A/N: Meant to get this up yesterday, but I've got my country's 500th anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder and Guilder to frame for it. I'm swamped.
The Cat Came Back
Chapter Nine
Johnny usually didn't like to fly. He wouldn't consider himself extraordinarily tall, not the way Captain Stanley was, even though Cap only had a couple inches on him. His legs always felt cramped and the person in front of him inevitably reclined the seat no matter what time of day it was. If it were up to him, only redeye flights would allow people to recline. It wasn't a total loss, he had to concede; the food was good and the stewardesses tended to be attractive. The goods weren't enough to outweigh the bads, though, mostly because he had gotten in his head as a young boy that flying meant open skies and an effortless soar. And having wings like a bird, or at least a cape. He couldn't ever reconcile that childhood, imagination-fueled concept of flying with the reality of hurtling through the air in a glorified tin can.
But somehow he had been bumped up to first class for this trip and it was making a world of difference in his attitude about air travel. He didn't remember how or why he got the upgrade or where he was even going, but he had ample legroom and was enjoying a complimentary drink even though the airplane was still at the gate. Johnny settled into the seat, which seemed much cushier than those in coach, stretched his legs and folded his hands behind his head. Whatever he'd done to deserve the royal treatment, he hoped he'd figure it out so he'd get a repeat of this experience sooner rather than later.
"Would you like steak or lobster today, Mr. Gage?" the gorgeous blonde first class stewardess, Samantha, asked.
"I have to choose, huh?" Johnny said, giving her his best smile. "And I thought I told you to call me Johnny."
"Both it is, Mr. Johnny Gage. Just don't tell anyone." She returned his smile with a toothy one of her own and a bonus wink. "We want to make sure you're comfortable and happy until you reach your destination."
"Well, I appreciate that."
They were off to an excellent start, or at least Samantha was. In addition to the drink and the prospect of surf and turf, Johnny had already gotten her phone number. LA was her base city. When they both got back into town, they were going to hook up for drinks and, well, Johnny hoped other things. He relished the prospect, though even as he did he had a niggle in the back of his mind about something or someone else he had a commitment to. He couldn't put a finger on it, though, and Samantha's legs and behind distracted him as she turned to speak with the person across the aisle from him.
Johnny had to find a way to always travel first class.
He enjoyed the view of Samantha's backside for a moment, then switched his gaze toward the window. He might have a one-track mind sometimes, but he wasn't completely crude. Ogling had to be done in moderation. He knew how to play the game. Well, sometimes. Mostly, in this particular instance, being in first class made him think he should behave better. Try to fit in. The guy across the aisle from him looked like some kind of high-powered businessman, maybe a lawyer. He also looked oddly familiar; Johnny figured he must have seen him in the airport.
He watched through the window as a couple coverall-clad men drove a truck bearing a mountain of luggage. He saw them shouting and gesticulating, apparently to someone else down at the cargo hatch. There, those kind of blue-collar guys doing the jobs necessary but unglamorous, that was more his speed. Johnny was in the lap of luxury at the moment, but he wasn't going to forget his roots. He let his arms fall, setting them on the armrests. Suddenly, he felt a little out of place. He leaned his head against the soft headrest, closed his eyes. No, though, he wasn't about to let this feeling of not belonging ruin his enjoyment. One trip in first class didn't mean he wouldn't stay who he was at the core. It wasn't like he could afford to make a habit of this.
"We'll be taking off in a few minutes, folks," Samantha announced, "We're just waiting on a few possible last minute passengers. In the meantime, I have a variety of magazines or newspapers for you to read if you'd like. You might also take the time to read the safety instructions located in the seat pocket in front of you."
Did anyone ever read those things? Johnny picked up his drink and adjusted the tray. It would have to be put up soon. Wondering if first class also got a more detailed set of evacuation procedures, possibly a secret way out, he leafed through the tri-folded pamphlet. He was relieved the special treatment only involved comfort and didn't extend to safety.
"Excuse me, miss, could I get another whisky sour?"
Johnny glanced at the man in the business suit. He looked nervous, and immediately gulped several swallows of the drink when Samantha delivered it with yet another sparkling smile, for the other man as well as for Johnny.
"Nervous flier?" Johnny asked.
"You could say that. This was a last minute thing, totally out of the blue. I've never flown first class," the man said, giving him a loose grin. His hair, which had started out combed neatly, was now sticking up in tufts. His eyes were glassy. "I think I can handle the sutures."
Johnny's heart skipped a beat. He felt strange, his hands going kind of numb and his head felt floaty. He leaned over, giving the guy a hard stare. "What did you say?"
"I said, I think I could handle this in the future. If only I could swing first class all the time."
"Oh. Oh, yeah. I know what you mean."
