of

Station 65.  From there, he’d steadily advanced until reaching his current rank. 

 

     The expression, ‘it’s lonely at the top,’ not only applied to fire chiefs, but to station captains as well.  Bob Marcuson had not enjoyed relaying the reason of his visit to Hank Stanley, anymore than Hank was going to enjoy relaying the news to Johnny that the chief had brought.

 

     Hank, still dressed in his uniform, hovered in the doorway between his office and the apparatus bay.  B-shift had just come on duty and roll call was underway.  Hank was grateful when both the squad and engine were toned out a few seconds later.  With all the activity going on the men from the A-shift, who were exiting the locker room, didn’t see their captain.   As the vehicles rolled out of the bay with their sirens blaring Hank caught Roy’s eye and waved him over.  Roy gave a quick, “See you Friday,” to Paul, then walked toward his captain.   

 

     “Yeah, Cap?”

 

     “You got a couple minutes?”

    

     Roy glanced at his watch.  “Sure.  Just need to be home soon enough to get the lawn mowed before the kids are hanging on me with a baseball bat in one hand and a Frisbee in the other.”

    

     Hank smiled as he recalled when his own two daughters, now teenagers, were little girls who anxiously awaited his arrival after being away for twenty-four hours.  “The kids have something planned for this afternoon?”

     “A picnic in that little park a few miles from us. The one by the reservoir.”

 

     “Oh, yeah,” Hank nodded. “Nice place.  Well, I won’t keep you long then.  Let’s go in my office.”

 

     Roy wasn’t sure why they needed to go in the captain’s office considering there was no one else in the station, but he did as Hank requested.  When the man indicated to a chair across from his desk Roy sat down.  Hank perched on a corner of the desk while reaching behind him.

 

     “Chief Marcuson was here yesterday while you and Paul were out on a run.”

 

     Roy wasn’t sure what his response was supposed to be.  The paramedic couldn’t think of any reason why the chief would pay a visit to Station 51 as a result of anything he had done.

 

     “Um. . .yeah?”

 

     Hank smiled.  “Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

     Roy smiled in return.  “I sure couldn’t think of anything, but you had me worried there for a second.”

 

     “A surprise visit from the chief will do that to a guy.”

 

     “That’s for sure.”

 

     “Actually, he brought me these.”

 

     Hank handed Roy photocopies of legal documents.  The paramedic spent the next few minutes reading.  The only sound in the room came whenever Roy would shuffle one paper from the top of the stack to the bottom, before continuing to read.  When he was finished Roy leaned back in his chair.  It took him a moment to form his question. 

 

     “Can they do this?”

 

     “According to the chief they can.”

 

     “But it wasn’t Johnny’s--”

 

     “I know, Roy.  I know.  And believe me, no one in this department thinks it was.”  Hank stood.  “Regardless of that, I need to take these papers to John.  I need. . .someone has to talk to him about this.  The chief would have, but I told him I thought it would be better if the news came from me.”

 

     Roy slowly nodded.  “When are you going to see him?”

 

     “As soon as I leave here.”

 

     “Mind if I tag along?”

 

     “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

     Roy shared a weak smile with his captain.  He knew Hank wasn’t looking forward to the conversation he would soon have with Johnny, anymore than Roy was looking forward to being there when that conversation occurred.  But, he was Johnny’s best friend and Roy knew, if their circumstances were reversed, Johnny would be there for him when their captain brought information that was going to make a disheartening situation even worse.

 

_______________________________

 

     Johnny kept the draperies drawn at the patio doors of his second floor apartment.  He told himself the closed drapes assisted in savings with regards to his electric bill.  It didn’t cost him as much to air condition the apartment because the heavy drapes kept the hot sun from heating up his living space.  The paramedic hadn’t opened the curtains in his bedroom either, nor the ones in the kitchen or dining area.  Johnny convinced himself he kept those window treatments drawn for the same reason he didn’t allow any light to come in through the patio doors, because of the savings he was reaping.  In truth; however, Johnny had never been concerned about shutting out the sunshine during past summers no matter how high the mercury climbed.  He loved the outdoors and the natural light from the sun that came with it.  That was one reason he’d rented this apartment with its southern and western exposures and abundance of windows.  He wanted to rejoice in the sunshine as much as possible. Or at least he used to rejoice in the sunshine.  Now his gloomy home clearly broadcast that its occupant no longer rejoiced in anything.

 

 

     Johnny’s apartment was so quiet he could hear the TV set blaring from next door.  Mrs. Iverson was elderly and hard of hearing.  Until recently John hadn’t noticed how loud the old woman kept the volume on her set, or that she evidently did little else but watch television from eight in the morning until ten at night.  Prior to his recent injuries Johnny supposed he’d never been home enough to really notice.  Or when he was in the apartment he was sleeping, or had the vacuum cleaner running, or the stereo playing, or had his own TV set turned on.      

 

     The paramedic glanced at the closed door when the bell chimed.  He was leaning against two throw pillows on one corner of the couch with his left leg resting on the coffee table, the heel of his foot propped on a firm pillow.  The muscles in his thigh felt like they were bound in knots and still ached after just small amounts of activity.  All he’d done this morning besides take a shower and get dressed was make his bed, eat a bowl of Wheaties, and unload the dishwasher.  Just that little bit of exercise had the leg throbbing in protest.  Of course, he knew what Brackett would say. 

 

     “If you hadn’t stopped coming to physical therapy this leg would be in far better shape by now.  You’re delaying your recovery process, Johnny.  As a matter of fact, you’re running the risk of never getting full function back in your leg.  Of putting your entire future in jeopardy. Is that what you want?  Aren’t you about ready to return to doing what it is you do best? Being amongst the small group of men whom I consider to be my top-notch paramedics?”

 

     Johnny refused to answer Kelly Brackett when the man had posed those questions to him last week, and the prior week as well.  John was full of doubts in both himself and his abilities.  Maybe he’d erred in judgment the day of the train wreck.  Maybe he should have gotten all the men off the bus before attempting to treat any of them.  If only he’d evacuated the last ten.  The last ten who, for the most part, weren’t critically injured.  He couldn’t even recall now why he’d waited or what he’d been waiting for.  Help he supposed.  More people.  More gurneys.  More hands to assist in getting the men to the triage area.  If he’d only gotten James Seavers, and the blond headed kid named Rich, and Shannon Ten Clouds, and all the others out two minutes sooner.  Just two minutes sooner.  They would have been far enough from the bus in that amount of time to escape further injury when the second train hit it.  But instead, because of him, they were all dead.

 

     The bell chimed again, bringing Johnny out of his dark thoughts.  When he didn’t move to answer the summons there was a sharp knock.

 

     “Johnny?  Johnny, are you home?”

 

     The paramedic rolled his eyes.  Because of his leg Brackett had yet to release him to drive.  The stiff muscles made it difficult for him to work the clutch.   Roy was well aware of this, and also well aware that the Land Rover was in its usual spot in the parking lot.  

 

     By now, Johnny knew the routine.  If he didn’t respond to the next knock Roy would use the key John had long ago given him to gain entrance.

 

     I should ask for that damn key back.

 

     There it came.  Another series of knocks, though these sounded different than Roy’s.  Not quite so polite, more insistent, and a new voice accompanied them.

 

     “John?  John, are you in there?”

 

     “Oh, for crying out. . .”  Johnny muttered as he started to swing his left leg to the floor.  Before he was able to grab his cane the key was turning in the lock.  Johnny sighed and sank back to the sofa.

 

     The first thing Hank Stanley noticed was the dark and dreary state of the apartment.  The second thing he noticed was the lack of expression on Johnny’s face, as though he couldn’t care less if he had visitors or not.

 

     Hank glanced at Roy, then crossed to a chair that flanked the sofa.

 

     “Kinda gloomy in here, isn’t it, pal?” 

     “Keeps the heat out.  Doesn’t cost me as much to run the air conditioning.”

 

     “I see,” Hank nodded as Roy shut the door, then took a seat in the remaining chair.  “Good idea I suppose.”

 

     Roy could tell Hank didn’t think this dark, closed up space was a good place for Johnny to be dwelling anymore than Roy himself thought that.  Between Roy and Joanne, one of them came over every couple days to check on Johnny, take him on any errands he needed to run, or to any medical appointments he was scheduled for, and just in general assist him with keeping the apartment cleaned.  Each time either of the DeSotos was present they opened all the draperies, only to have Johnny pull them again as soon as he was alone.  

    

     “The guys miss you at the station, pal.  When do you think you’ll be back?”

 

     Johnny shrugged.  “Don’t know, Cap.  Not for a while I guess.”

    

     “You’re doing all you can to get that leg back in shape, right?”

 

     John’s eyes flicked from his captain to Roy and then back again.  Both the men maintained neutral expressions, as though Hank’s question was nothing more than an innocent inquiry.  Johnny knew better.  He had no doubt his captain had been made aware that he wasn’t attending the needed physical therapy sessions.  Whether Roy had told him, or whether that news had come to Hank by way of Kelly Brackett, Johnny didn’t know nor did he care.  He could play this game, too.

 

     “Yes.”

 

     Hank cocked a disbelieving eyebrow.  “Yes?”

 

     “That’s what I said.”

 

     “I see.”

 

     The captain glanced at Roy then cleared his throat. He knew Johnny was lying to him, but what could say to the man?  Yes, technically speaking John Gage was still his employee, but at the moment he was on medical leave.  Other than offering Johnny advice in regards to resuming therapy, there wasn’t anything else Hank could do.  As much as he wanted to order Johnny to return to the therapy sessions, Hank didn’t.  The captain was well aware that decision would have to be Johnny’s, and that no amount of pulling rank on the paramedic was going to motivate him to do what his heart wasn’t into at the moment.

 

     Johnny didn’t offer his visitors something to drink or snack on like he normally would have.  Instead, he patiently waited them out.  He had already guessed they were here to gang up on him.  He was forming the words in his head that he expected to come out their mouths.  Similar things to what Brackett had told him about delaying his recovery process.  Putting his future in jeopardy by not doing all he possibly could for himself.  Then the trump card  ould be played.  The one about him being amongst the finest and most qualified paramedics in the county.  The one about the need for him and Roy to be reunited as a working team as soon as possible.

 

     But none of those words were said by either Roy or Hank.  Instead, Captain Stanley reached into the pocket of his uniform shirt.  

 

     “I was asked by Chief Marcuson to deliver these to you.  They’re copies of the original documents he was given.  He. .he wanted me to let you know that the department will stand behind you in this one hundred percent, John.”

 

     Despite his efforts to keep any expression from touching his face, Johnny’s brows knit with puzzlement as he reached for the papers Hank held out to him.  John clasped the thick sheaf of folded papers between the ring and middle fingers of his right hand.  He settled back into the couch and unfolded them. 

 

     The only sound in the apartment was the muted drone of the TV set next door and the quiet hum of Johnny’s refrigerator motor.  He read through the papers twice, then folded them into thirds once again and set them on a sofa cushion.

 

     When the paramedic did nothing more than stare at the far wall Roy inquired, “Johnny?  You okay?”

 

     Johnny’s answer was so soft Hank and Roy had to strain to hear him.

 

     “It’s true, you know.”

 

     “Pardon?”

    

     “What those papers say.  It’s true.”

 

     “Johnny--”

 

     “John--”

 

     “It’s true.  Tell Chief Marcuson thanks for me, Cap, but there’s no need for the department to worry about standing behind me.  What these papers say is right.  I was negligent.  I should have gotten those men out sooner.”

    

     “Johnny, come on now,” Roy scolded.  “That is not true.  I know this is a big blow, but once everything is sorted out. . .once testimony is given by those of us who were there, they’ll see they don’t have grounds for any of this.”

 

     “You’re not giving testimony.”

    

     “What?”

 

     “I said you’re not giving a testimony, Roy.  You either, Cap.”

 

     “But, John--”

 

     “There’s no point.”

 

     “What do you mean there’s no point?”

 

     “I’m going to tell them...” Johnny broke off eye contact with his visitors.  Once again he saw the decapitated head of Shannon Ten Clouds staring back at him.  With firm conviction John Gage stated,  “I’m going to tell them it’s my fault those boys are dead.  I’m going to tell them they’re right when they say I was negligent and those deaths could have been prevented.”

