Warning: Very strong language
A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm
Chapter 12
Johnny stood leaning against the door waiting for Marco to unlock it; his anxiety level over his shift mate's condition growing with each passing second. The fatalistic tone of Chet's voice felt like fingernails digging into Johnny's heart as if Chet were trying with all his might to find a way to hold on just a little longer until his friends could rescue him from the beast pulling him by the ankles deeper and deeper into the dark bottomless pit. Finally, Johnny heard the deadbolt click and his slim fingers reached for the doorknob. He slid sideways through the open doorway slipping behind Marco who was trying to retrieve the key from the sticky lock. Suddenly, his brain registered a guttural yell just as a jolt hit him, slamming him against the inside wall of Chet's living room. He doubled over in agony waiting for the wave of nausea he knew from experience was about to overtake him.
"Arruugh," Johnny fell to the floor curled in a fetal position clutching his groin area, eyes sealed tightly shut.
"What the hell?" Marco's wide eyes glowered at his partner. He saw absolute rage in the younger man's bloodshot eyes as he pulled back the crutch preparing to swing it at Marco's knees.
Fortunately, the combination of narcotics and alcohol had slowed Chet's reflexes and Marco swiftly grabbed the crutch, maneuvering it sideways while shoving Chet on his back and using it to pin Chet's body against the sofa.
"Ooomph!" Marco's swiftness caught Chet off guard and the younger man gasped as he was thrown backwards, the wooden crutch crushed securely against his chest and throat. The makeshift restraint had the desired effect causing Chet's face to turn red in a mixture of surprise, anger and strain.
"Damn it, Marco," he groaned out through his dry lips. "Get…off…me!"
Mike watched the action from just outside the doorway and as soon as he saw Roy drop to one knee beside Johnny, he rushed to assist Marco. He saw the older lineman leaning on the crutch and Chet's legs kicking wildly in panic. Mike leaned forward on Chet's squirming legs, pressing his weight just above the young lineman's knees in an effort to keep him from further harming himself or anyone else.
Meanwhile, Johnny coughed as he rolled over onto his back with his knees bent and parted allowing as much room for his injury as possible. He cupped both hands protectively over his manhood fearing that Chet's assault may have caused permanent damage. "Ahua…ohhh…uhh….ahua, hua."
"Johnny?" Roy bent down placing a comforting hand on his partner's shoulder. "You okay?" He asked then realized just how stupid the question must have sounded to his injured friend.
"Hell, no!" He groaned pitifully, eyes watering from the pain. "Ahua," he coughed rolling back onto his side in a futile attempt to find a comfortable position. "I'm gonna….kill that….ahua…bastard!" All previous concern for Chet's welfare vanquished, at least for the moment.
"I understand, Pally. Just lay here for a minute until it passes. Are you nauseated?" Roy saw that Johnny was diaphoretic and knew that he probably should be finding a garbage can or something for him.
"Ahua…yea," he groaned, blowing the air out of his lungs forcefully thereby causing his cheeks to puff out. "I'm….gonna…ah…"
"Be right back," Roy rushed into the kitchen pulling open cabinet doors searching for something to use as an emesis basin. He found a bucket under Chet's sink and returned quickly to Johnny's side, noting the scuffle occurring on the sofa. "Here ya go…easy up now," he said, guiding Johnny onto his hands and knees, head hanging over the bucket. "I'm gonna go check on Chet."
Johnny nodded just as the first wave overtook him and he began to heave into the bucket.
Roy heard the sounds of retching and spitting behind him and knew he'd better not turn around. That was one thing he never got used to as a paramedic, vomiting. At least this time it wasn't some drunkard he didn't know vomiting on his clean uniform.
"Calm down, Kelly," Mike grunted, still leaning over on top of the shorter man's legs being mindful of Chet's injured foot.
"Arrgh," Chet groaned trying to push the crutch away from his chest. "Damn…you, motherfu…" he began.
"Cut it out, Chet!" Marco yelled; leaning mere inches above the younger man's face.
"Chester B. Kelly, either stop fighting or I'm calling a squad to take you to Rampart!" Roy watched as his words had the desired effect. He knew Chet was in enough trouble without adding another self-inflicted medical report to his growing list of strikes against him. He saw the fight begin to leave the younger man and listened to his heavy breathing take the place of his groaning and swearing. "There…now that's better."
