Chapter 10

Roy gently closed the compartment door of the squad and moved back over to the rear bumper where the young lady of the house was now residing quite comfortably. She was leaning her back against the truck and surveying Mike Stoker, who was still diligently maintaining his pose at the front of the engine. Captain Stanley was half situated in the cab, one long leg on the step and the rest of his body partly perched on the passenger seat. He had the radio in his hand but his attention seemed to be directed at the funeral home.

"He misses out on all the fun, doesn't he?" Jeanette queried, flapping a hand towards the engineer and looking up at Roy with a placid smile. He thought she appeared to be surprisingly calm after the excited behavior she had displayed earlier in the basement.

"I suppose he does, sometimes," Roy answered, thinking about his own studying he was doing for the upcoming engineer's exam. "Are you sure you're ok, Miss?"

"Yes, of course. So very foolish of me….are you married, Mr. DeSoto?"

"Uh, yes, yes I am." He shot her a puzzled look; she had already fixated her stare back on Stoker and was thoughtfully running a finger up and down her cheek.

"What about him?" She tipped her chin up, indicating the lanky man across from them who was now gazing in the direction of the front doors.

"Him too," Roy said, wondering who was going to be next in her apparent pursuit of a husband and a possible father for her child. He decided he'd better not volunteer any information about the marital status of the three single guys of the crew; he'd never live it down, especially with his often mood jumping partner.

"Mmmmph," Jeanette sighed, reaching into the pocket of her oversized lab coat and pulling out a pack of gum. She pulled out a yellow wrapped stick and offered the pack to DeSoto, who shook his head. He turned back to look at the gruesome stone angels and wondered what was taking so long for the rest of the men to exit. He hadn't noticed either of the linemen on his way out, so where were they?

~eeeEEEeee~

The other men of the Station 51 crew were standing motionless and gawking as the coffin lid slowly continued rising on its own. The tension in the suffocating stillness of the suddenly tiny room was palpable, and Marco involuntarily crossed his arms, which broke his frozen stance. He needed to check on Johnny, who was still standing behind him emitting waves of some unfathomable emotion, but he couldn't seem to tear his attention away from the scene unfolding in front of him.

The lid stopped its tortuous, creeping ascent and the quivering balloon of terror, disbelief, or whatever it was shattered as Mr. LeRue stepped forward and stretched a bony arm into the interior. There was a low pitched squawk and the arm and the hand attached to it resurfaced, clutching the shirt of a young man in his late teens.

"I must extend my apologies to you all, gentlemen. This is my son Gantry, who appears to have forgotten all about the rules of playing in the merchandise," Mr. LeRue said flatly, releasing his son's shirt and smoothly gliding one step back, a dark and forbidding look flitting across his face before it settled back into its customary placid expression.

Marco shot his glance back to the older teenager, who was attempting an awkward climb out of the casket. Chet had shaken out of his trance and was lending a helping hand, although the rather pudgy youth almost crashed both of them to the ground with his clumsiness. The boy looked nothing like his skeletal, pale father; in fact, he was exactly the opposite with his sizeable girth, closely shorn head and very pink cheeks. And the hair….geesh, the poor kid looked like he was descended from werewolves. It curled out from under the neck of his plaid shirt and coated his bare arms like a shag rug. Lopez felt bad, but he was glad the kid was wearing bell bottom pants instead of shorts.

He shrank back as Kelly encouraged the grinning, unrepentant son past him and out the door, half expecting to see claws extend out of the kid's fingers. Except for the swishing sound of Gantry's purple corduroys, their departure was noiseless; Marco almost flew out of his boots when Mr. LeRue slapped his shoulder with a bony hand and pointed towards Gage.

Marco's mouth dropped open at the sight of his fellow fireman, on his hands and knees, crawling away from them around the end of the coffin.

"Johnny?" Lopez queried anxiously, getting in only one step forward before the paramedic leapt to his feet and bolted out of the room. There was a loud thud as he apparently ran into something in the wide hallway, followed by a high pitched, profanity laced exclamation; silence descended upon the two men in the display room like a suffocating shroud.

Muttering his own obscenity in his mind, the thoroughly confused lineman whirled around and loped into the hallway, pausing to look up and down the wide space. There was no sign of humans or even destruction; the several ornate chairs and narrow tables that adorned the area all remained in place. He bared his teeth in a grimace of frustration and decided the best move would be to head outside.

