The Wish

 

 

By:  Kenda

 

    

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

Roy handed his partner a cup of coffee, then poured one for himself.  Johnny barely took notice of the steaming liquid as he absently set the cup on the counter next to the handie talkie.  He resumed the conversation that had been started an hour earlier at Station 51.  He grinned while forming a slow, curvaceous figure eight with his hands.

 

"You've gotta see her, Roy.  She's an absolute beauty.  The way the sunlight glints off her. . .man, it just knocks me out.  She's everything I've always wanted.  It's like we were made for each other.  She's. . .well, she's perfect for me.  We go together like Bogie and Bacall.  Like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astair.  Like Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn.  Like--"

 

Dixie McCall stepped around the two men and slipped onto her stool behind the nurse’s station.  She cupped her chin in her right palm and smiled.

 

"Well, well, well, I never thought I'd see the day where I witnessed John Gage making a permanent commitment to a woman."

 

Johnny shot the nurse a puzzled glance.  "Huh?" 

 

"What woman?"  Roy asked.

 

"The one you guys are talking about."

 

"We weren't talking about a woman."

 

"Oh, come on, Johnny, if you want me to keep it a secret for whatever reason, I will.  But either way, I think it's great."

 

"What's great?"

 

"That you've found someone who's perfect for you."

 

"Well. . .I am seeing Amy."

 

"Amy?"  Dixie searched her memory, trying to determine if there were any new nurses in the hospital by that name.

 

"She's the sister-in-law of a friend of a cousin of a guy who used to live in my apartment building.  We've only had a couple dates.  I don't really know her all that well."

 

"Well enough to know you go together like Tracy and Hepburn."

 

Roy took a sip of coffee.  "They were never married.  As a matter of fact, I think Spencer Tracy was married to someone else while he and Katharine Hepburn were seeing one another."

 

Dixie gave the man a small frown that said, "Don't discourage your partner, Roy," while saying,  "Well now, I'm certain Johnny and Annie--"

 

"Amy," Johnny supplied.

 

"Amy," Dixie corrected, as though she was already planning to write the name on the wedding gift.  "I'm certain Johnny and Amy will be very happy together."

 

"I don't know," Johnny shrugged.  "She's not too crazy about my new motorcycle."

 

"And what does that have to do with anything?"

 

"Well, Dix, you know my motto.  Love me, love my Hog."

 

"Pardon?"

 

"My Hog."

 

"And just what do pigs have to do with this conversation?

 

"Pigs?" Johnny laughed.  "No, Dix, not pigs. Hog. As in my Harley Davidson."

 

"Harley Davidson?"

 

"Yeah. It's a motorcycle."

 

"I know a Harley Davidson is a motorcycle.  I'm just not sure how we went from the perfect woman to a motorcycle all in the same conversation."

 

"To tell ya' the truth, Dix, I'm not sure how we got on the subject of the perfect woman to begin with.  As far as I'm concerned, there is no perfect woman."  At Dixie's glare Johnny quickly added, "Present company excluded of course."

 

"So you and Roy weren't talking about a woman?"

 

"Nope," Johnny confirmed.

 

Roy shook his head as he took another drink of coffee. 

 

"So in other words, Mr. Gage, the object of your current affections is a motorcycle?"

 

"Well, I like Amy, too, but this bike," Johnny grinned with delight, "Dix, you gotta see her.  I'll even take you for a ride.  How about if I pick you up one morning and--"

 

Dixie held up a hand.  "No, thank you."

 

"But, Dix--"

 

"Sorry, Johnny, but I've seen the end results of too many motorcycle accidents in my twenty years as a nurse. At worst, most of them are tragic.  At the very least, they're always painful."

 

"Yeah, I suppose, but--"

 

"Have you ever had to scrape anyone off the pavement who crashed while riding one of those things?"

 

"Well. . .yeah.   But it won't happen to--"

 

"Don't say 'it won't happen to me,' because it just might happen to you."

 

"But I'm careful, Dix."

 

"Do you always wear jeans when you ride?" 

 

Though not a deterrent to broken bones, blue jeans protected the skin from road rash more effectively than shorts did should the rider sail across the pavement for some reason.

 

"Yep."

