Al's skin tingled all over as he regained his senses. He found himself lying in the road, with several Milton officers and citizens standing over him.
"He's coming around! Back up! Give him some room," Tim said, spreading his arms out, trying to move the people back away from Al.
"It worked," Al said.
"What worked? What are you talking about? JT, I thought you were dead!" Tim squatted down next to Al.
"No, I don't think I am." Al squeezed his eyes shut. "Damn, my head hurts."
"Well, it should. You just got hit by a car!"
Al sat up and looked around. He saw the driver of the truck had been arrested by the backup officers, and was sitting in the back of one of the patrol cars. One of the officers removed a silver revolver from the truck, and began logging it on an evidence sheet. Al then saw an ambulance approach the scene. The medics jumped out of the ambulance, and ran toward Al. "Aw, man. Not again." He said, shaking his head. He hated doctors and other medical staff. They always poked and prodded at him.
"'Not again'? What are you talking about?" Tim looked very concerned for his friend.
The medics started checking Al all over. They poked and prodded, and shone penlights into his eyes. Al tried to push them away, but Tim kept him from doing so.
"JT, let them do their job," he said.
"I'm okay, really," Al insisted.
One of the medics turned to another and said, "This is incredible. They say he got dragged five hundred feet, rolled across the road, and then got hit by a car, but all I can see is a concussion. Do you find anything?"
"No, just the concussion," the other medic responded, amazed at Al's condition.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just leave me alone now," Al said, trying to wave them off.
"No, man. You gotta at least get checked out by a doctor," Tim said.
"I'll be all right. Look, if I start to feel woozy, I'll go get checked out, okay?"
The first medic turned to Tim. "He does have the right to refuse treatment, you know."
"Well, I know that. But I still think he's making a mistake."
"It's his mistake to make." The medic pulled Tim to the side, so Al wouldn't overhear him. "Just keep a close eye on him, okay? And I wouldn't let him drive for a couple of days, either."
"Well, I am the senior officer on the shift. I'll put him in my car, and we'll go two-man for the rest of the week," he said, referring to the practice of having two officers per car.
"Sounds good," the medic replied.
Tim walked back over to Al. "Hey, how are you feeling?"
"I'm fine. Just a little headache, that's all," Al lied. The combination of the concussion and the Leap was taking its toll. His head felt like it was going to explode.
"Well, look. Let's get you back to the station and get you a fresh uniform. This one's kind of seen better days."
Al looked down to see that his pants were shredded, and his shirt didn't fare much better.
"And I have some aspirin in my locker, too." Tim reached down and helped Al stand up slowly.
They walked to Tim's patrol car and Tim opened the passenger door for Al. Al got in and closed the door. Tim got in the driver's side and started the car.
"What about all of this?" Al motioned to the truck and the other patrol cars at the scene.
"We'll let the other officers take care of that. We need to take care of you, first. If you're not gonna go to the hospital, you at least need to go to the station and take something for that headache you have." Tim drove away from the scene, and Al's headache was eased a bit by the absence of the flashing lights.
They arrived at the station, which was on a hill on the opposite end of town from where Al had Leaped in. Al was relieved to see that the officers' lockers had their names on them. He found a locker that was simply labeled "JT". He opened it to find a fresh uniform, and proceeded to change into it.
"JT! Catch!"
Al almost missed the aspirin bottle that Tim tossed his way, but he was able to catch it over his head. He swallowed two pills and sat down on the bench to put his shoes back on.
Tim walked across the room to him. "You're lucky it's about time for third shift to come in. Come on, let's go sign out."
Al followed Tim upstairs to the dispatch office, where they signed the log sheet. The dispatcher in the office fussed over Al like a mother hen. Only after he repeatedly insisted he was okay, did she finally leave him alone.
"JT, you want me to take you home?" Tim offered.
"Yes, please," Al gratefully accepted. He had no idea where home was, but he wasn't about to tell Tim that.
The ride home didn't take very long, since Thompson lived in Milton. Al got out of the car and started walking toward the front door.
"JT!" Tim called. "I'll pick you up tomorrow around two. Will that be okay?"
"Uh, sure,"Al answered. "Two is fine."
As soon as Al walked in the door, he knew Thompson was single. There were dirty dishes in the sink, and various articles of clothing were tossed about. Al hated messy places. Organization was one thing that the Navy had taught him, and he appreciated that. He shook his head, sighed, and started picking up the clothes. It didn't take long for his headache to kick back in, with the bending and standing. He abandoned his cleanup effort and found his way to the bedroom. Much to his dismay, it was messier. Trying to ignore the mess, he changed out of his uniform and into shorts and a t-shirt that looked clean. He carefully laid the uniform out over a pile of clothes, being cautious not to introduce wrinkles. Then he shoved everything off the bed, and lay down.
Why am I still here? Sam saved Tim. Their shift is over now. I'm supposed to Leap, right?
Al turned off the light and tried to sleep, but sleep eluded him. He tossed and turned all night, worried that something had happened to prevent him from Leaping. Finally, exhausted from the events of the past 18 hours, he drifted off to sleep.