 

     No amount of pleading on the part of Roy or Hank could make Johnny listen to reason that morning.  They reluctantly left his apartment twenty minutes later. Both men were fully aware Johnny couldn’t shoulder this new burden alone, despite his insistence to the contrary.  The trouble was, until he asked for their help, there wasn’t much Johnny’s captain, or his best friend, could do.

 

Chapter 26

      

     John Gage sat on the cool ground, a newspaper folded in half on his lap.  The paramedic’s cane was laying off to his left as though casually tossed there with no thought given as to how he’d retrieve it, while both his legs were sprawled on the grassy slope in front of him.  The sun had set hours earlier.  With the absence of the sun, a portion of the day’s heat had abated. Johnny guessed the temperature to be around eighty-two. It was one o’clock on Thursday morning.  Other than the occasional passing car, all was quiet at this spot where Johnny had chosen to sit.  Most area residents were probably in bed.  If the paramedic were going to work in a few short hours he’d be in bed by this time, too.  But he wasn’t going to work, so his life was no longer ruled by the clock.

 

     The man didn’t need to slant the paper so the streetlight would shine on it in order to know what the headline said. 

 

     L.A. COUNTY FIREFIGHTER/PARAMEDIC ONLY SURVIVOR OF FREAK ACCIDENT

 

     The headline on that two-month old newspaper pretty well summed it up in Johnny’s opinion.  The accident had been freaky all right, and he was the only survivor.  He’d promised ten men he’d get them out alive, and he’d let every one of them down.  Their faces flashed in his mind.  First the ones he had treated who were waiting to be taken off the bus.  Then the three he’d been working on when the second train hit the bus.  The black kid with the good sense of humor, James Seavers.  The Indian kid who was impressed by Johnny’s skills and position in the fire department, Shannon Ten Clouds.  And then Rich, the blond kid with the crew cut whose last name Johnny never learned, or at least couldn’t recall now if he had at one time known it.  He remembered the boys teasing one another, giving each other a good natured hard time, just like the teasing Johnny and the guys he worked with engaged in.   Then he remembered the shouts as what was left of the bus floor began to vibrate.

 

     “What the hell is going on?”

 

     “It’s a train! A train is coming!”

 

     Johnny heard his own,  “Run, dammit!  Run!” as though he was screaming it now.  He closed his eyes, but that made things worse.  Instead of blocking out the phantom cries of terror, the act of closing his eyes intensified them.  And then there was the head.  Each time the screams echoing in his mind finally died away, the head would appear.  The head that was no longer attached to a body.  The head of Shannon Ten Clouds stared at him from underneath the bus seat, as though pleading with Johnny to somehow make things right again.  To somehow bring him back to life.  

 

     The paramedic’s right hand groped sideways until he grasped a beer can with clumsy, uncoordinated fingers.  A short ‘phizz’ emanated when he pulled back the aluminum tab.  Whether this was Johnny’s ninth beer or his tenth, he wasn’t certain.  He’d long ago lost count.  He’d picked up three six packs at a liquor store a few blocks from his apartment.  Despite his dark state of mind, Johnny wasn’t dumb enough to drink and drive.  Not that he cared if his own life was taken in an accident, but he wasn’t going to be the cause of another life being taken.   He’d already allowed too many lives to end as it was. 

 

     The Land Rover was parked two hundred feet from Johnny, and pulled over against the curb.  The engine was off, but the keys rested in the ignition.  As he took a long swallow of beer he wondered how he was going to get home.  Nine beers in two hours meant. . . or was it ten?  Well, whatever number it had been, the alcohol consumption meant he was in no condition to get behind the wheel.

 

     The ground shook beneath Johnny’s butt.  Regardless of his muddled senses, he recognized the vibration.  He’d felt it before.  When he was in the bus.  He didn’t flinch when the whistle gave a long blast, even though the sound hurt his ears.  He didn’t move when the earth began to sway and tremble as though a killer quake was about to hit.  Johnny didn’t even bend forward as the train rushed by just eight feet from him.  His hair blew across his face, and turbulence caused by the speeding train glued his shirt to his back.  He kept one hand clamped to the newspaper in order to prevent it from blowing away.

 

       The overhead streetlight allowed John to observe the iron of the railroad track bend beneath the train’s weight.  He’d never been this close to a passing train before.  He didn’t know the iron would give like that.  The power of the metal beast would have been awe-inspiring had Johnny not witnessed first hand what devastation that power could cause.

 

     Hard-packed cinders from the railway bed popped up and pelted Johnny in the face.  When thrown like this they were sharp like little shards of glass.  He ignored the pain of the tiny cuts, to instead be mesmerized by the clack of the wheels.  The rhythmic clack that seemed to taunt, Ten to go.  Ten to go.  Ten to go.  Ten to go. 

 

     Johnny watched as the caboose disappeared down the track, its taillights becoming a distant speck of red until he could no longer see them.  The cooling breeze the train had created was gone.  The muggy night air descended once more.

 

     The paramedic looked down in his lap again.  He shuffled the old newspaper to the bottom of the pile while bringing the latest addition of the L.A. Times into view.  This time the glare from the streetlight caught the headline.

 

     L.A. COUNTY FIREFIGHTER/PARAMEDIC SUED FOR NEGLIGENCE IN BUS ACCIDENT.

 

     Johnny ran his fingers over the words, grabbed the remaining beer, hiked himself onto the tracks, and sat waiting for the next train to come by.   

 

___________________________

 

     “He’s sitting where?”

 

     Roy DeSoto hitched himself up on his right elbow.  The phone had woken him from a sound sleep.  By the way Joanne was stirring beside him, Roy knew it had woken her as well.

 

     “Who is it?”  Joanne mumbled.

    

     Roy placed a hand over the mouthpiece.  “Vince Howard.”  He took his hand off and said, “Yeah, Vince, I’m still here.” 

 

     Joanne turned to face her husband’s back as she listened to the one-sided conversation.

 

     “Yeah.

    

     “Uh huh.

 

     “He’s had how much to drink?”

 

     Roy sighed with Joanne detected to be weariness, frustration, and worry.  “Yeah, I’ll come talk to him.”

    

     “No, no.  It’s okay, Vince.  Don’t apologize.  I’d rather have you call me than anyone else.  I’ll be there within forty-five minutes.  You’ll stay with him?

 

     “Okay.  Thanks. I appreciate you doing that.”

 

     Roy hung up the phone and tossed the covers back all in one motion.  Joanne sat up as he turned his bedside lamp onto the lowest setting.

 

     “What’s going on?”

 

     “Vince found Johnny sitting by the train tracks at the Garden Street crossing.”

 

     “Where the accident happened?”

 

     “Yes.”

 

     “What’s he doing there?  And how’d he get there?”

 

     “Evidently drove the Land Rover,”  Roy said as he pulled a pair of blue jeans from one dresser drawer and a pair of socks from another. 

 

     “He’s not supposed to be driving.”

 

     “No, he’s not.  And he probably shouldn’t be drinking either if he doesn’t have the good sense to stop before he’s had so much that he doesn’t realize he’s sitting on train tracks.”

 

     “What?”

 

     “Vince said he’s sitting on the train tracks.  He can’t get Johnny to come away from there.”

 

     “What if a train comes by?”

 

     “Vince will pull him off if that happens. In the meantime, he needs me to come down there and talk some sense into Johnny.  It’s either that, or Vince hauls him to the drunk tank for the night.”

 

     “No,” Joanne shook her head.  “He can’t do that.  With everything else Johnny’s been through recently - the accident, the deaths of those boys, and now the lawsuit - he doesn’t need something like this going on his record.”

 

     “No, he doesn’t,” Roy agreed as he pulled a short sleeve brown Oxford shirt from his closet and slipped it on.  He crossed to the phone again as he buttoned the front of the cotton shirt. 

 

     “Who are you calling?”

    

     “Dixie.”

 

     “Dixie?”  Joanne glanced over her shoulder at the alarm clock that resided on her nightstand.  “Roy, it’s one-thirty in the morning.”

    

     “I know, but I’m going to need someone to drive Johnny’s Land Rover home among other things.  If I bring you along we’ll have to bring the kids, too.  There’s no point in getting them out of bed at this hour.  Seeing Johnny like he is will only upset them, plus it’ll only upset him later on, when he sobers up and realizes what they witnessed.  I can’t call any of the guys for fear Cap will find out.  You know Chet, he won’t mean to open his big mouth, but somehow this will come out if he gets wind of it.  Dixie’s been wanting to go over to Johnny’s with me.  As a matter of fact I was going to call her later this morning and set up a time today when we could meet at his apartment.”  As Roy dialed the phone he said, “Maybe. . .maybe she’ll know what to say to him, Jo.  She was with him on that bus for a long time.  She. . .well, she has a pretty good understanding of what he went through, and she wants to help him regain his interest. . .his enthusiasm for life.”  The paramedic gave his wife a smile as he listened to Dixie’s phone ring.  “Besides, if Dix is gonna be mad at anyone for getting her out of bed at one-thirty in the morning, it’ll be Johnny she’s ticked off at.  Not me.”

 

     If Dixie McCall was mad at being awakened in the middle of the night with a request to assist Roy in getting a grown man off a train track, she hid her anger well.  From what Joanne could discern as she listened to Roy talk, and observed his facial expressions, the nurse was more than willing to do whatever she could for Johnny. 

 

     “Thanks, Dix.  Thanks a lot.  I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.  Is that enough time for you to get ready?”  Roy nodded.  “Great.  See you then.”

 

     The paramedic hung up the phone then leaned on the mattress with his fists and gave his wife a kiss.

 

     “I don’t know what time I’ll be back.  Don’t wait up.  And don’t worry.”

 

     “You can bring Johnny back here if you think that would be best.  He can sleep on the hide-a-bed in the playroom.”

 

     “Thanks.  I don’t know if I’ll do that, or if I’ll end up staying with Johnny at his apartment for the rest of the night.  If I do stay at his place, I’ll give you a call.”

    
     “Okay.  Just tell Johnny. . .well tell him I said one way or another everything will turn out all right.”

 

     “I’ll tell him,” Roy promised as he headed for the hallway.  He doubted Johnny would believe Joanne’s words, anymore than Roy himself believed them, but if nothing else they sounded about as good as anything the paramedic could think of to say to his partner.  Hopefully Dixie would know exactly what wisdom to offer in order to convince Johnny he didn’t really want to be sitting on railroad tracks, calmly waiting to be killed by the next locomotive.

 

    

Chapter 27

 

    

     Monica sat on the hood of the Land Rover shaking her head.  “I thought he knew better, Tess.  I thought Johnny knew better than to wallow in guilt that’s not rightfully his to bear.  And the drinking.  He’s witnessed first hand so many times the tragedies that result when a person drinks too much alcohol.”   

 

     “That’s right, Angel Girl, he has.  But at the moment Mr. Gage don’t care ‘bout how many beers he’s poured down his throat tonight, or the fact that his skinny butt is sittin’ smack dab in the middle of some railroad tracks.”

 

     “He wants to die then.”

 

     “I reckon so.”

 

     “And we’re going to let him?”

 

     “You know we don’t have control over the choices humans make.  We’re allowed to guide them in the right direction, but we’re not allowed to interfere with their decisions.”

 

     “But he’s so young.  He has so many years ahead of him.  So much left to give to the world.  Why, without Johnny around Station 51, there will be no laughter.  Doesn’t he realize what joy he brings to others simply by being the unique child of God he is?”

 

     “I don’t suppose right now he does, Angel Girl.”

    

     “And his career as a paramedic.  Doesn’t he know how highly the doctors at Rampart think of him?  Doesn’t he realize how much he has to offer this city?  How much he has to offer up and coming paramedics whom he will someday train to do their jobs as well as he does his?”

 

     “Mr. Gage may be aware of those things on some level, Monica, but none of them matter to him anymore.”

 

     “How can we make them matter?”

 

     “We can’t.  But maybe they can.”