 

"And boots?  The kind that come up to your shins?"

 

"Yep."

 

"And a leather jacket?"

 

Johnny resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  If his mother was still living he could easily imagine them having this exact same conversation.

 

"Usually."

 

"Only usually?"

 

"Dix, half the fun of owning a motorcycle is feeling the sun on your bare arms."

 

"Wear a jacket," the nurse ordered.  "And what about a helmet?"

 

"Aw, Dix--"

 

"Johnny, don't you even think of riding that thing without a helmet.  You know better than that.  And if Joe Early ever got wind of it he'd sit you right down and give you a blow by blow description of every head injury he's ever dealt with because some vain man didn't think it looked cool to be seen wearing a helmet."

 

"I'm not vain, it's just--"

 

"Just what?"

 

"They're uncomfortable.  Hot for one thing."

 

"Would you go into a burning building without your helmet?"

 

"He would if Cap would let him get away with it," Roy quipped, knowing his partner's aversion to headgear of any kind be it a helmet, baseball hat, or even just the hood of a coat.

 

"You shouldn't make light of this, Roy.  I'm serious."

 

"I know you are, but Johnny's careful.  He knows the dangers, Dix.  He's been riding motorcycles since he was sixteen."

 

"Actually, thirteen if you count the times I went for joy rides on my uncle's Yamaha.  Boy, was my dad ticked when he passed me on the road one afternoon when I was supposed to be in school."  Johnny chuckled at the memory.  "Couldn't sit comfortably on that Yamaha for a week."

 

"If you take a spill without a helmet I'll guarantee you there will be a lot of things you won't be doing comfortably ever again."

 

"Dix, you worry too much."

 

"It's my prerogative to worry about my paramedics."  Dixie arched a meaningful eyebrow as she finished with, "And my friends."

 

"Yeah well, that's nice of you, but nothing's going to--"

 

Before Johnny could finish his sentence the handie talkie squawked. 

 

"Squad 51, what is your status?"

 

Roy picked the instrument up.  "Squad 51, available."

The paramedics listened to the call regarding a man with chest pains, Johnny jotting down the address on a piece of scrap paper Dixie handed him.

 

"Squad 51, 10-4," Roy acknowledged when Sam Lanier had finished speaking. Roy turned for the doors.  “Bye, Dix.”

 

Johnny gave a quick wave. "See ya', Dix."

 

"Johnny?"

 

The dark headed man turned around to make eye contact with the nurse. 

 

"Yeah?"

 

Dixie pointed to her head. "Helmet. For me, please."

 

"Oh, Dix, come on--"

 

"Johnny, please.  At least consider it."

 

Johnny heaved a sigh.  "Okay, okay.  I'll consider it."

 

And with that Johnny swiveled and ran for the automatic doors.

 

"Johnny will consider what?"  Kelly Brackett asked as he approached the station.

 

Knowing how Brackett felt about motorcycle riders who chose not to wear helmets made Dixie say, "Nothing.  Just a favor I asked of him."

 

"You're not trying to set him up with the new nurse on Ortho are you?"

 

Dixie shook her head.  "I don't set Johnny up with anyone.  He does just fine for himself in the dating department."

 

"So I've noticed."

 

Before Kelly could say anything else Dixie headed for the supply room.  It wouldn't be until ten days later that he would find out the exact nature of the favor Dixie had requested of John Gage.   

 

 

Chapter 2

 

Ricky Mason climbed over boulders and parted waist-high grass as he hiked in the canyon across the road from his home.  The Saturday afternoon sun bathed Ricky’s bare arms in comforting warmth, while a light breeze ruffled his baby-fine hair that was the shade of a coconut’s skin.   He paused for a moment and looked at the sky.  He smiled with joy as he recalled all the times he’d hiked in this canyon on Saturday afternoons with his father and older brother Billy at his side.

 

A lot had changed for Ricky’s family over the past year.  First those two men wearing uniforms had come to the door.  Ricky’s mother had let out a stifled scream when she’d seen them, and Ricky’s father cried when the men finished talking to him.  Ricky had never seen his father cry before that.  He didn’t even know fathers cried.  He thought that was something only a mother did because she was a girl and all.  But then when Ricky’s father told him Billy was dead, and that dead meant he’d never see Billy again, Ricky cried too.  Three months later Ricky cried again when his father died at Rampart Hospital five days after suffering a heart attack.            