Johnny wondered why he had heard the guy say something different at first. He must be overworked, and in need of a vacation. Good thing he was off to do just that. He thought he was going on vacation. That made the most sense. He didn't remember a conference or anything, and Roy would likely be with him if that were the case. He frowned and glanced down at himself. He was wearing jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. Vacation it was, but he didn't remember where he was going. That … wasn't right. He must be going somewhere tropical.
The man tipped his glass in the air, a silent toast. "The drinks definitely help. Name's Darrin."
"John," Johnny said.
"Nice to meet you. You off on business or pleasure?"
"Pleasure, I think."
"You think," Darrin said. "How can you not know?"
That was a valid question Johnny didn't have a good answer for. He lifted his own nearly empty glass and tipped it back at Darrin.
"I guess I'm a nervous flier too," he said.
It was probably a good idea for him to lay off the alcohol. Just because something was free didn't mean he had to partake. He was more of a beer guy. Beer and first class didn't seem to mix. Johnny and booze didn't seem to mix, which was probably why he couldn't seem to get his head on straight. He'd only had one drink and already he didn't know where he was going.
"Would you like a blanket?" Samantha said, reappearing by his seat. "I don't like the looks of his blood pressure."
"Beg pardon?"
"We're about to shut the doors." Samantha smiled and wrinkled her nose. "Sometimes people don't like the change in cabin pressure."
"Right. Sure, I'll take a blanket."
John handed Samantha his emptied glass in exchange for the blanket. There did seem to be a slight chill in the air. It could be the power of suggestion, but he draped the blanket over his shoulders anyway. Johnny shivered and sank into the seat. He didn't know why, but he was suddenly very sleepy. He closed his eyes and drifted into a twilight state, neither asleep nor awake. The slight hum from the air vents and strong whine from the airplane engine lulled him, and it was only faintly that he heard a male voice announcing their departure. Everything went hazy.
"He's tougher than he looks," Samantha said, loud, like she stood over him. "He'll pull through."
"I don't know this time. It took a long time to find all the splinters," Darrin said. "I don't like to keep them on the pump for more than six hours."
He didn't know what they meant, or whom they were talking about. Johnny opened his eyes and looked toward the somewhat inebriated businessman. Darrin was zonked out, his hands flopped in his lap, his whole body slumped in an uncomfortable-looking position. Samantha was nowhere in sight. Johnny had to have been mistaken. The words he'd thought he heard were, again, something he could have heard at work, had only happened in his head and proof he needed this vacation. He rubbed a hand down his face and stretched. He saw clouds outside. He'd slept through takeoff. That seemed strange, but not completely out of the question. Like he'd said, he was more of a beer guy than a hard drinker.
The scent of food cooking filled the air. His stomach growled. Other bodily functions made themselves known soon thereafter. Johnny unbuckled and slid from his seat, knees popping and a dull ache spreading across the right side of his chest. He rubbed at it absently, figuring he must have been leaning funny, like Darrin. Someone should nudge that guy awake, before he ended up with the same aches and pains. On the other hand, he remembered Darrin saying how nervous he was for this flight, so sleep might be the best thing for him. Definitely better than drinking himself deeper into a stupor.
After Johnny relieved himself, he paced the aisle a few times. Another part of why he hated flying was being confined for so long and it turned out that having a nicer seat didn't alleviate his need to move. His stomach was the true driving force, though, not his legs. It led him to the galley, where he found Samantha prepping the meal cart. Another stewardess he hadn't seen before was busy back there as well, but he couldn't see her face. She was there, but not there. He couldn't recall seeing anyone but Samantha and Darrin clearly this whole time, not even just now, walking past the other passengers. He was sure the other seats were filled.
"Oh, you're up." Samantha smiled. She smiled an awful lot. "I thought you were going to sleep right through dinner."
"If you knew me, you'd know how impossible that would be," Johnny said, laughing. To emphasize, his stomach growled.
"You just have to hold on, a little while longer," she said, losing her smile in favor of an intense look that seemed out of place on her friendly face. "You have a lot of people counting on you, not the least of which are Chris and Jen."
Johnny blinked. "Huh?"
"I said you should get back to your seat. I'll be there before you can count to ten." Samantha ran her hand over the top of the cart, as if doing a spell or something. She was just counting butters. "I have to melt the butter for the lobster."
He couldn't blame being overworked or tipsy on his misinterpretation of what people were saying to him. It had happened too many times. It was something else. Johnny must be going crazy. He couldn't come up with any other reasonable explanation. He managed to make it back to his seat, where he buckled in and then fidgeted. If he were going on vacation, then he'd know where. If he wasn't going on vacation, then where was this plane taking him? Direct flight to crazy? Roy always said he was insane. His paramedic pin scratched into his chest. Johnny looked down, surprised to see he was wearing his uniform. He'd been in vacation clothes before, or he thought he had been; he wouldn't fly in uniform. He wouldn't wear his uniform anywhere but at work. This was making less and less sense. He didn't like it.