 

     Monica turned around, her eyes following Tess’s pointing finger.  A pale green Impala had pulled up behind the Land Rover.  She watched as Roy DeSoto and Dixie McCall climbed out.  At the same time she caught sight of Andrew leaning casually against a lamppost.

 

     “Andrew’s here,” Monica whispered, though she really didn’t know why.  This time the humans couldn’t see or hear them.

 

     “I know.”

 

     “But why?”

 

     “For the same reason he always appears.”

 

     “Johnny is going to die then.”

 

     “Maybe.  Maybe not.  Even Andrew doesn’t know for certain.  I told you, none of us has control over the decisions humans make.  Not even God exercises that kind of control. That’s why He gave them free will.”

 

     “Well, I hope Johnny listens to his friends.”

 

     “I hope so, too, Angel Girl.”  Tess patted Monica’s hand while they waited for the drama before them to unfold.  “I hope so, too.”

 

___________________________

      

     Roy nodded to Vince as he quietly approached the police officer.  The black man was standing on the sloping ground adjacent to the tracks.  Every time he’d attempted to get close to Johnny the paramedic shouted, “Back the hell off!”

 

     Considering Johnny’s leg, and the amount of alcohol he’d consumed, Vince knew he could have overpowered the man, handcuffed him, and dragged him to the squad car.  However; that was the exact scenario Vince hoped to avoid.  He’d known Johnny ever since he’d worked as a rescue man with Station 8.  He had a lot of respect for John, and his skills as a paramedic.  Vince had read the newspaper before he’d gone on duty, therefore could easily guess as to what had brought John Gage to this point.  If Roy and Dixie could get him off these tracks, and get him to leave the area peaceably, then as far as Vince was concerned, this incident never happened.

 

     Vince kept his voice pitched low as he spoke to Roy and the nurse.  “Each time I try to get near him he takes a swing at me.  He’s pretty drunk, and he doesn’t have a weapon, so it’s not like he can do much damage to any of us.  But if you can get him to leave without making a scene. . .well, all for the better.  If anyone witnesses this and calls it into the papers you can image what the next article is going to say.”

 

     “Yes, I can imagine,” Dixie said with dry sarcasm.  She didn’t have much use for the news media when a story that was published only served to hurt the person involved.  She could easily picture the headline.

 

     PARAMEDIC FOUND DRUNK ON RAILROAD TRACKS AT GARDEN STREET CROSSING.  BUS ACCIDENT DEATHS PROMPT JOHN GAGE TO DROWN HIS GUILT IN A BOTTLE.

 

     Dixie was brought from her thoughts when Roy asked, “You ready?”

 

     The woman nodded.  Together, she and Roy approached the tracks with Vince right behind them. Johnny was sitting on a railroad tie.  His legs were sprawled in the cinders and two newspapers sat on his lap.  In the dim glow from the streetlights Dixie counted thirteen empty Budweiser cans scattered about.  Johnny was working on his fourteenth beer right now, and still had four cans remaining that had yet to be opened.

 

     Roy watched as his partner guzzled the alcohol like it was a glass of milk.  He was surprised Johnny was still conscious.  The man wasn’t much of a drinker.  One or two beers when he was bowling with the guys, maybe a beer or two at the annual firemen’s picnic, a couple beers when they went fishing or to a Dodgers game, and possibly a glass of wine on occasion if he took a date to his favorite Italian restaurant.  But Roy had never seen Johnny drink in excess of that until now.

 

     Johnny thrust his beer can forward.  In thick, slurred words he declared,  “Don’ come any clozer or I’ll shit!  Uh. . shoot!  I’ll shoot!  Yep, that’s what I’ll do.  I’ll shi. . shoot!”

 

     “Johnny--”

 

     “I mean it, Ray.  Vic.  Stay back!”

 

     “Um. . .Roy.”

 

     The drunken man squinted up at his partner.  “What?”

 

     “Roy.  My name is Roy.”  The paramedic tossed a thumb over his shoulder at the black man. “And that’s Vince, Johnny.”

 

     “Vince Johnny.  Now there’z a funny name for ya’.”

 

     Dixie held out a hand.  Her gesture indicated to Roy and Vince she wanted them to remain where they were standing.  She took three steps forward.

 

     “Johnny?”

 

     The man turned his head.  A lopsided grin spread across his face as he took notice of the nurse for the first time.

 

     “Hi ya’, Trixie.”

 

     “Dixie.”

 

     “Yep, I wish I waz in Dixie, too.  Way down south in the land of cotton ‘cause ole times there are not forgotten don’ ya’ know.  ‘Course, I’d rather be forgettin’ old times right about now, so maybe I don’t really wanna be in Dixie, Trixie.”  The man gave a drunken laugh.  “Dixie Trixie.  That’s damn near as funny as Vince Johnny.  God, but you people sure do have weird names.”

 

     Dixie ignored the paramedic’s foolishness as she stepped over a metal rail.  “Johnny, can I sit down?”

    

     “I don’ know, can you?”

     “Pardon?”

     Johnny laughed again, then took a long swig of beer.  “It’s may, Trixie.  May I sit down.  You’re askin’ my perm. . .perm. . .permission.  Forethere. . .uh four score. . .uh foresquare. . .um therefore. . .yep, thaz it.  Therefore, it’s may.  May I sit down?”  Johnny scratched his head with his beer can.  “Don’t know why I’m askin’.  I’m already sittin’.”

 

     “That you are.  So, may I sit down?”

 

     “Mother May I?  Geez, I used to love that game.  Did you ever play it when you were a kid, Trix?”

 

     “Dix.  And yes, I did.”

 

     “Mother May I take three steps forward?  Mother May I take two steps backward?  Mother May I kill a buncha’ guys on a bus?  Mother May I--”

 

     “Johnny--”

 

     The paramedic scowled.  In total contrast to the number of beers he’d drunk, he sounded quite sober when he ordered, “Don’t use that tone with me, Dixie.”

 

     “What tone?” 

 

     “Don’t scold me like that.  Like I’m a five year old kid.”

 

     Dixie eased herself to a seated position next to Johnny in the center of the tracks.  “If you don’t want me to scold you like I would a five year old, then perhaps you should quit behaving like one.”

 

     Johnny tossed his empty beer can over his shoulder, then reached for a full one.  “Dix, ain’t no five year old puttin’ away the beer like I am.”

 

     “I should hope not.”

 

     Johnny popped the top on his can.  He took a swallow, then asked, “So, what are you and Ray O’Vac doin’ here anyway, Pixie?  It’s like. . .midnight or something.”

 

     Dixie didn’t bother to correct Johnny on the names.  She had a feeling she could do that all night to no avail.  “It’s more like two-thirty in the morning.”

 

     “No shit, huh?”

     “No shit.”

 

     Johnny’s eyes grew round with exaggerated astonishment. “Dixie!”

 

     “What?”

 

     “You just said shit.”

 

     “I realize that.  And I’m going to be saying a lot more if you don’t get off these tracks.”

 

     “What tracks?”

 

     “The railroad tracks, Johnny.”

     Johnny looked down. “Well, whatta’ ya’ know.  This is a train track.”

 

     “Yes, it is.”

 

     “You better git off a’ here, Trix.  It’s dangerous.”

 

     “I know it is.  You’d better get off, too.”

 

     “Nope.”

 

     “Why not?”

 

     “ ‘Cause I gotta know what it feels like.”

 

     “What what feels like?”

 

     “What what.”  Johnny laughed.  “Thatz funny.  What what.  What what. What what.  You soun’ juz like a ferret.”

 

     “A what?

 

     “Ferret.”

 

     “I think you mean a parrot.”

 

     “A parrot?”  Johnny squinted into the darkness.  “I don’ see no parrot.  But okay, if you say so.  Polly wanna cracker?”  The paramedic held up his beer can. “Or how ‘bout a little drink, Polly?  Juz make sure you save some fer me.” 

 

     “Johnny--”

 

     “There ya’ go, scoldin’ me again.  But that’s okay.  I like it when you scold me.”

 

     “You do?”

     “Sure.  ‘Cause whenever you do, then I know you care.”

 

     “I do care, Johnny.  A lot of people care about you.”

 

     “Don’t matter.”

 

     “Yes, it does.”

 

     “No, it don’t.”

 

     “Why not?”

 

     “ ‘Cause no matter how much people care. . .people like you and Ray. . .uh. . .Roy. . .no matter how much you all care, it don’t change the fact that I let those boys die.”

 

     “You didn’t let anyone die, Johnny.”

 

     “Did so.”

 

     “Did not.”

 

     “Did so.”

 

     “John, you did not.”

 

     “Yep, I did.  And I got the papers to prove it.  Cap’n Crunch and Rolls Royce brought ‘em to me.”

 

     “Pardon me?”

 

     “Cap’n Hank Crunch. . .he brought ‘em to me.  They say I was negligee.”

 

     “Negligent.”

 

     “See, you say it, too.”

    

     “I do not.  I’m just supplying you with the correct word.”

 

     “Oh.  Okay.  Thankz, Trixie.  Negli. . .negli. . .damn, thaz a hard word to say when you’re drunk.  I s’pose you think my mind is alwayz in the gutter since I said negligee instead.”

 

     “I don’t think anything like that.”

 

     “Sure you do.”

 

     “Johnny, I don’t.”

 

     “You said as much.”

 

     “When?”

 

     Johnny waved a hand in the air.  “Couple months ago.”

 

     “What exactly did I say?”

 

     Johnny cocked his head and looked into the distance as though he was trying hard to recall a past conversation he’d had with the nurse.  “Lez see.  It went somethin’ like this I think.  Okay now.  This is you.  Uner. . .unerstand?”

 

     “I understand.”

 

     This time there were no words garbled by alcohol, as though the paramedic was striving to make certain Dixie caught each and every one.  But, as he mocked the nurse, Johnny’s voice took on a drunken falsetto that would have been uproariously funny had the entire situation not been so sad. 

 

     “You know perfectly well what I mean.  Whomever you latch onto today you’ll forget about tomorrow.  You think women have no feelings.  You think you can use them for your own amusement then toss them aside when you tire of them.  Well, you can’t, Johnny.  You hurt a lot of people that way.  It’s about time you grew up and faced that fact.”   

    

     Roy felt like he’d walked into the middle of a play.  He had no idea where Johnny’s words had come from, and wouldn’t have thought Dixie had even spoken them at some time in the past had he not seen the look of regret on her face. 

 

     “Johnny, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said those things to you.  I didn’t mean them.”

 

     “Don’t matter.  You were probably right.  Thaz probably why Ellen. . .Eva. . .  .Erma. . .Ethel. . .well, whatever her name was. . .thaz probably why she broke up with me. . .’cause I think women have no feelings and all like you told me.  ‘Course, I guess Eve thought I had no feelings when she said I looked damn ugly and was gonna have one helluva a scar.”  Johnny lifted his bangs and turned his face toward Dixie.  “Is it a bad scar, Dix?  Come on, be honest with me.”

     “No, Johnny, it’s not a bad scar.  It’s faded quite a bit in the last few weeks.  Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway.  A scar doesn’t change who you are.”

 

     “Nope, it doesn’t.  It’s doesn’t change that I’m neg. . .neg. . negligent and impotent.”

 

     “Pardon?”

 

     “Impotent.  The papers said I was impotent.”

 

     “Huh. . .I believe the word you want is incompetent.  But none of that is true.”

 

     “Well, I sure know the impotent part isn’t, but the incompetent part. . .yeah, I guezz that’s true ‘cause if it wasn’t those boys would still be alive and their moms and dads wouldn’t be suin’ the Los Angeles County Fire Department, the Greyhound Bus Company, the Amtrack Train Company, the entire United States Of America Marine Corps, and little ole’ me.”  Johnny pressed a clumsy hand to his chest. “John Roderick Gage.”

 

     “Johnny, I promise you this will all work out.”

 

     “You can’t make a promise like that.  Cap and Roy. . .they tried to promise me that, too.  But you don’t know for sure that it’ll work out.  It don’t bother me much though. . .the idea that they’re suin’ me.  What the hell do I got to give ‘em?  Sure, I got some money saved.  Was hopin’ to buy a ranch next year.  But other than that, I got nothin’ but my Rover and it ain’t worth a helluva a lot.  So you know what?”