 

Now it was just Ricky and his mother living in the house that seemed too large for only two people.  He had a big sister, Pamela, but she was married and lived in a house with her husband and children.  Ricky thought Pam and her family should move in with him and his mother so they could feel like a family again, but Mom kept saying no, that wouldn’t happen because Pam had her own life to live.  Ricky wasn’t sure why Pam and Billy had to leave home to live their own lives, when Ricky himself knew he’d always live with his mother despite the fact that no one had ever voiced that to him.  So, if he lived with his mother, why couldn’t Pam live with her, too?  After all, Billy went away and look what it got him.  Dead.  It only got him dead.  Dead means you never see someone you love again, so Ricky didn’t think dead was a good thing to be.

 

Ricky watched for snakes as he climbed the grassy hills.  Dad had always told him and Billy to keep an eye out for rattlers, but Dad also said, “Don’t be scared.  They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

 

Rattlesnakes didn’t frighten Ricky at all.  If you listened you could hear a rattlesnake warning you to get out of its path.  That’s why it had rattles to begin with.  People. . .now they were scary.  Not the people Ricky had known all his life like those he attended church with, or Mr. and Mrs. Harvey who lived next door to him, or the people he worked with at Goodwill Industries, or even the new friends he’d made at Rampart Hospital like Nurse Dixie and Doctor Brackett, both of whom had taken care of his father when he was brought into the emergency room.  No, those people weren’t scary, but the people who made fun of him were.  The people who were impatient with him because they didn’t understand why it took him so long to form his thoughts into sentences, or understand why those sentences weren’t spoken clearly, even though Ricky could hear them clearly in his mind.  Or the people who snatched their children back from him when all Ricky wanted to do was say hello to a cute little girl or boy who reminded him of his niece and nephew.  Or the mean kid who hiked in the canyon somtimes and called him ‘retard,’ and ‘stupid,’ and ‘dummy,’ whenever their paths crossed.  When he was little the words hurt enough to make him cry, even though Mom always told him words like those should be ignored, and it was the people saying them who were the real dummies.  Now Ricky was twenty years old and he didn’t cry any longer when someone called him a retard.  At least not on the outside.  On the inside he cried.  But on the outside he was a man, because that’s what Billy would want him to be now that both he and Dad were dead and Mom had only Ricky left to lean on.

 

Ricky hiked toward a clump of old trees long overgrown with tangled branches and foliage.  Unless you knew the fort was hidden amongst these trees you’d never find it.  He and Billy had built it years ago without any help from their dad at all.  Billy had been eleven and Ricky nine the summer they worked on it.  Billy had always been good at building things.  The fort was old and weathered, but sturdy.  Two by fours formed the frame of the eight foot by eight foot building, and were covered with sheets of plywood.  Ricky had to duck when he walked through the doorway.  He and Billy had never imagined they’d both grow to be six feet tall when they erected the fort.  Thanks to the way Billy had pitched the roof, the doorway was two inches over five feet in height.  Ricky remembered how he agreed with Billy when Billy said that would be tall enough.  But then, maybe Billy didn’t realize Ricky would still come to the fort long after he was a grown man.

 

Ricky looked around the dim interior, then opened a medium sized trunk he kept in a corner that Mrs. Harvey had set out for the garbage man one day.  Ricky had taken the trunk before the garbage man came because he thought it would be a good thing to have in the fort.  It had proven to be just that.  Its flat, sturdy top meant it made a good chair or table, depending on your needs.  It also stored things like a flashlight, a blanket, a pillow, and comic books.  The fort was the perfect place to come and relax on a lazy afternoon.  No one knew it was here, which meant no one bothered Ricky by calling him ‘the retard’ or ‘the dummy’ while he was trying to read.  Granted, reading was a chore to some degree, but if the words were easy, like most of the ones in his Bobbsey Twins books, then he got along all right. 

 

Ricky lifted the lid of the trunk and took out a shoebox and the flashlight.  He wished now that he and Billy had put windows in the fort, but they’d never thought about those amenities.