Marco cut his eyes in Roy's direction and saw the paramedic give him a subtle nod. He understood it and began to relinquish the pressure against the crutch. Finally, when he saw that Chet wasn't going to resume his efforts, he stood up pulling the crutch out of the grasp of his panting partner.
Mike held onto Chet's legs a little longer to ensure he wasn't going to kick him. Slowly, he relaxed the pressure until he felt Chet slowly shift his legs beneath Mike's hands but the effort was only to seek a bit of comfort from the pressure, not an attempt to inflict harm or to flee. "Easy now," he said as he finally let go completely. He then stood up and turned his attention to his gagging shift mate behind him.
"I'll get you a cold rag, John."
Johnny used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, nodding his head slightly in response to his engineer's voice.
Marco stood up, taking the crutch over to the recliner and setting it down beside the other one. He noticed the pill bottle and the glass with some amber colored liquid in it beside the recliner. "Hey, DeSoto?"
Roy, who had been counting Chet's respirations, looked up. Marco was holding the glass and the pill bottle in his hands and was wearing a grimace on his face.
He sniffed the remnants of the drink. "It isn't iced tea, either," he proclaimed.
"What's in the bottle?" Roy asked.
Marco twisted the bottle to read the label. "Hydrocodone."
Roy looked down at his friend-turned-patient who was lying breathless with his eyes closed and his forearm draped over his forehead. "Chet, did you take it with alcohol?" He tried to keep his voice in a tone that was as non-judgmental as he could. Accusatory remarks would do nothing to help Chet at the moment. Right now, the young man needed compassion as much as he needed help and Roy knew it.
"S-so what? My foot was…botherin' me…couldn't sleep."
"That combination will make you sleep permanently, amigo." Marco regretted his words as soon as they'd escaped his lips. He handed the bottle to Roy's outstretched hand then set the glass back down on the end table.
Roy read the label even though he already knew that mixing it with alcohol was contraindicated. Instinctively, he opened the bottle pouring out the contents into his hand and counting the pills, comparing the number in his hand to the quantity on the label. He then poured them back inside the navy blue plastic bottle and snapped the lid on before handing them back to Marco. He tapped his shirt pocket a couple of times and watched as Marco understood the message, slipping the small bottle inside his own shirt pocket for safekeeping.
"Chet," Roy spoke softly, lightly shaking the lineman. "Chet, you still with me?"
"Y-yea."
"I know you've taken two since you got them around 0100. I need to know when and how closely together?" Roy continued to use his most calm and reassuring voice hoping for at least a little cooperation from Chet.
"Ugh…'bout 0600, I think. W-why?"
"Did you take them both at the same time?" Roy asked flatly, glancing at his watch seeing that it was nearly 0900.
"S'what…if I did?" He responded defiantly, heels scrubbing agitatedly against his brown naugahyde couch.
"It's important, Pal," Roy explained hoping the younger man understood. "Hydrocodone is a narcotic and when you mix it with alcohol it slows down your breathing and heart rate even more," he continued.
"Ugh," Chet moaned. "I don'…give a damn."
A few feet away, Mike returned with a wet washcloth and kneeled down beside the aching paramedic. "Here you go, John."
Johnny looked up with watery red eyes and accepted the proffered cool cloth. He remained on his knees, grimacing when he changed positions, his jeans tightening in the stride sending aching sensations throughout the tender region. He then used the wet cloth to soothe his sweaty brow. "Shit…what happened?"
"Chet was serious about not letting us in. He jabbed you with the tip of his crutch as soon as you crossed the threshold," Mike responded.
"How'd he know…it was me? Lopez…had the keys." Johnny asked still panting slightly.
Mike patted Johnny's shoulder. "I don't think he meant it personally. I think he was just lashing out at whoever happened to be first. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Johnny leaned up a little further, propping his palms on his thighs as he sat lightly on his heels. "Yea," he blew out his cheeks. "You can say that again."
Both men diverted their attention as Chet once again raised his voice.
"It's m' damn life…so you jus'…jus' stay da hell outta… it!"
Mike saw Marco standing with his hands on his hips and decided to join him since the color seemed to be returning to Johnny's face.
"How's he doing?" Mike asked nodding in the direction of the sofa.
"Pissed off," Marco snorted. "He has no idea what a risk he's taken." He stood facing Mike and peering over the engineer's shoulder.