 

     “What?”

 

     “If they sue me and they win, they’ll get about thirty thousand dollars.  Thaz ‘bout what I got saved from all my years of workin’ goin’ way back to when I was fourteen and got my first job.  It was gonna buy me a ranch, but they can have it if they want it.  Don’t know what they’d want it for though.  It ain’t gonna bring their boyz back to ‘em.”

 

     “No, it’s not.”

 

     “ ‘Course, I s’pose they want my badge, too.”  Johnny swallowed hard and turned away from the woman, but not before she saw the glint of tears in his eyes.  “Thaz. . .thaz okay.  They can. . .I was gonna turn it in anyway.”

 

     “Johnny, no.  You can’t do that.”

 

     The paramedic reached in the pocket of his denim-blue shirt and pulled out his badge.  “Sure I can.  I don’t. . .I don’t deserve to wear it anyway.”

 

     “You do deserve to wear it.  The parents of those boys are grieving right now, John, and in their grief they’re attempting to place blame where blame doesn’t belong.  Now I have no idea if the driver of that bus was negligent, or if the engineers on either one of those trains was negligent, or if a railroad employee was negligent, and I don’t care.  What matters is that I know. . .we all know, that you weren’t negligent, Johnny.  And if you’d just allow us. . .me, and Roy, and Doctor Brackett, and all your other friends, to help you, we’ll get you through this.  I promise we will.”

 

     “Thaz nice of you to say, Dix, but--”

 

     Johnny’s sentence was drowned out by the distant blast of a train whistle.

The nurse tugged at his elbow.

 

     “Come on, Johnny.  Let’s get off these tracks.”

 

     The paramedic crossed his arms over his chest.  “Nope.”

 

     “Johnny, come on.”

 

     “Nope.”  The man gave a stubborn shake of his head.  “I’m stayin’ right here.  Told you, I wanna know what it feels like to be smashed flatter than a cake pan. . .huh. . .pancake.”

 

     Dixie stood as the sound of the whistle drew nearer. “Johnny, if you don’t get off these tracks right now I’ll have Doctor Brackett admit you to the psych ward so fast your head will spin.”

 

     “Roll.  My head will sure roll when the train hits me just like Shannon’s head rolled.  I don’t think it’ll spin though, Dixie.”

 

     When the headlight from the on-coming train became visible Roy and Vince scrambled for the tracks.  Though Roy would have preferred Johnny walked off   under his own power, he wasn’t against dragging him if need be.

 

     Johnny fought the men and Dixie with more strength than either of them imagined him to have considering his recent convalescence and the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.  He swung his fists while lashing out with his feet.

 

     “Leave me alone!  Get outta here!  I didn’t ask you to come!  Get the hell away from me!”

 

     Johnny dropped his badge when he was jerked to his feet.  The tracks vibrated from the tonnage of the on-coming freight train as John was dragged to safety.  Roy’s hair was flattened against his head as the train roared by.  He winced at the sound of the whistle piercing his ears while he and Vince wrestled a cursing Johnny to the ground and pinned him there. 

 

     Dixie looked from the men to the train tracks.  Beer cans and paper shreds of the LA Times shot from the heavy metal wheels.  When silver sparks flicked from the tracks the nurse realized the train had run over Johnny’s badge.  For some reason that action brought tears to her eyes.  Dixie looked back down at the men.  The struggle had ceased.  Johnny’s body had finally succumbed to the alcohol in his system.  As Roy and Vince slowly climbed off the unconscious paramedic, Dixie fought to keep from crying.  How were they going to make Johnny understand that he wasn’t to blame for the deaths of those Marines?

    

     And more importantly, how the hell were they going to stop John Gage from killing himself the next time he decided to sit on a train track?

    

___________________________

    

      Monica kept her hands glued over her eyes as the train disappeared around a bend. 

 

     “What happened, Tess?  I can’t bear to look.”

 

     “Mr. Gage is fine, Angel Girl.  Well. . .maybe not fine exactly.  I guarantee you that young man is gonna be feelin’ the effects of all that beer in a few short hours, but he’s okay.”

 

     “He didn’t get hit by the train then?”

 

     “No, he didn’t.”

 

     “And Andrew is gone?”

 

     “Yes, he is.”

 

     Monica’s hands slowly fell to her lap.  She watched as Roy, Vince, and Dixie lifted Johnny’s limp body from the ground.

 

     “Whew.  That was close.”

    

     “It sure was.  But we don’t have time to sit around here lolly gaggin’.  We need to get a move on.”

 

     “Move onto where?”

 

     “Where Mr. Gage is gonna need us to be next.”

 

     “And where might that be?”

 

     “Heaven, baby.”

 

     “Heaven?  But you said Andrew was gone.  You said--”

 

     “I know what I said.  Now, do you trust in the Lord or don’t you?”

 

     “Of course I do.”

 

     “Then let’s go.  We don’t have much time to spare.”

 

     As Johnny was laid across the back seat of the Impala, Monica hopped off the hood of the Land Rover.  She shrugged her shoulders and gave the inebriated paramedic a little wave as she and Tess walked by.

 

     “See you in Heaven, Johnny.”   

               

 

Chapter 28

    

     Despite the white ruffled comforter rolled to the foot of the bed, and the white lace curtains at the windows, John Gage was fairly certain he wasn’t in Heaven when he awoke later that morning.  In fact, his pounding head and churning stomach told him he was quite likely in hell.  And, going to be staying there for a while.

 

     Before the paramedic had time to wonder where exactly he’d spent the night his stomach had him dashing from the bed. He winced as he left leg hit the floor, but he didn’t have time to allow the pain from the tight, stiff muscles to slow down his charge.  He threw the bedroom door open, frantically praying he’d find a bathroom.  As soon as he caught a glimpse of the short hallway Johnny knew where he was.  He and Roy, along with Doctors Brackett and Early, helped Dixie move into this house two years earlier.  He’d also been here once for a picnic she’d hosted, and most recently, on a Saturday evening in January, when the nurse had invited Johnny and the DeSoto family over for pizza.  But thinking of pizza wasn’t a good idea right now. John made a running limp the few feet to the bathroom, lifted the lid on the toilet bowl, fell to his right knee with his left leg sprawled stiffly to the side, and brought up the massive amount of Budweiser that had gone down just a few hours earlier.

 

     By the time the man was done vomiting he was aware he had an audience.  Dixie pushed her body away from the door frame as Johnny closed his eyes and leaned back on his right heel.  She reached in front of him and flushed the toilet.  As he crumpled against the bathtub the nurse crossed to the linen closet.  She pulled out a washcloth and wet it with cold water at the sink.  She wrung out the excess water, then knelt by her house guest.

 

     “I hope it wasn’t my cooking.”

 

     Johnny opened one watering bloodshot eye.  “Very funny.”

 

     “Here.”  Dixie wiped the cloth over John’s flushed face, taking a moment to clean the small cuts caused by the railroad cinders.  “Maybe this will make you feel better.”

 

     The paramedic’s voice was hoarse, a combination of fatigue and bile.

 

     “Putting a bullet in my head is about the only thing that’s gonna make me feel better right now.”

 

     “Well, I’m certainly not doing that, so you’ll have to settle for this cool cloth and some Alka-Seltzer.”

 

     Dixie wet the cloth again, wrung it out, and handed it to her guest.  Johnny wiped the washcloth over his face while his eyes scanned the sunshine yellow bathroom. 

 

     “How’d I get here?”

    

     “Roy and I brought you.”

 

     “Why?”

 

     “Because you were trying to catch a train at one-thirty this morning in a rather unusual fashion.”

 

     “Huh?  What--”

 

     “By sitting in the middle of the tracks.”

 

     Johnny ignored that comment as the events of the night came back to him. “No. . .no, what I mean is, why didn’t you take me to my apartment?”

 

     “Because neither Roy nor I thought you should be alone.  I suggested we bring you here so Joanne and the children weren’t disturbed.”

 

     Johnny knew this was Dixie’s tactful way of saying she thought it was best if he was here, as opposed to Roy’s, so Chris and Jennifer didn’t witness their Uncle Johnny making a drunken asshole of himself.

 

     “Okay...well, thanks.  I...thanks.”  Johnny placed one hand on the edge of the tub and began pushing himself to his feet.  The room spun in a bizarre Tilt-A-Whirl fashion.  The paramedic would have hit the ground again if Dixie hadn’t grabbed his elbow.  The woman shut the lid of the toilet bowel, then urged Johnny to a seated position.   He dropped his head into his hands and took deep breaths that smelled so much like stale beer he almost started puking again.  For the first time the man noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt.  He was; however, still in the faded blue jeans he’d put on the day before though minus his socks and tennis shoes, too. “I...just let me get my shirt and shoes on and I’ll get outta your way.”

 

     “You’re not in my way.  Besides, I thought once your stomach settled we’d have breakfast.  I’ve been told I make decent scrambled eggs, and it’s almost impossible to ruin toast.  Plus, I have a jar of homemade strawberry jam my mother brought over last week.  After we eat we can take our coffee out on the front porch and...visit for a while.”

 

     Johnny ran a shaking hand through his hair.  “I know you’re a good cook, Dix, but I’m not very hungry right now.  And as far as visiting goes...I’m not much in the mood to talk either.”

 

     “You were in the mood to talk last night.”

 

     John’s eyes flicked upwards before dropping to the floor again.  “Yeah...well, just forget whatever it was I said.  I had...I had a little too much to drink.”

 

     “I’d say you had a lot too much to drink, and I don’t intend to forget anything you said until we discuss it.”

 

     “There’s nothing to discuss, Dixie.”

 

     “Oh, I think there’s plenty to discuss.  And if you don’t discuss it with me, then you can discuss it with Doctor Brackett.”

 

     Johnny grabbed the edge of the vanity and shot to his feet. 

 

     “You called Brackett?”

    

     “I did.”

 

     “Why?”

 

     “Because he deserves to know when one of his paramedics, and his patient at that, is found sitting in the middle of railroad tracks at two o’clock in the morning waiting to die.”

 

     “I wasn’t waiting to die.”

 

     “That’s not what you told me.” 

 

     “I was drunk.”

 

     “That’s true.  But nonetheless, that doesn’t change the fact that you told me you wanted to know what it felt like to be hit by a train.”

 

     “I just told you I was drunk when I said that. When I said everything.”

 

     “That doesn’t mean there wasn’t truth to your statements.”

 

     “It doesn’t mean there was, either.”

 

     “Johnny--”

 

     The paramedic pushed past the woman.  He’d give anything to be able to rinse his mouth out, brush his teeth, empty his bladder, take a hot shower, swallow three aspirin, and yes, even eat a plate of Dixie’s scrambled eggs when his head and stomach settled down a bit more, but right now the urgency to get away from the woman overrode all other needs.

 

     “Dix, I gotta get going.”

    

     “Going to where?” 

 

     “Just. . .home.  I need to get home.”

 

     Dixie crossed her arms over her chest while blocking the doorway with her body.  “Why?  So you can shut all the drapes, sit on the couch staring at the wall, and plot how you’re going to end your life the next time you’re feeling sorry for yourself?”

 

     “I’m not feeling sorry for myself!”

 

     “Yes, you are.  And you have every right to at the moment. But don’t turn away from your friends, Johnny.  Don’t turn away from those who are trying to help you.  Believe me, the best thing you can do for yourself right now is return to physical therapy, get that leg in shape, and then go back to work.”

    

     “And that’s gonna bring ten young men back to life?”

 

     “No, unfortunately it isn’t.  But given time, it will help you put this all into perspective.”

 

     “How?”

 

     “You have a lot of skills, Johnny.  Those skills can, and do, save many lives.  This county needs you as a member of its fire department.  We need you as one of our paramedics.  Don’t throw all that away over something that wasn’t your fault.”

 

     “But those papers filed with the court--”

 

     “They’re just words.  Nothing more.  They’re just words being spoken by devastated, upset people looking for anyone they can to blame.  Let the department’s lawyers make it their fight, John.  Don’t let it worry you.  I know that’s easy for me to say, but I really feel once this is sorted out you’ll be cleared of all blame, as you should be.  No one believes you did anything wrong that day, Johnny.  No one.”

