The Let Down

Chapter 13

By GCS

"Hi, this is Johnny; leave a message after the beep." The message was short and to the point, and every time Roy heard it he had to smile. Johnny was the guy who always said "good morning" in threes. The short message just didn't seem to fit. Then Roy remembered the time Johnny tried to wire a tape recorder in the squad to help them keep up with their runs for the log book. Maybe Johnny was lucky to get a message on the machine at all. Before he had time to consider that thought he heard the last beep indicating that his message time had run out. Shaking his head he pressed down on the hook, listened for the dial tone and dialed again.

Roy heard the answering machine pick up again. "Hey Johnny, we missed you this morning. Jenny and Chris were disappointed. Um…we uh… well this kids… uh they wanted to see if you wanted to come to dinner, Joanne too… uh…" BEEP. He stood for a moment with the silent phone next to his ear. He hadn't told Johnny he wanted him to come. He had run out of time. Then the shrill off the hook tone screamed in his ear and he jerked it away from his ear and slammed it down on the hook.

"Everything okay?" Joanne asked from the kitchen doorway. "Was he mad? Did he hang up on you?" When Roy just stood staring at the phone and not answering her, Joanne got a little worried. She stepped over and put her hand on his shoulder as she calmly spoke his name. "Roy?"

Roy jumped. "What? Oh Joanne, I didn't know you were there. What did you say?"

"I asked if everything was okay. You slammed the phone down like you were angry. Did you two have words?"

Roy turned and pulled Joanne into his strong arms and when she rested her head on his shoulder he rested he chin atop her head. Their bodies seemed to fit perfectly. "No honey, we didn't have words. I had to leave a message. I just didn't hang up before that loud screeching noise came on. I hate that. I guess I just hung up in a hurry to shut out the noise." He kissed the top of her head and let her step back. She looked into his eyes for truth.

"Well he'll call back. What should we have?" Joanne smiled up at Roy.

Johnny had already shed his clothes and turned on the water for his shower when he heard the phone ring; wanting nothing more to ease the ache in his body, he ignored it and stepped into the shower. He stood in the very hot shower letting the heated spray cascade down his sore back. He'd slept half a day away and most of the night, but he still felt tired, weary; almost hung over. He hated it when the doctors at Rampart drugged him up. He hated not being in control of his own body…his own mind. When the drugs kicked in and took control of his senses sending him into oblivion, he always fought it dreading the way he'd feel when he woke up. They always left him feeling like he had been on a drunken binge. Not that he'd been on many, he wasn't much of a drinker, but the few times he'd woken up not remembering how he'd gotten home or why his mouth felt full of cotton and dry as the Sahara not to mention why he felt so nauseous was enough to teach him never to do it again. Of course that promise he'd made to himself sometimes slipped his mind when he lost a brother in the fire service, but each time he vowed that it would never happen again.

He turned and let the water wash across his face and chest. He knew Dixie had cleaned him up at Rampart. She always took such care to make him feel better, but for some reason the smell of smoke lingered in his senses. He reached for the shampoo to wash his hair for the second time. When the water ran cold he stepped from the shower, grabbed the towel from the rack and began wiping down his arms and legs. When he draped the towel across his back and moved it back and forth he winced. He thought about how hard his air tank had crushed against his back and wondered how long it would take for the bruising to go away. It wasn't the first time he'd suffered deep bruising. If he stayed in the fire department, it likely wouldn't be the last.

Shrugging off the thoughts that had been running through his mind, he draped the towel over his shoulders. He was alone, so there was no need for modesty.

He crossed the bedroom and reached for the pair of sweats he'd discarded before going to his last shift at the station. When he pulled them on he was careful not to let the waistband rub his back or snap against his skin. He threw towel in the corner with the others that needed to be washed. Deciding that a shirt would only rub against his back he didn't bother putting one on.

Even after a shower that should have left him feeling fresh and clean, he still felt near exhaustion. 'Must be the drugs still in my system,' he thought. 'Maybe I'll feel better after breakfast.' He headed to the kitchen to see what he could find to eat. He wasn't really hungry. He couldn't help the smile that came with that thought. Chet would have a field day and throw out a barrage of jabs about his lack of hunger, but the smile was fleeting. Everyone seemed to be concerned about him lately, worried about him not taking care of himself. That thought brought him to remembering how he had overheard Brackett and Early discussing his health with Roy, and after the way his supposed partner and best friend had been treating him lately and had tricked him into going to his place like a child who couldn't think for himself, the rage from yesterday began to resurface.

Johnny opened cabinet after cabinet, turned to the fridge and swung the door open with just a bit too much force slinging the ketchup bottle skidding across the floor. He slammed the door and stooped to pick up the stray bottle; turning and slamming it down on the table giving up on food.

He stalked out of the kitchen and stood in the living room starring at the sofa. He didn't want to watch TV. He didn't want to go out. He really didn't want to think anymore. He didn't want to feel the way he felt. He especially didn't want to think about his next shift or how things were changing. Suddenly, the oblivion he'd wanted to avoid seemed inviting. He rubbed his sore back. The tension he now felt seemed to pull at every muscle. Making a decision he turned back to the kitchen and the cabinet above the fridge where he kept things out of the reach of small hands, Roy's kid's hands. He slammed his fist against the door of the fridge, and stood for a moment looking from the half empty bottle of bourbon and the bottles of prescription pain pills he never seemed to finish even though Dr. Brackett always insisted he did.

After a few minutes of indecision, he grabbed a couple of the bottles and read the labels. There was a variety of pain pills, muscle relaxers and sedatives. He knew enough about medications not to mix certain ones and how others would affect him. What he needed was something strong enough to help him relax, sleep, not think or dream, but not too strong to make him unable to function at work tomorrow. Deciding on muscle relaxers similar to what Brackett had given him yesterday; he twisted off the cap and dropped two in his hand hesitating for only a few minutes before throwing them into his mouth and dry swallowing.