Disclaimer: All characters and situations from the television show "Emergency!" are the property of Universal Studios and Mark VII Limited. Not copyright infringement is intended nor should any part of this publication be reproduced or redistributed without the consent of its author. This is strictly an amateur work and is designed for entertainment purposes only.

The Next Step

by Robin Eve

(A sequel to "The First Step")

PART 1: Relapse

Time meant nothing. It was as if the days were the same as minutes, hours the same as seconds. None of it mattered. He noticed the sunrises and sunsets. He heard the rain. Nevertheless, these moments slipped by one by one, never to impress him as they once did. He let out a sigh and glanced around the room, wondering if anyone noticed. They usually placed him by this window every afternoon, as part of the "schedule." Maybe, he thought, I might even take interest. Not today, however, as he again sighed. It's just another moment no different from the last. I only exist and that's that, he concluded. A small tapping started at the window. He began to stare out at the rose bush, swaying against the glass. Its largest stem had several thorns that haphazardly climbed along its length. The tapping was irregular, guided by the gusty breeze that silently passed by. The thorns faded into a vision of the ladder that reached the top floor of the burning building . . .

. . . come on, Gage, you can find her. You heard her cry and you know she's here. Just get in and get out, breathe in, breathe out and focus. His mind filled with all kinds of dialogue as he drifted from door to door. The large chalky "X's" scratched across the doors seemed to beckon him further down the smoke-filled hallway. Hurry, Gage, hurry. What's your problem? You should be out of this building by now! He concentrated on his breathing, mentally counting the precious seconds that ticked by and he was still unable to find her. Flames shot out from the doors ahead and a deep knot formed in his stomach. Man, this is not good; he contemplated quickly, pushing the fear back down. Then the flames parted and she was there. Draped in a white flowing gown she was stretched out in the hallway. Her arms and hands were reaching--she was waiting for him. HELP ME! It's so hot! Help me! Please!

Suddenly, he stopped. The chalky "X's" jumped off the doors and began dancing in the hallway--he rubbed his eyes. Wait a minute! What is going on? He willed for his legs to carry him down the rest of the hallway, but nothing happened. Come on, Gage! What's the problem? She needs you! A victim is crying for your help! Don't just stand there! Do something! He tried again, only this time, his arms wouldn't move, either. Fear and panic rose quickly, unbidden and running wild within seconds. His turn-out coat began feeling warm. Sweat poured down into his eyes. She coughed and weakly raised her arm again. Help Me! Please, and she coughed again. He cried out as he struggled to tear himself from the place in the hallway where now, his body would not move. Dancing, chalky "X's" continued to torment him. You are pitiful, Gage, what kind of fireman are you, anyway? Good God, man, you can't let her die--you can't!

Smoke filled the hallway and silently covered the woman as she drew her last breath. He dared to scream again and knew that now, only his voice and eyes were capable of movement. He could no longer feel the heat, or the tingling of his nerves. He no longer knew where the seconds went. He only cried. He couldn't even move his head to hide his shame and tears. All he saw was his failure. She was dressed in white and now the flames and smoke claimed their final victim. The ladder moved away from the building. The dancing "X's" disappeared in a puff of smoke. And Johnny Gage screamed once more . . .

"I don't know, Jean. I think it's time to try something else. We might need a different anti-depressant," the face of Dr. Gordon filtered through the haze of his tears as the deep voice penetrated the daydream Johnny was in the middle of. He looked past Dr. Gordon to see Jean, his current nurse for the week, fumble with her clipboard.

"Johnny?"

Johnny blinked, causing the rest of his tears to course down his cheeks. Damn it, Gage, you let him see you again like this--weak, weak, weak! He tried to pull away as Jean touched a tissue to his face.

"Yea, Doc, what is it, now?" he sighed.

"I think I'm going to change your meds. Try to find a better balance for you."

"Whatever," I could care less, Johnny bit his lip. He remembered arriving several weeks ago at Santa Clara Valley Rehab Center with encouragement and resolve to move ahead from this injury. However, the depression began to settle in, despite his attempts to avoid it. The daily grind of living was harder than the most complicated rescue he had ever completed. He tried to keep Helen's advice close to his heart and listen to Roy's quiet, daily encouragement. But, just as the bullet ripped away his ability to move on that fateful day in the alley, so did his ability to stay strong from the waves of depression that relentlessly crashed in.

This past week had been especially difficult. Sleep was elusive while the nurses shifted him every four hours and replaced his catheter. The body knows when it's time to turn while deep in sleep, however, since his brain no longer communicated with the rest of his body, the simple act of turning became a manual process. Add to the physical problems, Johnny couldn't shake the phantom images that tortured him daily. Dr. Gordon blamed it on the need to find the right mix of medications that would stabilize Johnny's mental health. Johnny didn't believe that, only groaned, and grunted when the drug therapy was discussed. I just don't care, anymore. I can't keep doing this. I should've died that day.

Coming soon . . .

PART II: Resuscitation

PART III: Resolution

PART IV: Restoration