Well. . .Ricky had, but by the time he’d suggested they be added Billy was fifteen and didn’t care about coming to the fort any longer.

 

The young man turned, sitting down on the trunk while holding the shoebox close to his chest.  He wanted to open it, but he didn’t.  The things inside made him feel happy and sad both at the same time.  He rocked back and forth a moment, then slowly removed the cardboard cover.  He set it aside while resting the shoe box on his lap. 

 

The first thing Ricky pulled out was the Rifleman thermos that had been Billy’s.  Billy used to spend hours watching the Rifleman on the TV.  The next thing Ricky came across was the autographed picture of the Cartwrights Ricky had sent away for in 1963.  Both Billy and Ricky loved Bonanza, and used to play Hoss and Little Joe right here in this fort and out on the grounds that surrounded it.  Billy was always Hoss, which Ricky thought was funny since Billy was skinny and had dark hair and didn’t look much like Hoss Cartwright at all.  But Billy was nice like Hoss, and he watched out for Ricky in the same way Hoss watched out for Little Joe, so maybe it made sense that Billy would always be Hoss when they pretended the fort was the Ponderosa ranch house.

 

Ricky held the picture and thermos in one hand while he pulled out a stack of blue ribbons.  Billy had run track and played football for his high school.  He was always getting rewards for his achievements in sports.  He got good grades, too, but Ricky didn’t have any of his brother’s report cards.  His mother kept those in an envelope on a closet shelf with all the other report cards, art work, and school papers that her children had brought home over the years.

 

The young man flipped through a stack of black and white snapshots that had been tucked beneath the ribbons.  There was a picture of himself, Billy, and Pamela sitting in front of the Christmas tree.  On the back, in their mother’s handwriting, was the date 1960.  The next picture was of Billy in his cap and gown at his high school graduation.  Ricky had taken that picture all by himself.  It was a little out of focus, but you could still tell the smiling teenager holding the diploma was Billy.  The last picture was of Billy leaning casually against his motorcycle. Ricky had loved riding on the back of Billy’s motorcycle, and had promised Billy he’d take care of it while Billy was being a Marine.  He had, too.  He’d washed it once a week and kept the chrome polished.  After Billy died his father sold the motorcycle, despite Ricky’s pleas to keep it.

 

Ricky pulled out the case that held the Silver Star last.  It had been given to his parents at Billy’s funeral after the bugler had played Taps.  Ricky didn’t know why the medal wasn’t put on display by Billy’s picture in the living room, but it never had been.  He had seen his father put it in a dresser drawer.  After his father died, Ricky took the medal and put it in Billy’s Treasure Box, as he thought of the shoe box he was holding.  Ricky thought that taking the medal without telling his mother might be like stealing, but on the other hand, she seemed to have forgotten about it, so taking something a person didn’t even remember they had couldn’t be too wrong as far as Ricky was concerned.

 

The young man rocked back and forth as he stared at the cross that meant Billy had died while performing an act of bravery.  Or so the man had said who presented the medal to Ricky’s parents at the funeral. 

 

“I wish I was brave like Billy,” Ricky said out loud in his halting, thick-tongued speech.  “Billy was brave, and strong, and the girls liked him, and I wish I was like that.  But Billy’s dead now, and that makes me sad.  I wish. . .”  Ricky stared at the medal, then clamped his eyes shut. Maybe he could wish on the medal like you wish on a star.  “I wish I could see Billy again.  I wish Billy could be here with me.  I love Billy and I want him here with me.”

 

Ricky slowly opened his eyes.  He looked around the dim interior of the fort.  His face dropped when he realized he was still alone.  His wishes hadn’t brought Billy back to life.  At least not today.

 

The man closed the lid on the case that held the medal.  As he gently laid the case back in Billy’s Treasure Box, tears swam in his eyes for the beloved brother who had been killed so far from home in that place called Vietnam.

 

 

 

Chapter 3

 

A week had passed since Johnny’s discussion with Dixie over the use of a motorcycle helmet.  He wasn’t certain what had prompted him to go out and purchase one, other than to say he knew she was right when it came to the severity of a head injury a person could incur if he was thrown from a cycle.  Not that Johnny liked wearing the helmet, but he reluctantly did so unless he had reason to allow a passenger to use it like the other day when he took first Chris DeSoto, and then Jennifer, for a slow spin around their neighborhood. 