"Mr. Lopez…." The smooth voice of the owner stopped him in his tracks and Marco did a slow turn. He accepted the black trauma box with a sincere smile of thanks, but when he turned to leave once again his movement was halted by the talon like fingers tapping his arm.

"I believe this is yours, also," Mr. LeRue intoned, Marco's chain and cross dangling from a chalky hued finger.

"Well, there goes the vampire theory that was running through my head," Lopez thought, gingerly pulling the necklace from the extended phalange and shoving it into the pocket of his pants. "Now all I have to do is worry about that teenage werewolf out there and whether or not Gage is still around or halfway to Mexico by now."

He thanked the man once again, but with words this time and a half smile that definitely did not reach his eyes. It didn't help his jittery nerves any when an arm shot out; it brushed his shoulder, and the same finger that had held his chain pointed menacingly towards the exit doors. Lopez stared at the long, yellow hued nail in macabre fascination, almost missing the warning that rumbled out of Mr. LeRue's mouth.

"Beware," he cautioned, an odd hissing sound underlying his words. "He is not he."

Marco could only nod, afraid to take a breath. The smell of death, darkness, and an approaching horror seemed to be descending around him; he wasn't sure if it was coming from the man or the funeral home but it was definitely going to choke him, or worse, if he didn't make like a bat and fly out.

"Yes," he croaked in acknowledgement, focusing in on the brown hued wood of his escape. The twenty plus steps it took for him to reach the handles of the massive doors seemed to take an eternity; each hard fought stride was like a pull through a vat of maple syrup, excruciatingly slow.

He shouldered through them with an audible grunt and blinked as blinding but welcoming sunlight drove away the black gloom about to suffocate him. Walking carefully, he approached the engine where Chet was in animated conversation with Gantry Jr; he was relieved to see that John was also present and accounted for. He could see his dark hair and his side profile through the closed window of the squad. He changed direction aruptly as he remembered the box swinging from his hand.

Trodding past DeSoto, who was standing at the back of the rescue truck, Marco jerked his head towards the cab and mouthed Johnny's name. As it appeared that Roy was trying to distract Mr. LeRue's daughter with minute shifts of his body and some lively conversation, the lineman thought it best not to speak Gage's name out loud. He was pretty sure that was where the girl was trying to go and thought it best if he didn't encourage that action.

Roy shrugged his shoulders and fractionally shook his head at Marco's silent question. His partner had come flying out of the funeral home and flew into the cab of the squad, ignoring everybody. The window had been cranked up just as fast. Roy hadn't had time to ponder the strange antics of the normally friendly and sociable Gage as Jeanette's calm had deserted her and she had started mouthing little phrases such as "oh no", "she's back" and "not again" repeatedly. He wasn't sure if he should just let her accost John, or hold her back. He elected for the latter and could only reply to Marco with body language; by that time he had gotten the girl gentled down enough that he thought he might be able to persuade her to go back inside their business.

Watching Marco stow the medical box into the compartment out of the corner of his eye, Roy gently steered the young lady in the direction of her brother, who had finished his conversation with Chet and was impatiently gesturing towards her.

"Come on Sis, you can help me with the old man. He really is gonna skin me alive for that coffin stunt…."

"Oh, Gantry, you didn't do it again, did you?" Jeanette asked, looking towards the squad as her brother grasped her arm and towed her towards the front door. She shot a beseeching plea towards Roy, who nodded in understanding and watched the two vanish within before turning to the object of her concern.

He couldn't see Johnny, as Marco had moved up to the passenger door of the squad and appeared to be involved in an animated conversation with the paramedic within, via the now opened window. Whatever was being said was cut off by their captain's bellow from the cab of the engine.

"Lopez! Let's get moving!"

The lineman pulled back from the truck and cast a nervous glance at Roy as he passed him. "Watch out for him," he said cryptically, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

"Watch….." DeSoto started to ask, unsure of whether the other man meant keep an eye on Johnny, or watch his own back. But Marco had already loped hurriedly to the now rumbling Crown, and Roy realized his pending question was being addressed to air. He sighed in resignation and grabbed his helmet off the top of the squad before making his way to the driver's side, unable to see the usually placid Marco waving his hands in frustration as he tried to get a straight answer from Kelly.