 

     “But if I had just started evacuating those last ten kids a few minutes sooner.  If I had just--”

 

     “Don’t do that.”

 

     “Do what?”

 

     “Second guess yourself.  You followed proper procedures.  You did what you’ve been taught to do.  Kelly Brackett will tell you that.  He’ll tell the lawyers that.  You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for something you had no control over.”

 

     “Then who did have control over it?”

 

     Dixie shrugged.  “I don’t know.  God?”

 

     “God allowed those kids to make it home from Vietnam, only to die in a stupid bus accident?  That’s what you’re telling me?”

     “Yes, I guess it is.”

 

     “Then I don’t like God much, Dixie.  And personally, I think the decisions He makes suck.”

 

     The paramedic started pushing his way past the woman.  She reached out and laid a hand on his bare arm.

 

     “Johnny, please.  Just stay long enough to have breakfast.  You can take a shower and clean up while I get it ready.  I’ve got at least a dozen new toothbrushes in the linen closet.  Every time I visit my dentist he hands me another one like they’re some kind of prize from behind Door Number One.  There’s clean towels and washcloths hanging on the rack in the tub, and aspirin, Alka-Seltzer, and plastic tumblers in the medicine cabinet.  There’s shampoo and soap in the tub as well.  Take as long as you want.  When you’re done we’ll eat.”

 

     Johnny thought a moment.  Dixie was offering him the basic comforts he was longing for, but nonetheless, he had no desire to rehash what they’d just discussed.

 

     “I already told you I’m not in the mood to talk.”

 

     “All right.  Then forget the talking.  You get cleaned up and then we’ll eat.”

 

     “Just eat?”

 

     “Just eat,” Dixie nodded.  “Just breakfast with a friend.”

 

     Several long seconds passed, then Johnny gave a slow nod. It had been a long time since he’d spent a couple relaxing hours with a friend.

 

     “Okay.  I...yeah, okay.  That sounds all right.”

 

     “Good.  I’m glad you’re going to stay.”

 

     “Just for a little while though.”

 

     “That’s fine,” Dixie smiled.  “Just for a little while.”

 

     Johnny gave Dixie a small smile in return as she exited the room and shut the door behind her.  The first thing the paramedic did was head for the sink. He opened the mirrored medicine cabinet, grabbed a plastic lime green glass, and a bottle of Excedrine.  He turned on the cold water faucet and rinsed his mouth out.  He then opened the aspirin bottle, shook three into his right palm and downed them with a cold glass of water.  He found the toothbrushes and toothpaste next.  Just the act of brushing his teeth made the man feel halfway human again despite his throbbing head and queasy stomach.  He put the toothbrush he’d used in the empty tumbler, put the toothpaste back in the linen closet, then striped off his jeans and boxer shorts.  He took care of relieving his bladder next, then crossed to the bathtub.  He pulled back the shower curtain, and turned on the faucets.  He held one hand beneath the stream of water until he had it at the right temperature.  He then pulled the knob that allowed the showerhead to activate.  Johnny climbed in the tub, carefully lifting his left leg over the edge by placing his right hand beneath his thigh.

 

     Fifteen minutes later the paramedic climbed back out of the tub.  The room was filled with steam, the mirror fogged over.  That was okay with Johnny.  He already knew his eyes were red with fatigue, and his face drawn and pale from all he’d been through in recent months. 

 

     Now that his body was clean, clean clothing would be nice as well. But, for lack of that, John put his boxer shorts and jeans back on.  He dried his hair with the towel, then finger combed it into place as best he could.  He smelled eggs and bacon cooking as he headed for the guest bedroom where he’d spent the past six hours.  He was surprised to discover the smell of the cooking food didn’t send him running for the bathroom again.  His head still hurt like hell, but if nothing else being hungry was a good sign. 

 

     Johnny decided the least he could do in exchange for Dixie’s hospitality was make the bed he’d slept in.  In less than ten minutes he had the sheets and pillowcases exchanged for clean ones he’d found in the linen closet. He tucked the blankets into the mattress, put the pillows in place, and drew the comforter up.  He found the pale pink and lavender throw pillows Dixie kept on the bed in a chair that resided in one corner of the room.  He put them in place, then sat in the chair to put on his socks and shoes.  He found his shirt neatly folded and laying on top of the dresser.  He slipped it on, buttoned it up, then grabbed his wallet and car keys off the dresser as well.  He shoved his wallet in the back right pocket of his faded jeans, and his keys in the front right pocket.  Johnny spotted his cane resting in one corner, but left it there for now.  He exited the room carrying the sheets and pillow cases he’d slept on.

 

     “Hey, Dix?  Do want me to put these in the laundry room for--”

 

     The first thing Johnny noticed when he stepped into the dining room was four places set at the table.  The next thing he noticed was Roy and Kelly Brackett standing in the kitchen.

 

     The dirty laundry slipped from Johnny’s arms to the hardwood floor.  Roy read the fury on his friend’s face.  He took a step forward with an outstretch hand. 

 

     “Johnny--”

 

     John’s eyes darted to Dixie.  “You lied to me!”

 

     “Johnny, I--”

 

     “You lied to me!  You said ‘just breakfast with a friend,’ Dixie.  A friend!   Not friends.  Not...not...” Johnny waved at hand at Brackett and Roy.  “Not them.”

 

     Kelly Brackett said the exact thing he shouldn’t have when he asked, “Why is our presence such a threat to you, Johnny?”

 

     “It’s not a threat to me!  But she said a friend.  Just us.  Just Dixie and me.  I never would have stayed if I had known she called you and Roy to come over!  This isn’t supposed to be some kind of goddamn intervention!  It was just supposed to be breakfast.”

 

        Dixie set her spatula on the stove.  She didn’t take the time to turn the flame off beneath the skillet as she walked to the dining room.  She stopped in the open archway that separated the dining room from the living room.

 

     “Johnny, please.  If I made the wrong decision in calling Kel and Roy, then I apologize. But you need to listen to what they have to say.  You need to know you have their support.  Kel has a couple ideas he’d like to run by you, and Roy--”

    

     “I don’t wanna hear his ideas!  I was just gonna eat breakfast and go home, so now I’ll just go home.”

 

     “Johnny--”

 

     Dixie took a step forward as Johnny stormed for the front door.  He shoved her from his path, not realizing how rough he’d been until he heard her cry out as she hit the wall.  He started running then, limping down the steps to his Land Rover.  He ignored Roy’s calls for him to stop.  He dug his keys out of his pocket, climbed in the Rover, and fired up the engine.  Fortunately neither Brackett nor Roy had blocked him in.  Both had parked their cars at the curb. 

 

     John threw the Land Rover into reverse.  He backed onto the street without looking.  His tires squealed against sun baked pavement as he laid on the gas pedal.  Roy stood on the sidewalk, calling for him to come back.  Johnny ignored the man, and the speed limit, as he raced for his apartment.  He pounded his right fist against the steering wheel until the skin split and blood began to seep down his arm.

 

Chapter 29

 

 

     It was hours later before John Gage noticed the sharp sting from the torn skin on his fist.  He'd sped past his apartment building with no idea as to why he didn't stop or where he was going.  All Johnny knew was he had no desire to sit alone in his dreary residence, while at the same time he had no desire to be hounded by Roy or Kelly Brackett.  He easily guessed the first place Roy would look for him was at the apartment.  Well, he wasn't going to be there for Roy to find.  At least not today. 

 

     Johnny paid little attention to the passing scenery as he mulled over the events of the past twelve hours.  His stomach constricted at the thought of what he'd done to Dixie.  He'd never physically assaulted a woman before, and didn't know until now he was capable of such an action.  Possibly 'physical assault' was too harsh a term for the shove he'd given her.  Nonetheless; at the time John's anger was overriding his common sense.  Now he was ashamed of that anger. Not ashamed because he was mad at Dixie for betraying him by calling Roy and Brackett, he was still mad about that.  But ashamed because he'd hurt a woman he thought the world of, and who was only trying to help him.

 

     "You really screwed up this time, Gage," Johnny muttered.  "How many more people can you let down in your lifetime?"

 

     The paramedic rubbed his left hand over weary eyes.  He was so tired.  Physically drained, as well as emotionally depleted.  He felt empty. Empty and unable to discover how to be whole again.  How to be the person he was before he'd climbed on that damn bus.  His mind drifted to Kim and Jessie.  It had taken him years to recover from their deaths.  Johnny wasn't sure he had it him to spend years recovering again.  To spend years hiding pain and sorrow from his friends and family, while trying to discover real joy in life again.

    

The paramedic ignored the trembling of his hands that indicated he'd been too long without food, or the drooping of his eyelids that indicated he was in bad need of sleep.  He’d halted his journey just once since leaving Dixie’s home, and that was only for the few minutes it took to make use of a bathroom at a rest stop.  Now Johnny steered the Land Rover to the right as he came upon an exist ramp.  He still had no idea where he was going, but distant mountains, trees, and open green spaces beckoned him to leave the expressway.

 

     When the Land Rover's wheels were on flat pavement again Johnny pressed down on the accelerator.  He paid no attention to his rising speedometer, or the sign that announced he was about to enter Heaven.

 

 

___________________________

                           

 

     "Hey, get back here!  Hey, you little rascals, get back here right now!  You walk behind me!  Are you listening to me?  Not a one of you chinks has a lick of manners.   Now stop your shenanigans and walk in a single file line behind me!"

 

     Leeland Hinkle hobbled after the children, his arthritic hips and knees making it impossible for him to keep up.  He was in charge of these twelve young male campers, though he’d rather be in his easy chair in his air-conditioned house watching the Dodgers play.  By far, it wasn’t Leeland’s idea for his church to fund a rescue relief for children left orphaned, abandoned, or just plain forgotten as a result of the Vietnam War.  They should have stayed where they belonged - in the country of their birth.  But no, a bunch of do-gooders decided it was in the children’s best interest to come to the United States.  The half-baked plan, or at least half-baked in Leeland’s opinion, was to reunite the off-spring of American servicemen with their fathers when at all possible.  If that wasn’t possible for whatever reason, then the Amer-Asian children, like those who were full-blooded Vietnamese, would be adopted into suitable homes.

 

     “Nobody in his right mind would want these damn kids,” the man grumbled.  “Every last one of ‘em is nothin’ but a little hooligan.”

 

     Leeland was a deacon at First Church of Heaven, but that didn’t mean he agreed with every decision that was made.  He hadn’t signed up to be a camp counselor either, that was his wife’s bright idea.  He’d never even taken his own kids camping.  Why the hell would he want to camp with a bunch of chink bastards?  Just because Nora, his wife, deemed it her Christian duty to assist in the camp’s kitchen didn’t mean it was Leeland’s Christian duty to offer assistance as well.

 

     A seven-year old boy broke from the pack of children.  He scampered back to Leeland and grabbed his hand.  “Misser Tinkle!  Misser Tinkle!”

    

     “It’s Hinkle, kid.  Mr. Hinkle.”  The man yanked his hand from the small boy’s grasp. “And don’t touch me!  I’ve told you before not to touch me, you little yellow so and so.”

 

     “My name not So An So.   I Shen Bo.”

 

     “I don’t care what your name is.  Now let go of my hand!”

 

     “I ‘elp you, Misser Tinkle.  You no can keep up with kids.  I ‘elp you go fasser.”

 

     “I don’t wanna go faster!”

 

     Leeland struggled to loosen his hand from Shen Bo’s grip as the thin child dragged the old man forward.  When the boys came to the road they had to cross in order to return to their campground they darted across without checking for traffic.  This was an isolated area northeast of Sacramento.  The children weren’t accustomed to seeing vehicles traveling this section of highway.

 

     “Hey, stop!  Slow down!  Watch for traffic!” 

 

     Leeland’s warnings went ignored as the mass of rambunctious children raced across the road.

 

     “You taking kids swimming, Mr. Tinkle!  Kids are ‘cited.”

