First, a thousand apologies for the lateness of this chapter. My computer monitor went out, and it took some time to diagnose and fix the problem. Hopefully everything is fixed for awhile. Second, I have to thank everyone who has been kind enough to review my story. It means so much to me, and I really do appreciate the kindness of all those who have taken the time to send me a note. One more thing-I cannot get the spacing correct at the beginning of each chapter, and it's bugging me to death. I keep trying to put in an extra space between the notes and the actual story, but it never works. It is so sloppy, but I can't fix it!

Over here! She's in here! Can't you hear me? I need some help here!

There's nothing you can do, Johnny. You're wasting your time.

But it's my fault! If I hadn't been driving so fast—

She's dead, Johnny. Her head's been cut off.

I can help her! I have to try! Please!

Blood…everywhere…glistening, sticky, plastering his arms and his face…

I've got to help her! Someone help me, please!

Slipping in the mud, dirt and blood intermingled, falling…falling…

No! God, no! I didn't mean to make her crash!

Of course you did. You were late. You were in a hurry. Now look what you've done. You've killed them. Too fast. Too fast. And now they're dead.

I can fix it. Just let me try!

More blood. Dripping…dripping…faster and faster.

See what you did? Look at that little girl. Look at her. Look! Look!

No! I didn't mean to kill her!

Look! Look! Look!

No!

Johnny awoke with a start, coughing and choking. He lurched from his bed, attempting to make it to the bathroom in time, but he vomited just outside the bedroom. Again and again he felt his gut lurch, and before he finished tears freely ran down his cheeks.

After cleaning up the mess, he aimlessly wandered through the dark apartment, finally ending up in front of the TV. An ancient movie flickered on the screen, serving to keep him awake for nearly half an hour before his eyelids lowered and he once again entered the hell of sleep.

He drove aimlessly, needing to get out of his apartment. Time constraints should have dictated his driving; his second appointment with Dr. Gould started in less than half an hour, but he studiously avoided thinking of it.

The appointment meant talking about the accident. Remembering…

He didn't want to remember…

They hurt.

The memories hurt so deeply…to the point of physical illness. He was enduring two or three bouts of vomiting every day and night. He knew that he was risking dehydration, but he also knew that he could not go to Dr. Brackett. Too many questions.

A sudden increase in the speed of the cars he traveled with brought him back to his surroundings. He had entered the 405 without realizing where he was going, at least consciously, and now he was rolling along with the rest of the traffic.

The 405. A speeding Land Rover, the driver playing a deadly game with another car…and then the horror begins.

His heart beating an uncontrollably fast rhythm in his chest, Johnny's breaths came in pants, and his palms slid on the steering wheel in a glistening layer of sweat.

The accident…the girl.

And there, in the distance, the abutment.

How had he ended up here? The abutment, stolid and severe, standing in testimony of a former tragedy.

I can't be here!

Somehow he passed the scene, swallowing convulsively and striving to slow his racing heart. He felt his entire body shudder, his muscles tensing in waves. With tremendous effort he pulled over, threw the Rover into neutral, and dropping his head onto the steering wheel sobbed without really knowing why.

"John. You're late."

Dr. Gould stood aside to allow the paramedic room to come into the office. He immediately noticed Johnny's puffy eyes and slouched posture, and as they both took seats he did nothing to hide his scrutiny of his patient.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"I have no choice," Johnny replied shortly.

"Don't you?"

Johnny shot Gould a fierce glance. "You know as well as I do that I have to be here if I want to go back to work."

Gould leaned back. "Why are you late, John?"

"I just am."

"No particular reason?"

Johnny sighed impatiently. "I was driving around, okay? Or is that not allowed?"

"Why were you crying?"

Johnny quickly turned away. "Just because."

"Are you in the habit of crying just because?"

Johnny looked over at Gould and glared at the smiling psychiatrist. "No!"

"So why were you crying?"

"You just don't quit, do you?"

"Nope."

Picking at a piece of lint from the arm of the chair, Johnny finally began to talk. "I keep seeing her. The little girl. From the accident. I see her constantly."

Dr. Gould waited for him to continue, but Johnny said no more. "She was badly injured?"

Johnny laughed, one brief, sardonic note. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Was she dead?"

"Yeah."

"Did you try to help her?"

Johnny stiffened, still not meeting Dr. Gould's eyes but beginning to squirm under the intense scrutiny. "I don't want to talk about it," he finally said quietly but with the beginnings of controlled panic.

"You tried to help her, didn't you?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" John said desperately.

"I think you do, John. I think you want to scream and shout and throw things, but you're holding back with everything you've got. Let it go, John. I know you want to get over this nightmare. You want closure, but you don't know how to get it. I want to help you."

"You don't know anything about me," Johnny retorted. "You don't know what I want or what I've been doing."

"I think I do. In fact, I think you're scared right now because I've hit the nail on the head. I've told you exactly how you feel and it's scaring you to death."

Johnny got to his feet. With new determination he walked to the door, half- expecting Dr. Gould to try to stop him.