"Okay, steak and lobster for the handsome gentleman in 3B," Samantha said. She paused when he didn't put his tray down, tilting her head to the side. "What's wrong? You look upset. We can't have that."
"Samantha, I want you to listen to me, because I am very serious," Johnny said, no longer interested in flirting. He was too busy feeling trapped, suddenly overly warm. He couldn't catch his breath. "I need you to tell me where we're going."
"Oh, John. Don't fret." She frowned, set the serving dishes down and slipped into the empty seat next to him. She took his hand. "I think you already know."
"If I knew," Johnny said, irritated by her response, "I wouldn't be asking."
Behind them, a small child fussed and chattered away. Johnny turned his head. He didn't recall there being a kid in first class before. Then again, he reminded himself, he couldn't really remember seeing anyone. He couldn't see anything now but the headrest and with Samantha still grasping onto his hand, he wasn't able to move freely. Her hand squeezed his, her thumb running across the top of his hand. He was sure it was intended to be a comforting gesture, but it only freaked him out.
"You are the one who decides where to go, Johnny. You booked the ticket."
"But I don't remember booking any ticket," Johnny insisted. "I don't remember packing. I don't remember boarding. I don't remember any of this. Some … something's not right."
The child started crying. It bothered Johnny more than it should, his emotions cracking. He wanted to tell the parents to keep the kid quiet. He tried to jerk his hand free, couldn't at first but after a moment Samantha released him.
"It's always sad when children are on these flights," Samantha said. "I wish it didn't ever happen."
Johnny narrowed his eyes. He twisted in the seat and half-stood, hitting his head on the overhead compartment. It stung, but mostly aggravated him. He fixed his eyes on the source of the bothersome noise. The child was nothing more than a baby, really, and she was seated alone. Her blonde hair was wet and limp. The whole seat she was in was sodden, he realized. Her chubby cheeks were vaguely purple. Her lips were blue. Johnny gasped. He knew her. He'd seen her before. When she saw him peering at her, the child stopped crying. She smiled at him and said something he might have been able to hear if his ears weren't buzzing. He didn't understand, or maybe he didn't want to.
"Sometimes it takes a few days for the parents to be okay with letting the little ones fly alone," Samantha said.
"Melissa Flinn." Johnny felt ill. "She … how? What is happening here?"
"I think you know that too." Samantha took his hand again, guided him back into his seat.
He couldn't be dead, but Melissa Flinn was. So if she was here and he was also here, then that meant he was dead. Johnny was hot and cold at the same time. Terrified and calm.
"Melissa is already going where she needs to. There's no need to alter her flight. Are you ready to settle on your destination?"
"I have a choice?"
"You do. Not everyone does, of course. Sweet baby Melissa didn't." Samantha studied his face. "But you've still got time. You just have to know what you want."
He pictured his parents and sister. He thought of Roy and his family, and the rest of the guys at 51. He saw a young woman with wild hair and eyes, a violent, desperate, angry sadness about her. He saw Melissa Flinn's mother and sister and, though he'd never seen the guy, her father. But Johnny also imagined people he hadn't met, people he might be able to help. He thought of his life, how much he still could accomplish in general.
"Then I don't want to be dead," he said, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm not ready."
No answer came. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids refused to twitch. Johnny started to feel funny. His arms and legs didn't feel like they were quite attached, numb. Cool, pressurized air blew into his nostrils and he thought he heard different sounds, not airplane engines. Different, but familiar. Samantha had his hand. He turned his head to look at her, but he couldn't seem to control his muscles. Somehow his seat had reclined fully. Instead of steak and lobster and rich, melted butter, Johnny smelled rubber and disinfectant.
"I think he's coming out of it," a voice said, male.
The hand which held his was big and rough and suddenly felt strange. The hand belonged to the voice, but Johnny didn't know why some guy was holding his hand and he wasn't sure whose hand he thought it should be instead. Someone. Perfect smile. Nice legs. He also didn't know why he had no inclination to pull from the strange touch. Even if he had wanted to, he was too weak to try. His head was foggy.
"Johnny?"
That was Roy. Roy was in his bedroom, but that wasn't right. Maybe they were at the station. But he didn't know why Roy was holding his hand. Johnny tried again to open his eyes, managed only a crack. Bright light, two vague darkish blobs.
"Hey," Roy said. He was the blob on the right. "You're going to be okay now. Welcome back."
Back? Johnny didn't remember going anywhere, and he didn't feel okay. He felt awful, like someone was sitting on his chest. Might need a vacation. At the very least, a nap.
"I didn't wanna," Johnny mumbled, not sure what he meant. Roy would know. Roy always knew. "It's too hot in here."
In his own ears it sounded like he had a hand clamped over his mouth, completely unintelligible. He didn't have the energy to try again. He closed his eyes. He was too tired. He thought there was probably a reason Roy wanted him to stay awake, but he couldn't. With a vague sense of déjà vu, he mentally promised that he'd try to stay awake tomorrow.