 

     “I never said I was taking any of you swimming!”

 

     “Yes.”

 

     “No, I didn’t.”

 

     “Kids go swimming after hike.  Always.  It the rules.”

 

     “I don’t care about the dam. . .darn rules!  If you hooligans can’t behave yourselves and listen to me on a simple hike through the woods then I’m sure not taking any of you--” 

 

     Leeland’s tirade came to an abrupt halt when he spotted a white vehicle speeding straight for him.  He had just enough time to yell, “Look out!” before his world went black.

 

Chapter 30

         

     Thursday turned to Friday with no sign of John Gage. Roy tried calling the man on and off throughout Thursday, but the phone was never picked up. Roy kept the squad in-service on Friday morning when he pulled into the parking lot of Johnny’s apartment building.  Paul waited in the vehicle for Roy as the senior paramedic grabbed the handie-talkie and said, “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

 

     Paul didn’t know what was going on, but had sensed Roy was upset about something ever since they’d reported for roll call at eight a.m.  Typical of Roy, he’d been tight lipped about whatever was troubling him.  So typical of Paul, he asked no questions regarding what he deemed was none of his business.

 

     Roy gave the closed wooden door six solid knocks to no avail.  In-between those knocks he called, “Johnny!  Johnny, are you home?”  Roy had noted the absence of the Land Rover in the parking lot, but since Johnny occasionally loaned the vehicle out to friends who needed to make use of the cargo space, Roy knew it was still possible his partner was holed up inside the apartment.

 

     Despite being aware his friend would be furious with him if John were indeed home, Roy entered using his key.  The man walked through the apartment calling Johnny’s name as he moved from room to room.  It was difficult to tell if Johnny had been here in the past twenty-four hours or not.  The drapes were closed, the bed was made, and there were no dirty dishes in the sink.  But, that’s the exact state the apartment had been in since Johnny had returned from the hospital.  Thursday’s mail was still in the slot next to the name J. Gage in the foyer, but that didn’t prove anything to Roy one way or another.  With the mood Johnny had been in when he left Dixie’s house the previous morning, he might not have cared about retrieving his mail.

 

     Roy felt like he was prying where he shouldn’t be when he opened closet doors.  Nonetheless; that didn’t stop him from taking note that Johnny’s duffel bag and camping gear were neatly stored in one half of the closet, and that it didn’t appear that any clothes were missing.  Or at least not a large enough quantity of clothes to indicate Johnny had left town.

 

     The paramedic dropped to his knees and lifted the bedspread.  Two empty suitcases were tucked beneath the bed.  Roy dropped the spread, pushed himself to his feet, and entered the bathroom. He opened the mirrored cabinet over the sink and took quick inventory of the toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, and razor that resided within.  Roy sighed as he shut the small cabinet.  He supposed it was a good sign that Johnny hadn’t taken off for parts unknown, but that didn’t stop him from being worried about his friend.  Johnny’s state of mind was precarious at best.  Roy didn’t like the thought of John going off on his own right now, while at the same time the paramedic gave himself a scolding.

 

     Stop thinking the worst, DeSoto.  He could have gone to the grocery store for all you know.  Regardless of whether you like it or not, Johnny has the right to form boundary lines he won’t allow you to cross. 

 

     Roy waited in the apartment, hoping Johnny would return.  He had no idea how he’d explain his presence other than to be honest and say he was worried.  Roy figured Johnny would be angry with him, but that anger would be worth the peace of mind Roy would gain knowing his best friend wasn’t once again sitting in the middle of railroad tracks.  Five minutes later the paramedic had no choice but to leave when the handie talkie beeped and the squad was toned out. 

    

     Roy’s eyes darted around the parking lot as he ran for Squad 51. Once again he saw no signs of the Land Rover in the lot, nor on the main thoroughfare that passed by the apartment building.  The only thing he said in response to Paul’s, “Was Johnny home?”  was a quick, “No.”  Before Paul could make further inquiries, Roy changed the subject by asking the man for directions to the house they’d been summoned to.

 

     The paramedics returned to the station an hour later.   Paul hadn’t brought up Johnny’s name since asking Roy if the man was home, and Roy hadn’t brought Johnny’s name up either.  Regardless, Paul noticed that the first thing Roy did when he exited the squad was head for the phone in the dorm.  When Roy entered the kitchen a few minutes later, Paul knew by the look on his face that the man’s attempt to get in touch with John Gage had once again proved fruitless.

 

___________________________

    

     Dixie McCall arrived home from work on Friday afternoon at four-thirty. She’d phoned Johnny’s apartment shortly after starting her shift that morning, then had spoken to Roy when the paramedic had been in Rampart with a patient.  Because of that conversation she knew Roy had stopped by Johnny’s and found the apartment empty and the Land Rover gone.         

 

     The nurse kicked off her shoes when she entered the front door.  She tossed the mail on the petite secretary’s desk that rested against one wall in her living room. 

 

     Dixie headed for her bedroom to change out of her uniform.  She’d added central air conditioning to her house shortly after she’d moved in.  As a result of that amenity the interior was a comfortable seventy degrees.  She opted for jeans and a cotton pullover T-shirt the color of peaches, noting that her jeans were still two sizes too big because of her recent weight loss.  Dixie knew she needed to eat, but what little appetite she’d gained back over the summer was gone again.  She’d made a mistake on Thursday by calling Roy and Kel.  If she’d only trusted her instincts, and herself, Johnny would have never taken off.  She hadn’t realized until now what close friends they’d become over the years, nor had she realized how much Johnny looked up to her and trusted her.  If she’d known all those things, Dixie would have also known Johnny didn’t need to turn to anyone else but her on Thursday morning.  She might have actually been the person he needed to confide in, rather than that person being Roy as Dixie had assumed. 

 

     “Johnny, where are you?”  The nurse asked as she crossed the hall to the room the paramedic had slept in the previous night.  “Just call one of us. . .me, or Roy, or anyone for that matter, to let us know you’re okay.”

 

     Dixie’s eyes scanned her guest room, but for what reason she wasn’t sure.  Johnny had left it in the same impeccable condition she always kept it in.  There was nothing out of place, nor anything he’d left behind other than his cane.  Except. . .

 

     The nurse caught sight of a map on the nightstand.  It was propped against the Hurricane lamp, the blues and greens depicting water and forests clashing badly with the delicate swirls of pink and lavender flowers on the lamp. 

 

     Dixie’s bare feet sunk into plush lilac carpeting.  She walked to the nightstand to retrieve the Rand McNally California Road Map.  She dropped to the edge of the bed as she opened the neatly folded map and studied it with furrowed brows.

 

     Johnny must have left this here.   

 

     The nurse looked the map over twice before she saw it.  In what looked like gold ink the word Heaven was meticulously printed next to a round gold dot, as though someone was identifying an unmarked town.

 

     I’ve never heard of a Heaven, California.  Could this be where Johnny disappeared to?

 

     Dixie chewed on her lower lip while continuing to stare at the map.  When she finally stood she took the map with her and headed to the living room.  She picked up the phone that rested atop her desk.  Dixie spent the next thirty minutes making arrangements for a leave of absence from Rampart.  She had enough vacation time accrued to be gone five weeks.  She didn’t anticipate being absent that long, but since she wasn’t certain if her hunch as to John Gage’s whereabouts was correct, she was vague about her reasons for needing time away.  The nurse simply told the necessary parties that a ‘family emergency had arisen.’  Considering Dixie’s mood since April, no one doubted her word and assumed whatever had been going on in her personal life had now come full circle.  Dixie knew Betty was capable of acting as shift supervisor in her absence.  Betty proved Dixie correct when she assured her long-time colleague she would take care of all necessities, including the dreaded schedule, and that Dixie wasn’t to worry about a thing.

 

     The one phone call Dixie didn’t make was to Kelly Brackett.  She knew he’d be wondering why she’d left so abruptly, but considering what a disaster the previous day had turned out to be she didn’t want Brackett insisting on traveling with her.  Dixie did; however, call Roy.  He was so worried about Johnny she couldn’t leave without confiding her suspicions.  Her conversation with the paramedic was brief.  She told Roy what she’d found in her guest room, and where the map was prompting her to go.

 

     “Maybe I’m completely off-base here, Roy.  I really have no idea.  But there’s no other way this map could have gotten into my house.  Johnny must have had it with him when we brought him here.  In a pocket of his jeans I suppose.   Do you think he might have headed up there to camp?  Based on what I’m seeing it looks like a fairly remote, rugged area.”

 

     “I suppose he could have headed that way,” Roy had replied from the phone in Station 51’s kitchen.  “He loves to camp, we both know that.  But, Dix, he didn’t take any of his gear with him.  I checked today when I was at his apartment.  Everything was in his closet.”

 

     “Like I said, I might be off-base.  If nothing else it can’t hurt for me to check it out.”

 

     “No, I don’t suppose it can.  You’ll call me if--”

     “I’ll call you either way.  Regardless of whether I find him or not, I’ll call you.”

 

     “Thanks, Dix.  I really appreciate it.”

 

     “You’re welcome.  Talk to you soon.”

 

     Upon hearing Roy’s “Goodbye,” Dixie hung up the phone.  Considering rush hour was at its peak there was no point in leaving until Saturday morning.  Since she’d never heard of Heaven, Dixie lifted the lid on her desk, sat down, and spread the map out.   She reached for a pen, then tore a sheet of white paper from a tablet.  The nurse studied the map a few moments longer.  When she was satisfied she’d figured out the quickest route she jotted down the highways she’d be traveling for easy reference.  If nothing else this method beat having a map sprawled out on the passenger seat of her car and trying to read it while driving.

 

     With her map and directions in hand Dixie hurried to her bedroom.  She pulled a zippered leather suitcase from the back of her closet, and began packing for the trip that would take her to Heaven. 

 

Chapter 31

 

     John Gage was slowly brought to awareness by the distant sound of children’s laughter.  His eyes remained closed as he shifted position on a thin, yet comfortable mattress.  He would have drifted back to sleep had the mixed scents of pine, wild flowers, freshly mowed grass, and lake water, not wafted in the room on the tail of a gentle breeze.  Even with every window open these scents weren’t normal ones for Johnny’s apartment.  Exhaust fumes and factory smoke, yes.  Pine trees and wild flowers?  No.

 

     Johnny shifted again until he was lying on his back.  The shouts of children at play finally prompted him to force open heavy lids.  His eyes lethargically scanned the unfamiliar ceiling.  Rough wooden boards made up the roof of this shelter.  As panic began to rise within him, John’s eyes darted about.  The same type of weathered boards, bleached musty gray with age, made the walls and formed the floor.  Bunk beds hewn from squared timbers were butted against the walls.  Like soldiers at attention, three bunks were on the east side of the room, while three more rested directly across from them on the west.  The bed Johnny was in was the only one not a bunk.  It sat with its headboard against the north wall, as though it was in charge of all the other beds in the room.

 

     The room would have had a dull look about it if not for the bright patchwork curtains hanging from the eight windows in colors that included blue, red, green, and yellow.  Bedspreads in bold, caution-sign yellow were pulled taunt around twelve mattresses and tucked in with military precision. 

 

     It was when Johnny rolled his head to the left that he discovered the old, battered desk that sat between his bed and the front door.  The desk’s rickety chair was turned so the seat was facing the paramedic.  A pair of dark chocolate brown eyes gazed back at Johnny.  The spindly boy in the chair couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old by John’s estimation.  If it weren’t for the petite body structure that was common for people of oriental heritage, Johnny would have pegged him even younger than that.  He was wearing navy blue shorts a size too large.  The Chicago White Sox jersey that came to his knees was three sizes too big and faded from many washings, giving an observer the appearance it had been plucked from a donation box.  The boy was bare footed and had his legs up on the chair’s seat, his knees tucked against his chest.  His chin rested atop his knees and his arms were wrapped about his shins.  Like most children, the boy appeared to have the ability to contort his limbs with ease into several positions an adult would have found uncomfortable at best, impossible at worst.

    

     The child didn’t say a word when he scrambled off the chair.  He threw the screen door open and ran outside as though he’d been instructed to give someone a message.