"I understand your fear, John," the doctor said, still fixing Johnny with his steady gaze. "I can see your burden, but running away won't help. You need to accept that something very bad happened to you. Will you admit to needing help?"

Johnny stood straighter, and for the second time during the session managed to look Dr. Gould in the eye.

"I'm not scared, and I don't need this. The only reason I'm here is because they're making me come."

"That's what you keep saying. I don't believe it."

"Yeah, well, you can go to hell, too." Johnny stepped from the room, leaving the door open.

Johnny lay in bed, desperately tired but terrified of the never-ending dreams that plagued his every sleeping moment. His stomach churned, and he knew that the vomiting would start soon. The vomiting and the dreams—he almost didn't know which was worse.

He rolled onto his left side, hoping to put off the inevitable trip to the bathroom, but the nausea only worsened, and he flung back the sheet and rushed to the toilet. Several minutes later he returned to his bed, exhausted beyond belief but fighting sleep with every shuddering breath.

Johnny! My God, what have you done?

I didn't mean to! I was late to work…

Roy standing before him, hands stretched out, pleading with his eyes…

Look what you did! How can I forgive you for this?

Roy…please…don't turn away from me!

But Roy disappeared, fading like mist, and Johnny stood alone…

"So are you ready to go back to work tomorrow, John?"

Johnny shrugged. "Should I be?" he countered.

Dr. Gould laughed. "Turning the tables, are we? Well, I think we've made progress, albeit not as much as I would have liked. So I ask again, are you ready to go back?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to tell me anything more about the accident?"

"No."

Gould raised his eyebrows. Johnny had steadfastly refused to discuss the events of the accident, preferring to stay with generalities about his emotions. Gould had noticed his patient's drawn, pale appearance, but inquiries into Johnny's health had also drawn no real information.

"You're going to have to face it sooner or later, John. Why not now?"

"Why not later?" Johnny smiled as he spoke, having developed a genuine liking of the doctor.

"Wouldn't you like to get it off your chest before you go back to work?"

Johnny impatiently ran his hand through his hair. "Work is what I need, not sitting here gabbing."

Gould chuckled. "Well, you realize that your captain can recommend your return to our little gab sessions if he thinks you need them."

"He won't. I'm fine."

"No, you're not fine, but I believe you're capable of returning to work. I'd like you to continue our sessions on a voluntary basis, though."

Johnny stood up. "I don't know. Maybe. Let me get back to work and then we'll see, okay?"

Dr. Gould also stood up. "Okay," he replied, holding out his hand. "Be well, John," he said, taking the other's hand in a firm grip. The paramedic met his eyes.

"I'll be fine. Really." He left the office, desperately wishing that he was as confident in his sanity as he was letting on.

The day of Johnny's return to work dawned with a cold, windy rain. Roy stood at his locker, changing out of his damp clothes into his uniform. Hearing steps behind him, he turned to see Johnny dash into the locker room.

"Hey, Johnny, you're not late!" Roy greeted.

The younger man didn't even spare him a glance. "Yeah, well, can't be too careful," he said, hurriedly removing his civilian clothes. He finished changing without a further word, then sped from the locker room. Roy watched him, sighing with weariness as though ending his shift rather than just beginning it.

Johnny rushed into the kitchen, where Marco and Chet sat at the table.

"Hey, Gage, it's about time you decided to pick up some of your slack," Chet observed. "How long do you think Roy can stand Brice?"

"Yeah, that's really cruel and unusual punishment," Marco added.

Johnny poured himself a cup of coffee. "Ah, it's the powers that be," he said, joining them at the table. "Who am I but a lowly paramedic? I get told where to go and what to do."

Roy and Mike came in. "Gentlemen, come in!" Johnny called, sweeping his arm toward them. "Join the party!"

Marco raised his eyebrows. "A coffee party?" he asked.

"Only the best," Johnny replied, pausing to take a drink of his coffee.

Roy studied his partner, slowly sipping his coffee. He was too frenetic, too jumpy, even for Johnny.

Chet got up and sauntered over to Johnny. He made a show of palpating the paramedic's head. Johnny jerked his head away.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Well, you went to the shrink. I just wanted to see if your head had been reduced."

Johnny glared at him. "Chet...shut up!"

Chet merely chuckled as he returned to his seat at the table. "What, Gage? Can't a man satisfy his curiosity? I mean—"

Just at that moment, the klaxons announced the first run of the shift, a call for the squad. Roy and Cap rushed to the apparatus room, with Cap taking down the information and Roy climbing into the squad.

"Squad 51, KMG-365," Cap said into the microphone. He handed the slip to Roy, who turned expectantly to the passenger side of the squad…which was still empty.

"Johnny? Where are you?" Roy glanced at Cap, who ran back to the kitchen to find Johnny still sitting at the table.

"John! You've got a call!"

Johnny looked up at him. "Sorry," he mumbled, pushing his chair back and walking out of the kitchen. Cap followed, halfway worried that Johnny would not make it to the squad.

Roy waited for Johnny to climb into the squad, then handed him the destination slip. "What happened? Forget what to do?"