"How's HE doing?" Marco asked tilting his head in Johnny's direction.
"He'll live," Mike stated flatly. "But he probably won't be so eager to help Chet out any time soon."
Roy wiped the sweat from his upper lip with his shirt sleeve. Dealing with someone in Chet's frame of mind was beyond exhausting but it was made even worse by the fact that Chet was not only a coworker but also a friend. His heart ached as he watched Chet's body language.
He turned his upper torso around and saw Mike and Marco conversing. "Hey, will one of you go get my medical bag out of the trunk of my car?" He asked fishing his keys out of his front pants pocket. Mike held up his hands and caught the keys as Roy tossed them across the room. He then returned his open palm to Chet's upper abdomen.
"Get your damn…han's offa me!" Chet slurred through gritted teeth, reaching out and trying to shove Roy's hand away from him.
Roy pulled the Irishman's wrist and held it closely to the young man's side. Then, he reached over with his free hand and lightly slapped Chet on the face, just enough to get his attention and make him open his eyes.
"What? Ugh."
"Look at me!" Roy grunted in a coarse whisper. As soon as he saw Chet's eyelids flutter in his direction he began. "I don't know what in hell's going on with you but the four of us aren't going anywhere until we get to the bottom of it."
Chet licked his lips pulling in a deep breath but before he could respond, Roy continued.
"Now, if you don't start filling us in on the truth about what's going on here then we'll have no other choice but to do something that you do NOT want us to do." Roy hoped he wouldn't have to verbalize his threats but even more so, he hoped he wouldn't have to carry them out.
"Go…screw…yourself, DeSoto." Chet mumbled.
Marco's patience was growing thin. He stepped over to give Johnny a hand getting to a standing position. "You alright?"
"Aaahhh," Johnny groaned, wincing in pain. "Yea…I guess." He tried to lean back down to pick up the bucket handle but stopped before he reached it.
"Here, lemme help you, John."
"I'll clean it up," he croaked out. "If you'll just hand it to me."
Not wanting to embarrass his friend, he did as requested. He shook his head in anger as he watched Johnny slowly amble down the short hallway to the bathroom. He forced his frustration with his partner back down, reminding himself that this wasn't normal behavior for Chet. He then returned to the sofa to see if he could help out there.
Roy was fighting back the desire to grab Chet by the shirt collar and slam him onto the floor. "Have it your way, Pal. But here's what's going to happen. We're going to call a squad and an ambulance. You'll be admitted to Rampart for attempted suicide and then arrested for assaulting Johnny. Now, I don't need to tell you what that'll do to your career, do I?"
"I didn't try…to off m'self." His voice became softer as he continued to mumble. "Gage broke…into…my place. 'Sides, I don't have…a career… n'more."
Marco had reached his boiling point. Before Roy could respond, Marco did so himself. "You took a double dose of narcotics, downed it with whiskey, and assaulted a paramedic who came to rescue you and who was admitted into your home using your own key. That's what the evidence shows," Marco nearly shouted pointing his index finger in Chet's face even though the young man's eyes were closed.
"Kiss m'ass, Lopez."
Marco grabbed two handfuls of shirt collar and pulled Chet up slightly until his head fell back. "I'm going to kick your ass!"
"Let him go, Marco," Roy said, reaching over to pull Marco's fingers off Chet's shirt. "Chet? C'mon, man, stay with me here."
Marco was taken aback by his own rage at his partner's behavior. He looked down at his hands and saw Roy's fingers peeling his own away from Chet's shirt. Suddenly, he felt a forearm reaching across his chest and pulling him backwards and up to a standing position.
"C'mon, let's go get a pot of coffee started. I think we're gonna be here a while," Mike said, slipping the medical bag down near Roy's feet as he tugged on Marco.
"Thanks, Mike," Roy said, never removing his eyes from his patient's chest. He quickly took a set of vitals, writing them down in a small notebook similar to the one Johnny used on shift. He was a bit surprised that Chet's vitals weren't more depressed. "Chet?" He called out shaking the younger man slightly.
"Stop…lemme sleep, dam' 't."
"C'mon, Chet…you gotta stay with us," Roy reminded.
"No, jus'…go 'way…p'ease."
Roy opened his mouth to argue when Johnny's voice caught his attention. "How's his numbers?"
