Checks and Balances

Chapter 11

The darkness that surrounded Johnny was so complete he was really just floating in dead space. There was no way to tell if he was a part of the darkness or if he had been swallowed by it.

Am I dead?

It seemed like a reasonable question to ponder considering he knew he was someone, and that there should be more to his existence than this suffocating blackness. Almost as if conjured by this thought he became aware of faint sounds; voices, but they had no meaning, they were just vibrations echoing through the silence.

Am I breathing?

Johnny tried to take a deep breath and his existence altered as pain gripped his chest and upper back. Red and gold sparks flashed across his consciousness. He was as an ember spat from a fire through the void. The voices grew louder and brought with them a frantic and important sensation. The fire raging across his chest eased and his existence began to lighten slightly.

"I don't know what happened. His breathing was erratic for a moment, but he seems fine now."

"Have you taken his temperature? He feels warm."

The voices faded and the void surrounding him grew thick and heavy. Heat mounted as the shadowed veil that had encompassed him lightened to hues of magenta and auric with no distinct shape. His mind grasped for an explanation. Was he peering at a raging fire through closed eyes? Somehow the idea that he was surrounded by fire made sense to him, yet did nothing to quell the fear pumping through his heart. It was hot, and close, and terrifying. Stabbing pain coursed throughout his chest and upper back as though he were being squeezed by a giant unseen hand.

"His temp's up to 103, he's maintaining decent breath sounds, pulse is racing, and his BP's up."

Breath sounds? Pulse? BP? Haven't I heard that before?

Words sharpened into familiar and slightly ominous dialogue through the fog. He tried desperately to order his thoughts; to remember what had happened to bring him to this horrible place.

A fragment of memory flashed through his muddled mind; cat's eyes. It made no sense. Why was he remembering cat's eyes? The effort to piece together confused shards of memory flitting by like errant fireflies proved an overwhelming task. Where once he floated; the weight of jumbled thoughts and feelings sent him reeling wildly through the crimson abyss. Stark terror rippled through Johnny as his entire body tensed with the sudden sensation of falling. He tried to reach out; to grab onto something, anything, but his arms were like leaden stumps. Johnny held his breath anticipating death at the end of his rapid decent and even welcomed the relief it would provide from the heat, pain, and fear, but that end never came. A sense of frustration and hopelessness engulfed him. Nothing made sense in this non-place where he now existed.

Am I in hell? The never ending fire, that's what the preacher-man called it.

He tried to think of the last thing he could remember, the last thing that made sense, but it was no use. The heat and the haze of this place sapped his mind. Half formed thoughts fluttered across his consciousness erratically, but he couldn't hang onto any of them. Faint memories darted through his mind's eye and while he couldn't place the memories he felt emotions associated with them. The memory of two boys running bare-chested through a large field brought with it a feeling of happiness and freedom. A woman's voice, soft and warm, singing made him feel comforted and safe. A large red truck with hoses and ladders accompanied a sense of urgency and a trill of excitement.

The heat intensified; he was suffocating, and yet he knew he could breathe. He tried to hang onto the fragmented memories that brought comfort but they were cast off in sweltering waves. The voices he heard were humming along in the background like bees from inside a hive. He tried concentrating on them. If he could pick out one voice maybe he could figure out where he was, and what was happening to him.

The voice he focused on was lower than the others. It sounded familiar somehow, and he was inexplicably drawn to it. This voice was one of love and trust. He somehow knew, with absolute certainty, this voice would speak the truth if only he could hear it clearly. In the back of his mind Johnny realized that he couldn't be in hell no matter how hot or terrifying this existence was. The voice he was trying to reach would never be in such a place and that realization helped to ease his fear slightly.

He willed himself closer to the deep voice longing to be wrapped in its loving embrace. The words spoken were those of his mother's people. He understood what was said, though he had always spoken English.

"Be still, my son."

Johnny mentally clung to this voice like a lifeline that was as tangible as the love, relief, longing and sadness that it instilled in his heart. "Father? I'm frightened."

"Do not fear. Listen, and the Great Spirit will guide you home."

Johnny had never truly believed in the Great Spirit. The "Gitche Manito" as the old ones named their God. He didn't think the Great Spirit would speak to him since he didn't believe. "Father, help me!"

"It is not your time. Follow the Great Spirit back to the world of men."