Johnny didn't answer, and Roy pulled out of the station.

Their destination was a ramshackle house that had been condemned for quite some time. The windows and doors had once been covered with plywood, but various vagrants had pulled most of the wood off. Vince stood before an open door.

"She's inside. Looks like a suicide. Pretty bloody."

"Right, Vince." Roy entered the dark house first, followed by Johnny and Vince.

A heavy, musty smell hung throughout the house. Johnny suddenly felt as though he was suffocating, so dense was the odor. He stopped, fighting the wild urge to flee from the house, desperate to join Roy and Vince.

You have a job to do! Get with it! Breathing through his mouth, he inched his way through the hall.

He arrived in the small bathroom and found Roy examining a prone figure on the floor. Johnny stared at the girl, paralyzed. She lay motionless, her white face fixed in a blank gaze, blood covering a substantial portion of her body and the floor. A paring knife lay next to her, and both of her wrists gaped with congealed blood. Johnny could not move, could not touch her, could not breathe, could not see anything except her face.

Roy glanced up as Johnny finally made it into the room, and he knew immediately that his partner had frozen. Hiding his dismay, he hoped that Johnny would snap out of it.

"She's been gone for awhile. See," he said, pointing at the large amount of blood that covered the tile floor. "She knew how to do it." He stared down at the girl, unwilling to meet Johnny's eyes. "So sad," he murmured.

Johnny suddenly started. "Why are we here?" he demanded. "She's dead! Why are we responding to a dead girl?" He backed away, slamming into the wall with enough force to momentarily stun himself. He grabbed his head with his hands, and Roy jumped to him.

"You okay?" he asked, pulling at Johnny's hands.

Johnny stared at him, his face contorted with more than the pain from the blow to his head. The girl's face, the eyes, the slack mouth. Suddenly he couldn't remember where he was. The accident? A suicide? Where am I? "I can't be here! Let me out!" He shoved past Roy into Vince, who quickly restrained him.

"Hey! Settle down!" he said, confused.

Johnny started to struggle, but then he abruptly stopped, his body sagging against the policeman's. "I'm sorry, Vince," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Vince replied, staring curiously at the paramedic. "Roy…?"

"I've got him," Roy said, stepping up to take Johnny's arm. "C'mon, let's go."

Johnny wiped his face with trembling hands. "Yeah, right," he said, his voice ragged. "I've gotta get out of here." I'm losing my mind! Roy knows it. He's going to tell Cap…what am I going to do?

Having already called in the authorities, Roy sat in the squad waiting for Johnny to climb in. His partner seemed to be stalling, fiddling with the equipment and taking an inordinate amount of time to find his way into the cab.

"Hey Johnny!" he finally called. "You planning on joining me sometime this century?"

The passenger side door opened, and Johnny slid in, his expression sheepish. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Roy studied him. "No problem. I just don't want to hang around here, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah." Johnny stared at his fingernails, then pretended to be engrossed with the urban landscape. Help me, Roy. Don't you know I'm losing it? Roy waited, continuing to watch for some opening, some opportunity to scan his partner's mood, but Johnny steadfastly refused to look in his direction. Roy sighed.

"You okay?" Roy felt like he had asked this same question a million times, and he was sure it was beginning to sound hopelessly lame, but eloquence escaped him.

Johnny glanced over at Roy. "Yeah. It just got to me." He took refuge in the familiar response, not wanting to divulge too much.

Roy continued to look at him, and Johnny felt his face flush. "I'm fine," he said, gesturing toward himself. "Let's just get out of here."

Roy grunted a reply, and they left the scene. Johnny closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to force the growing panic he felt in his chest to retreat. Roy was close…very close, and his heart pounded in anticipation of the questions.

"Johnny—"

"Roy—"

He heard Roy sigh, and he knew that his continuing denial would not be accepted. "Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh, I'm not...I'm not okay." He felt Roy's eyes on him as they stopped for a red light.

"I know," his partner replied quietly.

Johnny nearly laughed. Of course he knew. "It's just..." His voice caught, and he quickly looked out the window, desperate to control his emotions.

"That was some accident that you saw." Roy spoke softly, with little inflection. "I don't think I've ever seen one that bad. Especially a kid. That's rough." He paused, giving Johnny time to compose himself. "It's understandable that someone would have a rough time getting over something like that."

"I think..." Johnny's voice held a slight quiver. "I may need...some more help with this one." He ran his hand through his hair. "I keep seeing that girl," he added in a whisper.

Roy glanced at him. "Have you—uh—told the doctor?"

Johnny shrugged, even though Roy's eyes remained on the road.

"Well?"

"Kind of. Well, maybe. Something about it."

Roy shook his head. "Johnny, how can he help you if you aren't honest and open with him? You're only hurting yourself."

"Well, it's not that easy!" Johnny replied defensively. "I mean, it's not easy to open up to someone you hardly know." His voice grew softer. "He asks all these questions, and he wants to know about everything."

"So tell him. That's his job, to help you."

"I—"

Johnny's reply was cut off by the radio, and their conversation was replaced by a run for a heart attack victim.