Roy looked over just as Johnny sat down gingerly in Chet's recliner. "Not great but not as low as I thought they'd be considering what he's ingested….how are you?"
"Ok…considerin' my left nut is lodged in my throat," he smirked with a hint of his trademark smile.
The two paramedics heard Chet's soft snoring filling his living room.
"Sure as hell ain't botherin' him any," Johnny grimaced.
"He's not himself, Johnny…you know that."
"Yea, well…" Johnny wanted to say more but he couldn't stop looking at Chet's pale face and slack jaw. "What's happened to him, Roy?"
"I don't know…but I think we should keep an eye on him while he sleeps it off. And then refuse to leave until we get to the bottom of it. He can't keep going like this much longer," Roy said looking back down at the sleeping man.
Johnny shook his head, returning his gaze to his lap. "Think we oughta call it in?"
Roy sighed, "right now I don't know what to do. His vitals aren't as depressed as I expected so…maybe we can just keep checking them every ten minutes or so and as long as they don't depress any further…let it just wear off." He looked over at his partner for confirmation.
"Yea," Johnny nodded. "Makes sense. We don't want to make things worse…I mean, as long as his life isn't in danger or anything."
Roy looked back down at the sleeping man. "But the minute he starts to slip…we get him to Rampart…right?"
"Absolutely…yea…absolutely," Johnny's voice faded as he leaned his head back against the head rest.
Mike stepped back into the living room. "Fellas, I'm going to make a breakfast run. Marco's agreed to cook." He looked down at Chet. "Figure he needs some nourishment too."
"Yea…we're going to need our strength or sure," Roy said then turned to his friend. "Think you can eat?"
Johnny looked from Chet to Roy and then back down to Chet. "Yea…I'll try…hey, Roy?"
"Yea."
Johnny paused as Mike walked between them and out the front door. "Do you think it's because he scored so low on the engineer's exam?" The puzzled look on Johnny's face amused Roy. Even though Chet had just caused him severe pain, he was still worried about him. No doubt his partner had a heart of gold and the ability to forgive that would rival that of a saint.
"I don't think so. I think it's something deeper than that…something," he hesitated, blue eyes staring into nothingness while he lightly rubbed his chin with his thumb. "Well, something he feels like he can't share with us." Roy felt like he was grasping at straws but what he'd seen lately from their younger lineman didn't seem at all connected to his reaction to the results of the engineer's exam from nearly a year ago.
Johnny's dark eyes seemed to grow distant as he drifted into his own thoughts. "Mmmm, yea…he's always been so open and…energetic. This," he spread his hand out in the direction of the sofa. "This isn't the Chet we know…and this one scares me."
"Scares me too, fellas." Marco said, leaning against the door frame leading into the kitchen. "Coffee's almost ready."
E!
Mike drove up to the supermarket nearest Chet's apartment complex and hurriedly walked inside. The place was relatively quiet and he was quickly able to locate the bacon, eggs and bread he had promised Marco. As he pushed his buggy past the dairy section he decided to get some milk and orange juice to round out the morning meal.
After checking out, he picked up the two brown paper bags and headed out to his pickup truck. Along the sidewalk, he passed by a pay phone and briefly thought about calling their captain. Realizing he'd have to unload his arms first, he went on to his truck and placed the bags in the passenger's seat. With anxious steps, he walked back over to the payphone booth and stepped inside, closing the glass doors behind him. He picked up the receiver, pinning it between his right shoulder and ear while he fished around for a dime in his front pocket. He managed to pull out a couple of nickels, slipped them in the slot with his thumb and listened for the dial tone. As soon as he heard the familiar sound, he slammed the receiver back down. I can't…if he finds out what's going on then he'll come over and…
Mike pulled back on the glass doors, scuffing his shoes along the sidewalk as he ambled back to his vehicle. He was a man who was always in control of himself and his situation; he always knew exactly what he was doing when it came to the engine and the pump panel. But right now…he had no idea what he was doing where Chet was involved. He slid into his seat, cranked it up and pulled out into traffic…hoping that perhaps the four of them could somehow manage to help their friend take back control of his life.
E!
A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this story and especially those who have left reviews and/or PM'd me. I appreciate your support, encouragement, and correction of my errors. I sincerely appreciate you all. I hope to tie up all the loose ends in the next few chapters.