 

     Because the boy bolted before Johnny had the opportunity to ask him any questions, the paramedic still had no idea where he was or how he got here.  He slowly sat up, stifling a groan when he felt the pain surrounding his rib cage.  He looked down to see that once again his shirt had been removed.  Purple and blue bruises dotted his torso from chest to the waistband of his jeans.  When the pain radiating from the left side of his skull made him take notice of it, Johnny reached up to feel a square bandage affixed to his forehead, just above his eyebrow.

 

     The paramedic tried to sort out how he’d gotten here, wherever ‘here’ was, or where he’d been traveling to.  When memories finally flooded back he recalled the incident at Dixie’s on Thursday morning and how he’d fled her home in anger.  The last thing he remembered was driving far out of Los Angeles on Interstate 5, then exiting the freeway after hours of travel. 

 

     Johnny grimaced as he tossed back the covers.  The muscles in his arms and shoulders ached almost as much as his ribs did.  He swiveled on his rear end, gingerly swinging his legs over the edge of the single bed.  As had been the case the morning he awoke at Dixie’s house, his shoes and socks were gone from his feet.  At least this time he didn’t have to make a mad dash for the bathroom; which was good, since he had no idea where a bathroom might be located. 

 

     The room spun around the paramedic as he struggled to stand.  He was weak from lack of food combined with his latest set of maladies.  Before the floor boards had a chance to introduce themselves to his face, Johnny felt a hand grip his right biceps.  He was guided back to a seated position on the edge of the mattress.

 

     “You better be sittin’ your skinny bottom back down there on that bed, Mr. Gage.  You’ve had enough bumps on the head in recent months to last you a lifetime.  You surely don’t need no more, baby.”

 

     Johnny recognized the speaker even before he looked up and made eye contact with the woman.  John’s voice was still hoarse with sleep; and as a result of pain, half its normal strength. 

 

     “What are you doing here?”

 

     “Same thing you are.”

 

     “Huh?”

 

     “Helping.  I’m helping here.”

 

     “But you work at Rampart.”

 

     “That’s right, I do.  But I work here, too.  Now not for money, mind you.  Very few of us work here for money.   We volunteer.”

 

     “Volunteer?”  Johnny spied the boy he’d seen earlier peering at him from behind the woman’s chunky legs.  “Volunteer doing what?”

 

     “Oh, this and that.  Whatever they need me to do.  And we’re glad you signed up, too.”

 

     “Signed up?  For what?”

 

     “To help, of course.”

 

     “I didn’t sign up for anything.”

 

     “Sure you did.”

 

     “No, I didn’t.”

 

     Tess sighed and lumbered over to the desk, the boy sidling with her while keeping curious eyes on Johnny.

 

     Rather than the white uniform Johnny had always seen her wearing at Rampart, today the black woman had a loose fitting red and white checked gingham dress on that fell to her shins, along with a red bandanna tied in her hair, knot side facing up.  The large, heavy-breasted Tess made him think of Aunt Jemima on the syrup bottle.  He supposed that would be considered a prejudice comparison if he voiced it out loud, but there wasn’t any malice behind his thoughts. They just happened to ring true.   She wore fuchsia anklet socks, and then to top off her outfit, pumpkin orange tennis shoes, which Johnny would have found amusing if he wasn’t still wondering what was going on.

 

     Tess opened a desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of lined paper.  “See.”

 

     The paramedic reached a hand out. His eyes traveled down a column of names typed in alphabetical order.   Sure enough, the roster claimed one John Roderick Gage was a volunteer.

 

     Johnny handed the document back to the woman.  As she returned it to the desk and shut the drawer he said,  “That’s not me.”

     The woman turned around.   “It’s not you?”

     “No.”

 

     “You are John Roderick Gage, correct?”

 

     “Yeah, but--”

 

     “And you did show up here like you were scheduled to so that means--”

 

     “I didn’t show up here.”

 

     Tess laughed.  “Oh, but, Mr. Gage, you surely did.  And in quite the style I might add.”

 

     For the first time the boy spoke. “You damn near give Misser Tinkle heart ‘tack!”

 

     “Shen Bo!”  Tess scolded, while Johnny took note that the first half of the boy’s name rhymed with Ben, and the second half sounded like Beau, though Johnny assumed it wasn’t spelled as such.  “We don’t say that word.”

 

     “Damn?”

 

     “That’s the one.”

    

     “But Misser Tinkle say all time.  Damn kids.  Damn camp.  Damn idiot driver damn near give me heart ‘tack.”

 

     Tess put her hands on her hips and glared down at the tiny child.  “Shen Bo, I don’t give a fiddly-do-dad what Mr. Hinkle said all the time.  That word is not to be used here again, do you understand?”

 

     “Yes, Tess, Shen Bo underhand.”

 

     “Good boy.”   The woman’s gaze traveled to Johnny.  “I’m sure Mr. Gage doesn’t use words like that, do you, Mr. Gage?  Words young boys have no business hearing, nor a need to learn?”

 

     Before he could even wonder why he was answering the woman, Johnny gave a dutiful, “No, Ma’am.”

 

     “Good, then we’ll get along just fine.  Now, let me help you out of that bed and we’ll find you some fresh clothes.  I’ll show you where the boys’ locker room is, then after you’ve had a chance to clean up Shen Bo here can bring you to the mess hall.  It’s long past breakfast, hours since lunch, and gettin’ close to the supper bell ringing.  We need to get to work puttin’ some meat on them scrawny bones of yours.”

 

     “I’m not staying.  Just give me back my shirt, socks, and shoes.  I’ll get dressed and go.”

 

     “Go? And just how do you propose to go anywhere?”

 

     “In my Rover.”

 

     “Your dog?  I didn’t see no dog when you was brought in here.”

 

     “No.  A Land Rover.  It’s a vehicle.  Kind of a cross between a car and a truck.”

 

     “Oh that.  Your vehicle.  Well, Mr. Gage, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you won’t be leavin’ in Rover for at least a week.”

 

     “Why not?”

 

     “Because you fell asleep at the wheel and plowed into a field, that’s why not.”

 

     “I what?”

 

     “You heard me.  Fell asleep and plowed into a field.”

 

     “An’ damn. . .almost give Misser Tinkle a heart ‘tack,” Shen Bo added.

 

     Johnny’s mouth dropped open.  Now he knew the source of the bruises on his torso, cut on his forehead, and ache throughout most of his body. 

 

     “I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?  This Mr. Tinkle the boy keeps--”

 

     “Hinkle.  Leeland Hinkle.  And no, you didn’t hurt that cantankerous old goat.  He fainted dead away from fright, but by some miracle of the Lord the only person you hurt was yourself.”

 

     “When did all this happen?”

 

     “Thursday afternoon.”

 

     “What day is it now?”

 

     “Saturday.”

 

     “I’ve been asleep since Thursday?”

 

     “You sure have been.  Really, Mr. Gage, of all people I would have thought you knew better than to drive when you weren’t in the proper physical condition to be doing so.”  Tess tapped her foot against the floor, hands once again on her hips.

“Not to mention driving before Kelly Brackett has given you his release.  If Doctor Brackett could catch sight of you now I suppose he’d have several things to say, wouldn’t he?”

 

     Johnny wondered how the woman knew he wasn’t supposed to be driving.  Granted, she worked at Rampart, but she shouldn’t be privy to that type of information.

 

     “Look, that’s none of your business and besides--”

 

     “It’s none of my business when you get behind the wheel of a car and almost kill yourself, not to mention twelve children and a camp counselor?”

 

     Johnny blanched.  “Twelve kids?”

 

     “We take hike,” Shen Bo explained.  “We hike with Misser Tinkle.  His legs hurt.  His back hurt. His ‘tomach hurt. His head hurt. We bad kids.  He tell us so.  We run fast ‘cause time to swim.  Misser Tinkle get mad and call us cool kids.”

 

     Tess leaned down and whispered to Johnny, “I think he means hooligans.”

 

     “He say we chinks, and he say I a yellow So An So.  I tell him my name Shen Bo.  I ‘elp Misser Tinkle ‘cause he no keep up with kids.  Kids happy ‘cause time to swim.  Run real fast to lake.  Then you come in car.  Drive by - whoosh!” Shen Bo’s arm shot up in the air like a rocket.  “You car bounce in field like American Army Jeep.  It neat.  Bounce, bounce, bounce.  Misser Tinkle, he fall to ground.  He ‘fraid, but Shen Bo no ‘fraid.  Shen Bo see soldiers come.  Shen Bo brave boy for mother.  Misser Tinkle, he not brave and now he no want be here no more.  He stay home, watch TV,  eat stuff not ‘posed to.  Mrs. Tinkle tell Shen Bo so.  Mrs. Tinkle say Misser Tinkle might have real heart ‘tack now ‘cause all he do  all day is eat Pringle’s ‘tato chips, Cheez Whiz, Esk’mo Pies, and watch da’ baseball on TV.”

 

     If the boy was upset over the way he’d been treated by Leeland Hinkle it was impossible to discern.  Johnny wasn’t certain if that meant Shen Bo was simply a happy kid by nature and wasn’t concerned with the prejudices of others, or if his command of the English language wasn’t good enough for him to understand that Hinkle had been insulting him.

    

     Johnny’s eyes traveled from Shen Bo to Tess.  “And none of the children were hurt?”

 

     “No.  Far more excited than hurt.  You gave them something to talk about.”

 

     “I bet.”  Johnny grabbed onto a bedpost and began pushing himself to his feet.  Tess assisted him to an upright position.  The paramedic gritted his teeth until the muscles in his left leg were willing to bear his weight.  He strained to see out a window.

 

     “Is my truck here?”

 

     “Nope.  Like I said, it needs some work.”

 

     “What kind of work?”

     “New radiator.  New front grill.  Two new front tires and a wheel alignment.”

 

     “Where’s it at?”

 

     “It was towed to a gas station in town.  Don’t you worry none, everything’s gonna be okay.  Your truck will be like new again, and soon you will be, too.  We had a doctor come out and look at you.  He ordered rest, food, and sunshine.  You can get all those things for free here, so it’s a good thing you signed up and were going to be with us anyway.”

 

     “But I didn’t--”

 

     “Now come on.  Let’s go over to this closet here and get you some clothes.  I put your wallet in the top drawer of the desk for safekeeping.  That old thing don’t lock anymore, but don’t let that concern you.  Everyone ‘round here is as honest as the day is long.”

 

     Tess led Johnny to a closet on the opposite side of the room.  He saw jeans, shirts, and jackets of every size, from children’s to adult, draped neatly on hangers.  Tennis shoes in all sizes lined the floor.  The woman sent Shen Bo to a big dresser that rested against the wall at the other end of the cabin, four feet to the left side of the building’s back door.

 

     “Shen Bo, open the bottom drawer of the dresser.  You’ll see socks and underwear for Mr. Gage in there.”  The woman turned back to the paramedic. “You’re a boxer man, right, baby?”

 

     “A what?”

 

     “Boxers or briefs?  You prefer boxers, don’t you?”

     Johnny felt his face turning red.  What else did this woman know about him?

 

     “Uh. . .yeah.  Boxers are fine.”

 

     “Good.”  Tess grabbed a pair of Levis jeans off one hanger, and a forest green shortsleeved shirt off another.  “I think these will be a perfect fit.”  The woman bent and picked out a new pair of white tennis shoes.  “And these look like they’re just about your size.”

 

     Soon Johnny’s arms were laden with clothing.  Tess was correct.  Everything was exactly his size.  It was as if someone had been expecting him, and knew when Johnny arrived he’d be in need of these items.

 

     “Where did these come from?”  Johnny asked as Tess held onto his arm and led him into the late afternoon sunshine. The ground was comfortably warm against the man’s bare feet.  Shen Bo walked on Johnny’s other side, both the paramedic’s companions adjusting their gait to match his slow, uneven one.

 

     “Oh, lots of useful things find their way to Heaven.  We don’t always know how they get here, but we don’t question it either. We just praise the Lord and then keep goin’ about our business.”

 

     “Excuse me, but did you say Heaven?”

 

     “I surely did.”

 

     “And that’s where I am?”