 

It was a few minutes before eight on Saturday morning and Johnny was anxiously watching the clock in the Station 51 kitchen.  He was praying no calls would come in before the shift change.  As soon as B-shift officially took over Johnny was changing into his street clothes and heading for San Bernardino.

 

“So, Gage, who’s this new chick that has you watching the clock like you’re learning to tell time?”

 

Johnny shot Chet a glare from across the table.  “You don’t know her.”

 

“But maybe I can meet her, huh?”

 

“I doubt it.”

 

“Why?”

    

“Because she wouldn’t like you, Kelly.”

 

“How come?”

 

“Because I don’t like you.”

 

Chet put a hand over his heart and pouted.  “Oh, now I’m hurt.  I probably won’t sleep for the next week after that crushing blow.”

 

Roy paid scant attention to the bantering.  This conversation was like thousands of others he’d heard Chet and Johnny engage in over the past two years.  Eventually, you learned to tune them out unless you were in need of a good laugh.  For the most part Roy thought the men bickered as badly as Chris and Jennifer sometimes did, so for the sake of his sanity he usually chose ‘tuning out’ over the need for a laugh.

 

As soon as eight o’clock came and Captain Stanley released his men, Johnny headed for the locker room with Roy behind him.   As the two men changed out of their uniforms Roy asked, “You wanna stop for breakfast before you leave town?”

 

Johnny shook his head as he zipped his jeans, then reached down to the floor of his locker to retrieve his black boots.  “No, but thanks for the offer.  I’d rather drive for a while. . .you know, get a head start on the Saturday traffic.  I’ll stop somewhere when I get outta the city.” 

 

“Okay.  Well, have a good time.”

 

“I will.”

 

“What about supper Sunday night?  I’ll probably just throw some burgers and hot dogs on the grill, but Joanne wants you to stop by on your way home.”

 

Johnny grinned.  “Joanne doesn’t want me to stop by as much as she wants to hear all about Amy.”

Roy smiled in return.  “You know my wife.  She thinks it’s her job to find you a suitable mate.  Or urge you to find one for yourself, whichever the case may be.”

 

“Yeah, I know.  And I’ll be happy to tell her all about Amy sometime, only not on Sunday night.  Tell Joanne thanks for the invite, but I really don’t know what time I’ll get back.”  Johnny waggled his eyebrows.  “Just as long as I’m here at eight on Monday morning is all that counts.”

 

“True enough,” Roy agreed. 

 

Roy didn’t envy Johnny’s bachelor lifestyle in the slightest, but he did have to admit that every so often it would be nice to know what it felt like to come and go as you pleased with no one at home who was waiting for you to return at a specific time.  Roy had married at the age nineteen.  The freedoms Johnny had as a twenty-seven year old bachelor Roy had never known.  But then Johnny didn’t know how good it felt to have your wife waiting for you at the end of a bad shift, or how good it felt to have your children run into your arms when you arrived home, as though you were a super hero come to life, so he supposed it evened out when all was said and done.

 

As Roy bent to tie his tennis shoes Johnny grabbed his backpack and helmet from his locker. 

 

“Have a good trip.”

 

“I will.”

 

“See you Monday.”

 

“Yeah, see you Monday, Roy.”

 

And those were the last words the men exchanged before Roy heard the roar of the motorcycle’s engine, then the sound of the open throttle as Johnny pulled out of the parking lot.  If Roy had only known then that he wouldn’t see Johnny on Monday, he would have asked for Amy’s last name, or her phone number, or the name of Johnny’s former neighbor who had hooked him up with Amy.  But he didn’t ask for any of those things, meaning he had no idea where to start looking when it became apparent John Gage was missing.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

There sure wasn’t much to do on Sunday nights as far as Mark LaBlond was concerned.  If his mother had her way he’d be in his room doing homework, but his father had said, “Ah, let the boy go, Carol,” when sixteen year old Mark had said he was meeting his friends at the mall and his mother had started to argue with him about that fact.

