"He's going to be fine," Dr. Kelly Brackett told the worried group assembled in the third-floor waiting room. "The surgery went fine, and he's resting comfortably."

"Thank you, doctor!" chorused the relieved men and women.

As the head of Rampart Hospital's Emergency Department, Kelly Brackett was used to the unexpected, but an emergency appendectomy wasn't how he planned to start his shift. It probably wasn't what that teenager expected, either, he thought wryly.

He walked down the busy hallway quickly, occasionally saying hello to colleagues he passed. He stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor. "The Girl from Impanema" was playing, which made him scowl. This piped-in version was terrible, and it was one of his favorite songs. Glancing at his watch, he wondered if he could get down to the cafeteria to grab a late dinner before he got caught up in the madness of the county's busiest ER. The doors slid open and he was greeted by Nurse Dixie McCall who had an uncanny ability to know what he was thinking.

"Getting some dinner?"

"Hey, Dix. I'm on my way to the cafeteria."

"I'll walk with you." They turned and went a few feet in companionable silence. "How did surgery go?"

"No problems."

"That's good, because I have something to tell you."

"What's up?"

Dixie put her hand on his arm, stopping him in his tracks. "There's been an accident at a construction site. The parking garage at WCCC has partially collapsed."

Brackett was shocked that he hadn't been notified earlier. "What? How many are we getting?"

"So far just one. Joe's got him."

"Call county to see how many more we can expect."

Dixie nodded, having anticipated his request. "Already did. Apparently most everyone was offsite when it came down. They don't think any other workers were injured."

"That's good news." Brackett folded his arms across his chest. "But your expression is saying it's not good news?"

The husky-voiced nurse dropped her gaze. "They also told me there was another partial collapse right after a firefighter had gone in to help someone. The firefighter was Johnny Gage. He's trapped now and they don't know where he is."

"Come on, it's time to wake up," someone commanded him.

Roy. Johnny involuntarily smiled. Roy was here now. Everything would be OK.

"I said, it's time to wake up," Roy repeated, his voice hollow and strange.

John turned to his left and saw his partner sitting cross-legged at the farthest edge of the light's reach.

"Roy?" he coughed.

"I'm here, Junior."

John shook his head, hoping to knock out some cobwebs but only succeeded in making his headache worse. "Why … Where are we?"

"Do you remember?"

"I'm not sure." John tried to shut off the sound of the roaring train coming at him. Slowly he began to remember. "It was a structure collapse, a parking garage. I came in here... well, I don't know."

"Probably not your best idea," Roy said with a laugh.

John's brow furrowed in anger. "Stop being a smart ass and get me out of here."

But Roy didn't move.

"Seriously, Roy. Let's get out of here. Help me up."

"I'm really sorry, John" was all he would say.

Confused, John peered into the gray area where Roy sat. His partner wore his blue uniform pants and jacket. No turnouts, no helmet. He made no effort to approach Johnny or offer any assistance. Something about his person didn't look right either. It was as if he was blurry around the edges.

The young paramedic felt a chill go up his spine that was unrelated to the cold concrete he sat on. "I must be hurt worse than I thought."

"What do you mean?"

"You . . . aren't . . . real." Even as John said the words, he realized he was having a conversation with a figment of his imagination.

But "Roy" was having none of it. "I am real."

"You aren't real," John insisted angrily, his breathing labored.

"I'm as real as you need me to be right now," Fake Roy said simply.

A thick silence hung in the air. John's headache felt almost unbearable. He balled up his fists and put them to the side of his head. "What I need is to find a way out! What I need is to know if I'm going to run out of air! What I need is some water! Can you do any of that for me?"

The tightness in his chest wasn't helped by his outburst or the fact Fake Roy actually had the gall to smile apologetically. "Junior, I would help you do all of that if I could. Really."

Drained, John slumped back. Fake Roy's silhouette shimmered in the penlight's glow. "You're not much use, are you?"

Fake Roy leaned forward. "I can still help you."

John tried to ignore the sharp pain in his arm. "I must be going crazy. OK, I'll bite. How?"

"By pointing things out that you know but aren't noticing. Like that piece of rebar you're sitting on." Fake Roy gestured to John's right. Turning the penlight in that direction, John saw a three-foot-long thin, metal pole on the ground, the tip of which was under his right thigh. He pulled it from beneath him and gripped it hard.

"You can use it to hit that metal beam over there. That way they'll know where you are," Fake Roy said confidently.

John begrudgingly nodded. "I'll give you that one."

He raised the pole and struck the beam. The clanging reverberations made his head feel as if it might explode.

"What else do you notice? Or should I say, what else do I notice, since you're just the result of my head injury?" John asked.

Roy gestured to the darkness just beyond John's feet. "Over there is your helmet. Why don't you put it back on?"

John painfully inched forward until the toe of his black boot touched the helmet. He scooted the bent and battered headgear toward him with his foot and snatched it up with his right hand. He made his way back to lean against the wall.

"Oh man." He slowly examined the helmet, turning it around in his hands. "This one was brand new, too!"

"Put it on and focus. The only way you'll get out of here is if they find you, and the only way that will happen is if you make some noise," Fake Roy said. "So, you need to start hitting that beam. Say, to keep your mind off of things, let's talk about something. What about listing all the bones in the hand?"

"Nuh-uh. You're in my head, so let's talk about what I want to. What about the hot new ER nurse?"

"There's the first metacarpal and the second metacarpal. Start pounding."

"Shut up," John glowered at Fake Roy. But he obeyed.