"Whadja mean, what color are Gage's eyes?" Chet asked with a leer, batting his own eyes coquettishly at his fellow fireman. "I didn't think he was your type."

"Come on, Chet, this is serious," Marco hissed, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the throaty purr as Mike pulled the engine away from the curb. "It's got to do with what we were discussing at the station!"

"Oh," Kelly responded sheepishly, rubbing his hand over his chin and looking quickly towards their captain. Sure that the two men in front couldn't hear their conversation, he leaned closer. "I don't know, I guess brown or hazel. Why?"

Lopez slumped down in his seat, his face a mask of puzzlement and worry. "Because….because when I finally got Johnny to look at me over there, his eyes were green! Green, they were very green, like the eyes of a cat!"

~eeeEEEeee~

"Did you call us in as available?" Roy asked, eyeing his friend suspiciously. Johnny shook his head and continued running his hands down his body in a searching manner, ignoring the annoyed, very audible exhale of breath Roy responded with. Grabbing the mic, DeSoto made them available and headed towards the station, ready for a strong cup of coffee and some aspirin.

When Gage made a noise of amusement, Roy kept his eyes straight ahead, not willing to see what part of the anatomy had garnered that odd snort of laughter. He was relieved when the radio chirped and the dispatcher's voice broke the weird and strained atmosphere that was increasing the dull throb behind his eyes. Noting that John was ignoring the voice emitting from headquarters – in fact his attention was now focused on the search light mounted outside of his still opened window, Roy grabbed the mic with a growl and responded to the call of a man down. There was no need to write down the address, as it involved the cemetery only a mile away from the mortuary.

"Johnny!" Roy snarled, but his growing annoyance and anger gave way to worry as he snatched up his helmet from the seat and tightened the chin strap. He remembered Marco's words and his anxiety heightened as the other distracted paramedic ignored his helmet reminding exclamation and continued playing with the light. It was only when DeSoto drove under the ornate archway gracing the entrance to the cemetery that Johnny suddenly seemed to snap from his distracted state.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice unusually high pitched and radiating distress. "Why here?"

"Because that's where our call is….what's wrong with you, John?" Roy asked patiently, taking the right fork of the narrow paved road as he spied a man waving frantically. He twisted his head quickly to see what the problem was; noting the rectangular shaped hole and the backhoe he let out an incredulous sigh. His lips thinning in concentration, he braked the squad to a halt slightly ahead and to the side of the gesturing man, unable to drive the truck off the paved surface to get closer and wanting to leave room for the unwieldy engine behind them. Opening his door and stepping out, he flicked a look back at Gage, who remained planted solidly in his seat. He let out another sigh, this one of impatience. "Get a belt and rope, Johnny; it looks like this guy's friend took himself six feet under."

An odd screech rose from the passenger seat and Roy froze, the hairs on his body standing up in disbelief and horror. He whipped back around and lowered his head to look back through the opened door. He could hear the engine pulling in behind them, although the strident tones now coming from across the cab's expanse of beige were drowning out some of the noise. His partner appeared to be hyperventilating himself into a state of panic. His eyes were closed, black lashes vividly standing out against the ghostly white of his skin. His head was thrown back against the glass of the back window; one hand was clutching at his convulsing throat, while the other was braced on the dash.

"Johnny….." Roy said softly, noting the trickle of sweat sliding down the side of his face. "Take slow, even breaths…."

"I…" He choked off whatever he was going to say and inhaled with a ragged, gasping intake of breath; he suddenly began breathing in and out in harsh, short pants.

"Good grief," Roy thought, as he recognized the familiar sound. "He sounds like JoAnne did before they kicked me out of the delivery room, both times!"

Whatever unusual technique Gage was using so efficiently, it seemed to be working as his breathing began to return to normal. Roy caught movement out of the corner of his eye and realized Captain Stanley was advancing towards them in his no nonsense stride.

"We're both going to be in that hole if we don't get a move on!" DeSoto warned, pulling back and thumping the door closed.

A shrill scream penetrated the closed window of Roy's door. "No! I won't go back in there!"

What happened next would haunt Roy DeSoto for many days and nights to follow; it would awaken him from a sound sleep, invade his dreams and turn them into nightmares, reach its long fingers into his memory and stroke it into troubled thoughts during his waking moments…

~TBC~

Thanks for reading, and the feedback!

Happy Halloween!