 

That’s the one nice thing about my old man.  He wants a quiet house at all costs.  Heaven forbid anything should interrupt 60 Minutes and then the Sunday Night Mystery Movie, especially when McCloud is on.

 

Though the mall was closed at this time on a Sunday night in February, Mark and his friends strolled aimlessly around its vast parking lot trying to decide where they wanted to go. 

 

“How about McDonald’s?”  Jim Keen suggested.

 

“Naw,” Bob Takowski shook his head. “The manager kicked us out of there last week, remember?  LaLa got caught splattering wet paper towels against the john walls.”

 

Mark gave Bob a shove.  “Don’t call me that.”

 

“What?”

 

“That name.”

 

“What name?”

 

“LaLa.”

 

“Why?  You just called yourself that.” 

 

Bob laughed as though he’d just cracked the funniest joke he’d ever heard.  Mark sneered. “You’re a real shit head, Takowski, you know that?”

 

“Yep, I know.”

 

Mark rolled his eyes as he grabbed his girlfriend’s hand.  It was hard to insult someone who was too stupid to care he’d just been called a shit head.  Kathy smiled at Mark while saying, “Bobby, shut up.”

 

For some reason Kathy’s order silenced Bob, which didn’t set well with Mark.  He’d suspected for a while now that Bob had the hots for Kathy.  If that prick tried to take his girl from him Mark would forget they’d been friends since the first grade and beat the living crap out of him.  

 

“Okay, okay,” Bob apologized, though not to Mark.  “Sorry, Kath.”

 

“Don’t call her that.”

 

“Oh for Christ’s sake.  What now?”

 

“Kath.  Don’t call her that.  Only I can call her that.”

    

“Geezo peezo, LaBlond, what’s up your ass tonight?”

 

“Nothing’s up my ass, I’m just tired of living with my folks, tired of living out here in no man’s land, tired of my mom refusing to take me for my driver’s test ‘cause my grades aren’t good enough for her, tired--”

 

“Speaking of driving, get a load of that baby.”  Jim lead the way to a new white Cadillac parked in a remote corner of the dark lot.  “She’s a beaut, huh?

 

The teenagers circled the car.  Mark ran two fingers across its gleaming body. “It must have about two dozen coats of wax.”

 

Bob cupped his hands and peered inside.  “And the seats are real leather.  Red.  Red leather.”

    

Jim stood at the rear of the vehicle.  “I shittin’ love the way the spare tire sits in the trunk.  Isn’t it the coolest thing?  Makes the car look fancy.”

 

“It is a fancy car,” Mark said.  “But fast too, I’ll bet. These babies have a lot of power.”

 

Bob pulled on the driver’s side door handle.  He didn’t expect the door to open, and when it did he jumped backwards.

 

“Hey, it’s not locked.”

 

“No kidding, moron,” Mark observed.  “Gee, Bobby, you’re almost as dumb as that brainless guy who lives a couple miles down the road from me.”

    

“I am not.”

 

“Are too.  I’ll have to start calling you Bumblehead Bobby just like I call him Retard Ricky.”

 

Jim paid no attention to his friends as he slipped in-between them.  Because the door was open the dome light was on.  That was all Jim needed to see by.  Kathy gave a startled yelp when the car came to life.  Jim popped up from the floor wearing a big smile.

 

“You were complaining you didn’t have wheels, LaBlond?”

 

“Oh man, this is great.  Jimmy, you’re a genius.”  Mark slid behind the wheel, urging Jim to move to the passenger side.  He looked up at Kathy and Bob.  “Get in the back.”

 

Bob jumped in, but Kathy hesitated.  She looked around the dark, desolate lot.  She didn’t think anyone had seen them, but she didn’t want to risk being stopped by a cop while Mark was driving a stolen car.

 

“Mark, I don’t think--”

 

“Come on, Kath, get in,” Mark urged.  “It’ll be okay.”

 

Kathleen Cahill shifted from foot to foot as she glanced around once more.  Cars were going by on the distant road that ran alongside the mall’s property, but none of them slowed, leaving Kathy to assume no one thought anything was amiss.

“But, Mark, if we take this car that’s stealing.”

 

“We’re gonna bring it back.”

 

“When?”

 

“Soon.”