 

     “Yep.”

 

     “Heaven where?”

     “How many Heaven’s do you know of?”

     “Um. . .only one I guess.”

 

     “Well, it’s not the one you’re thinking of, baby.  I’m talking about Heaven, California.  That’s where you are.”

 

     “Oh.”  Johnny looked around.  He saw a long row of cabins behind him like the one he’d just left, and then bigger buildings across the vast courtyard that he took to be a mess hall and locker rooms.  In the distance he saw a small white clapboard building he surmised was an office, and then a hulking barn-red metal building that had two riding lawn mowers parked outside it causing Johnny to conclude it housed maintenance equipment.  “And just what is this place?”

 

     “A Little Bit Of Heaven.”

 

     “Yeah, I can see that it’s nice, but what I mean is--”

 

     “I know what you mean.  And it’s just what I said.  A Little Bit Of Heaven.  We’re a camp.  A children’s camp.”  The woman smiled down at Shen Bo.  “We brought all these little ones over from Vietnam, and now we’re going to find them homes.”

 

     Shen Bo grinned up at Johnny.  “I go live with father soon.”  The boy cocked his head in thought as he studied the paramedic.  “You my father?”

 

     “No, son.  I’m not your father.”

 

     “Oh.  Okay.  You be new man then, huh?”

 

     “New man?”

     “Counselor,” Tess supplied. “He’s asking if you’re going to be his new camp counselor.”

 

     “Well. . .no.  I’m not.  I’m only going to stay until I can get a hold of a friend to come get me and take me back to--”

 

     “But you dam. . .almost give Misser Tinkle heart ‘tack. He no can be our man an’more.  Boys need man.  You be man now.  Please for Shen Bo you be new man.”

 

     Johnny wanted no part of this, but it was hard to resist the pleading in the brown eyes that were staring up at him with nothing but raw hope.

 

     “I’d like to, Shen Bo, but I can’t.  I’m won’t be staying long enough to--”

 

     “But kids have fun.  Hike!  Swim!  Fish!  Play da’ baseball.  You have fun with kids.  Mr. Tinkle have fun even though he crappy.”

 

     “Crabby?”

     “Yes.  He that, too.  You stay.  Have fun.  Shen Bo like you.  You not crappy.  What Shen Bo call you?”

     “Call me?”
    

     “You name?  What you name?”

     “Johnny.  My name’s Johnny.”

 

     “Honey?”

     “No.   Johnny.”

 

     “Honey.”

 

     “Johnny.”

 

     “Honey.”

    

     “No, not Honey. Johnny.  It’s Johnny.  Johnny.”

 

     Despite multiple attempts, Shen Bo couldn’t get the pronunciation correct, though it didn’t seem to bother him any.  He smiled.  “Honey you name.  I go tell kids.”

 

     The boy took off for the manicured baseball diamond at the far end of the cabins. Dust swirled around his bare feet as he ran.

    

     “Hey, kids!  Kids!  Misser Tinkle no come back!  We got new man now!  He Misser Honey!  We have lots fun with him!  He not crappy!”

 

     Johnny watched as Shen Bo chattered away to the children in Vietnamese, evidently explaining all about their new camp counselor.  The paramedic turned to Tess.

 

     “I can’t stay.  I have to get back home.”

     “Oh, really?”  The woman cocked an eyebrow. “ You weren’t too eager to be home just two short days ago.  What’s changed your mind?”

 

     “How did you know that?”

     “Baby, there ain’t no secrets in Heaven.”

 

     “Apparently not.  But anyway, it doesn’t matter.  I just need to get back and--”

 

     Before Johnny could say anymore he was surrounded by children, boys and girls alike, all eager to meet ‘Mr. Honey.’  His protests to this situation were drowned out as Shen Bo and eleven other boys led him the rest of the way to the cement block building that served as the boys’ locker room.   The paramedic looked to Tess for help.  

 

     The woman ignored the plea in Johnny’s eyes. Over the din of the children she instructed, “You take a hot shower, then Shen Bo will help you find all you need in the way of toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, shaving cream, shampoo, soap and a comb.  There’s plenty of clean towels and washcloths on the shelves in there.  After you’re all spiffed up you come on by Heavenly Helpings.”

 

     “Heavenly Helpings?”

 

     “The mess hall, baby.  It’s right down there.”  Tess pointed to another cement block building, this one with a screen door.  “Now you hurry along.  You don’t want to miss out on the hot meal I’ll have waiting for you.”  The black woman winked at Johnny.  “After all, they say I cook like an angel.”

 

     Though he had no idea why, Johnny had little doubt Tess was telling him the truth.  His stomach rumbled at the thought of a home cooked meal.  He couldn’t recall the last time he’d taken interest in food.  Even the dinners Joanne DeSoto had been providing Johnny with on a regular basis since his release from the hospital hadn’t prompted him to do more than take a few bites before storing the leftovers in the refrigerator. 

 

     The paramedic couldn’t help but smile when Shen Bo tugged on his hand. 

 

     “Come on, Misser Honey, hurry!  You take shower.  You brush teeth.  You shave face.  You eat.  Then you have fun with kids!”

 

     It had been a long time since Johnny had fun of any kind. He was surprised to discover he had no desire to protest Shen Bo’s suggestions as the little boy tugged on his hand while scampering ahead of him.  That didn’t mean John was going to stay, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to clean up and eat before departing from Heaven.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 32

    

     Dixie guided her red Mustang down the same exit ramp Johnny had taken two days earlier.  She wore comfortable traveling clothes of jeans, white tennis shoes, and a short sleeve cotton shirt of pale cherry red that buttoned up the front.  

 

     The nurse looked out the windows as she traveled a county highway in bad need of repaving.  Farm fields blanketed both sides of the road.  Cabbage, tomatoes, onions, strawberries, peppers, and cucumbers grew in neat rows.  Dixie would occasionally catch sight of two story farmhouses in the distance, red barns, and metal machine sheds.  She glanced at the directions she had resting atop the map in the passenger seat.  She’d left home at nine o’clock that morning, stopped for lunch at noon, and was back on the road at one.  Thanks to a traffic jam in Sacramento because of a tractor-trailer that had tipped and dumped five thousand gallons of honey on the freeway, Dixie lost three hours of travel time.  Now, as afternoon gave way to evening, the nurse estimated she was close to her destination.  After thirty minutes of further travel farm fields gave way to the outline of a town.  Dixie saw the pale blue water tower in the distance.  The word Heaven was painted on it in gold, and some talented artist had surrounded that with angels wearing flowing white robes while floating amongst billowing clouds.

 

     The nurse smiled when she came the town’s sign.  In the center was the word Heaven.  Below that was, Population? When you’re in Heaven, Who’s Counting?

 

     Despite the lack of a population number being given, Dixie estimated the town to hold no more than three hundred people.  She could see homes setting back from sidewalks on tree lined streets, none of them newer than her own bungalow which had been built right after World War II.  The county highway shared the honor of being Heaven’s main street.  The heart of this little town contained one hardware store, a post office, the First Church Of Heaven, a diner, an ice cream parlor, a bank, an old-fashioned general store, a VFW hall, a Rexall Drug Store, the Farmer’s Feed and Grain Supply, a movie theater, and a gas station.  Dixie didn’t see any sign of a school, meaning Heaven’s children were likely bussed to a larger town for their education. 

 

     Though lacking in many amenities, the town was quaint and charming.  By the clean appearance of its business establishments it was obvious the people who lived here took pride in Heaven.  Dixie smiled again as she read the sign on a trash barrel that sat next to a lamppost.

 

     Keep Heaven Clean.  God Doesn’t Like Litter Bugs.

 

     Dixie didn’t see a hotel, or anything else that might indicate Johnny was staying in the area, until she passed the gas station.  Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a familiar vehicle.  She slowed the Mustang and pulled to the side of the road.  The nurse looked ahead of her and then behind before executing a U-turn that would have earned her a ticket in Los Angeles.  But, either Heaven had no need of a police force, or their constable was somewhere else at the moment.  The nurse headed back for the Only Heaven Can Help You Gas Station And Auto Repair Shop.

 

     Dixie turned into the small lot, parking next to the battered Land Rover.  She got out of her car and slowly circled Johnny’s vehicle.  Both front tires were flat, the grill bent, and the hood mangled.  What other damage there might be the nurse couldn’t guess, but it was obvious the truck wasn’t driveable.

 

     Dixie’s throat went dry as she mulled the possibilities.  An accident Johnny didn’t cause?  Or one he did with the hope of killing himself?

 

     Oh, Johnny, what have you done?  Please don’t let me find out you’re. . .

 

     Dixie couldn’t bear to finish her thought.  She walked around the Land Rover again as though it could supply answers to her many questions.

 

     A lanky, middle-aged man with thinning red hair ambled out of the garage.  He wiped his greasy hands on a rag as he approached the nurse.

 

     “Something I can help you with, Ma’am?  Need to fill up the tank?  Or having car trouble of some sort?”

 

     Dixie turned around.   The name patch sewn above the man’s left breast pocket read Gil.

 

     “No, Gil, no car trouble.  And I filled the tank when I stopped for lunch.  Thanks for asking though.”  Dixie nodded toward the Land Rover.  “How did this get here?”

    

     “How’d it get here?” Gil asked, as if he thought it was the dumbest question he’d ever heard.

 

     “Yes.  How’d it get here?”

     “I towed it.”

 

     “From where?”

     “Out by the campground.”

 

     “What happened?”

     “Some fool fell asleep at the wheel.  Damn near gave Leeland Hinkle a heart attack.  Or so he’s been saying for two days now.  If you wanna know the truth, I think ole’ Leeland was just looking for an excuse not to work with those kids anymore.  He wants us to believe his wife don’t have him by the bal. . .his wife don’t run the household, but anyone born and raised in Heaven like I was knows different.”

 

     “The man - the one who fell asleep at the wheel, is he all right?  What hospital did they take him to?”

     “No hospital that I’m aware of.  And yeah, last I heard he was okay.  Banged up a bit, but the gals out at the campground had Doc Ferguson take a look at him.  Doc diagnosed exhaustion mainly.  Heard the fellow. . .John Gage his I.D. said his name is, needs to rest and start eating right.  Doc says he’s way too skinny.”

 

     “So there were no other injuries?”

     “Knocked his head on the steering wheel and had a gash up here.”  Gil pointed to the area above his left eyebrow.  “Also bruised up pretty good I’m told, but other than that he’ll be fine.  Or so Doc says.  He knows his stuff, so there’s no need to worry.  You a friend of Gage’s?”

 

     “Yes, I am.  Can you tell me where I can find Johnny?”

 

     “He’s still out at the campground as far as I know.”

 

     “How do I get there?”

    

     “That’s easy.  Just follow Main Street out of town.  A Little Bit Of Heaven is four miles up the road on your right.  You can’t miss it.”

    

     “A Little Bit Of Heaven?”

 

     “That’s the name of the camp.  When you get there ask for Tess.”

 

     “Tess?”

    

     “Yep.  She’s the one in charge.”

 

     Though Tess wasn’t an unheard of name, it wasn’t exactly common either.  It was that last fact that prompted Dixie’s next question.

 

     “Is she a good sized black woman?”

     “If by good sized you mean fat - yep, that’s Tess.  Heck of a woman, that Tess.  Monica, too.  Both of ‘em angels if you want my opinion.  They’re doin’ right by those kids out there.  Not everyone in town wanted the kids brought here.  Especially not old Leeland.  But the kids aren’t hurting anyone, and after what happened to ‘em in Vietnam they deserve a chance at a new life, ya’ know?”

     “Yes, I know,” Dixie nodded, though in truth she had no idea what she was agreeing to.  At the moment she was too anxious to find Johnny to care. 

 

     The nurse hurried to her car. “Thanks, Gil.  I appreciate the information.”

 

     “You’re welcome.  You can pay me back by filling your tank up here before you leave town.”

 

     “I’ll do that,” Dixie promised as she climbed in her Mustang and started the engine.  She gave the man a final wave of thanks as she pulled back onto the street and steered the car toward A Little Bit Of Heaven.

    

 

Part 4