Johnny didn't want to go back to some world he couldn't remember. He wanted to stay wrapped in the embrace of this voice; to feel its comfort. It had been too long since he had heard his father's voice. "I want to stay with you, father."

"You must go now."

Panic filled Johnny, and he became that child running through the field bare-chested. It was the only reality he had, and he couldn't lose it. "Don't you love me, daddy? I want to stay with you!" He cried, almost petulantly. He didn't want to go with the Great Spirit. He wanted to stay with his father.

His father's voice faded away to blend into the other nondescript voices coming from all around him. Johnny called out begging him for help; begging his father to come back and stay with him. An image began to form in his mind that Johnny tried desperately to block out. He wouldn't allow his grandparents beliefs to take him away from the voice he longed to hear again.

A great winged creature spoke to him with the screeching cry of a huge raptor, but he understood what was said all the same.

"Come now, child."

Johnny refused to respond to the Gitche Manito giving it power over him. He would not allow himself to be ripped away from the only semblance of safety he'd found in this terrifying nightmare. He concentrated as hard as he could, seeking out the deep bass tones of his father's voice, but his fleeting hope was crushed by the overpowering roar of enormous wings flapping.

"It is time. Come now."

Johnny shook his head as he squeezed his eyes shut. Every muscle in his body tensed in concentration as he tried to block out the Great Spirit.

"Father, help me!"

Johnny searched the void for something to hide behind knowing that darkness alone did not shade him from the intent of the Great Spirit.

He began to shake and the voices swirling around him became louder, but no less indistinct. He searched for his father's voice, and not being able to distinguish it from the growing mass of sound he cried out again, "Father, help me!"

John cowered and tried to scream for his father, but he no longer had a voice of his own. The Great Spirit's wings beat a thunderous storm of sound and pain upon him, while directing invisible hands to pull and squeeze. He writhed in agony trying to fight off these unseen assailants, but he had no control over his body. His ears filled with rushing sound and the red and gold haze that surrounded him was shattered with bright white lightning that brought with it indescribable pain searing through every fiber of his being. Johnny was being ripped apart from the inside out while a frantic beeping echoed high above the din of sound. The beeping grew louder along with the hideous choir of voices until Johnny teetered on the brink of madness.

Just as Johnny accepted that he would be consumed by pain and fear something changed. The cacophony of noise that enveloped him like a suffocating blanket gradually began to thin and dissipate. The voices began to coalesce into distinct sounds and he could faintly hear what they were saying.

"BP is coming down 140 over 120, pulse rate is 95."

"The phenobarbitol is working. I want grade 3 cooling measures started STAT. Get me an updated set of vitals with a temp and I want 50 milligrams..."

The voices faded away as quickly as they had come sending him back to the void. He searched for traces of the lightning, the sound of enormous wings, or even the all consuming pain, but there were no signs that the Gitchi Manito had come, nor was there any hint that his father had spoken to him; the memory slipping away like smoke in the night air.

The next time Johnny was aware of anything he had an odd disjointed sensation of time passing. He could see nothing but muted colors and was still enveloped in a stifling sensation of heat that made breathing slow and strained. He vaguely recalled voices, noise, and pain as if in a half remembered dream.

He became aware of a presence. He heard a voice that seemed very familiar the same way the words he had heard earlier had seemed familiar. Unlike the voices in his dream, this one sounded defeated and sad. He wanted to reach out and comfort it.

"This is on me, Pally, it's all on me. You have to wake up, Johnny. I don't think I can live with myself if you don't. I know I could never continue as a paramedic, not when I failed so miserably when it mattered the most."

This familiar voice was so infused with pain that it cut straight through to Johnny's heart and he knew he needed to help.

It's not your fault.

He fought with all of his will to reach out, but the haze and the heat represented an impassable barrier. The solace that this voice sought must be answered. Frustration filled Johnny's mind at his inability to break through. Panic filled him; the voice was leaving. He tried harder to call out, but he couldn't find his own voice.

Wait! Don't go!

Unuttered thoughts and desires, no mater how passionate, fell like rain drops to barren dirt. Then it was gone, and Johnny wept for the pain he heard in that voice and for the pain of his own failure.

TBC

A/N: This is a short chapter, but this scene should stand alone. I wish to thank The Delirium Threeman, Oughtaknowbetter, dHall, and Dianne for giving me so much invaluable feedback on this rather difficult scene. This one went through minimally a dozen re-writes. I hope you liked it.

Alice I