Chapter Eleven

Lunch had come and gone, thankfully the whole crew got to eat their cold cuts in one sitting. Johnny meandered back to the bunk room, now that the sheets were clean he began putting them on the beds. As he was making Chet's bunk, he wondered if he should short sheet it, but opted not to. The phantom hadn't attacked so far, somehow the phantom just knew something was going on. He saved Captain's Stanley bed for last, making sure the bed would fit right in at an army boot camp. He liked Stanley so far, but always was unsure how 'military precise' things needed to be. After he tucked in the last corner and fluffed the pillow, he went to find the mop and broom. He walked through the locker room and looked in his open locker. On the floor in the locker laid an innocent looking letter. John stopped in his quest for the mop and stooped to pick it up. It felt heavier to him than a piece of paper should. He decided to pocket it and continue looking for the mop. Johnny tore apart the closet in the bay, other cleaning supplies surrounding him on the ground.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Chet was sitting in the day room and heard noises coming from the bay. Looking around at his other crewmates, he appeared to be the only one curious. He stood up and walked out. To his right he happened upon Johnny who was putting everything back in the closet. "Whatcha looking for Johnny?" Chet asked.

"The mop, the damn things disappeared." John grumbled, putting a bottle of bleach back on the shelf.

Chet snickered, wondering why the bleach was a suspect to stealing the mop. He thought about teasing the flustered man, then remembered Roy's words of warning. He said honestly, "I think Marco left it for you in the locker room." he suggested.

Johnny squinted at him, to evaluate the lineman to see if he was pulling his leg. He must have decided he wasn't and walked back towards the locker room.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Johnny found the mop innocently leaning in the corner, just where Chet said it was. "How did I miss it?" he said out loud, throwing his arms up in the air. He grabbed the mop and wheeled the bucket towards the bunk room. He mopped with efficiency and finished quickly. As he waited for the floor to dry, he sat in front of his locker pulling the letter out of his back pocket. Taking it out of the envelope, he looked at the handwriting without reading it. Placing it on the bench and smoothed it out, staring intently at it. He took a breath and exhaled forcefully. He picked it up, willing his hands to stop shaking. "I really shouldn't read it here" he thought. "I won't sleep if I don't," he admitted. He read the opening sentence.

'Mr. John Gage,

You have no idea who I am, I only discovered who you were the other day.'

Johnny folded the letter again, "Damn right I don't know who you are." he muttered. He looked around quickly, worried someone overheard. He decided to sit on his bunk, figuring the floor would be dry by now. Clutching the letter, he sat on the edge of his bed. Hoping the bells would sound to distract him.

'From the look we shared in the hospital, clearly we both recognized our similarities.'

Johnny nodded his head in agreement. Biting his lip in anticipation, his leg bouncing.

'My mother Roberta is your Aunt. Your father's sister.'

"No." he breathed in disbelief. Johnny suddenly remembered it was his Aunt who left. He remembered feeling resentment towards her, she left without taking him. Was she when pregnant when she left? "I wonder if mom knew." he said out loud. He forced his mind back to the reservation. The week before their accident, she had been acting strange. She became solemn and reserved, which was unusual. She looked like she always had something on her mind. The county radio dispatching another unit wrenched his mind out of Montana and back to LA. Johnny reached out to grip his bedspread, his mind reeling. He took a deep breath and looked back down.

'My mother ran away from the Lakota Reservation when she was pregnant with me. So we've never officially met. She was running away because of your father's, tendencies shall we say, and the fact that my father is white.'

"She's mixed too." He murmured, "I guess I'm lucky I look Indian." He put the letter down and rubbed his face, giving himself a break from the loaded paper. "How does my Aunt live with herself?" he thought. Johnny realized he was breathing too quickly, the medic part of him diagnosed himself and offered the treatment. He leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees. Praying to the gods that nobody would walk in. Once he caught his breath and his respiratory rate was normal, he put the letter under his pillow. Realizing the mop bucket was still sitting in the corner, he took it outside to the back parking lot and dumped it, returning it to the closet. Leaning against the closet door frame he debated if it was worth risking walking into the day room for a cup of coffee. He knew he looked bad, probably pale and shaky. He could feel his hands trembling slightly so he jammed them in his pockets. He decided against coffee when he pictured himself holding a mug, his hands shaking so much that it would spill. He couldn't go right back to the letter though. He paced the bay, staying away from the day room door, not wanting to be seen. An idea popped into his head. He grabbed the squad's portable radio and climbed the hose tower out back. Making sure the radio was on, and on the right channel, he sat there, legs swinging and mind free.