A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm
Chapter 13
A hissing sound tickled his ears as an unseen force relinquished its grip on his upper arm. He struggled to open his eyes but his eyelids felt weighted down and his thought processes slowed. Gradually, he became aware of familiar voices conversing in the distance and the scents of breakfast smells wafting beneath his nose arousing the part of his brain that set his stomach churning. Gentle fingers gripped his wrist as his eyelids finally broke free and fluttered open.
"Have a nice nap?"
"Umph," Chet mumbled, rubbing his face with the palm of his free hand. He stretched open his eyes in an exaggerated manner pushing the drowsiness back from where it came. He then looked up at the man whose hand had moved from his wrist to his abdomen. "You…you're still here?"
"Yup," Johnny responded, part of him wanted to spout off a smart aleck response but the other part knew just how counterproductive that would be and so he tamped it down. "Think you can eat some breakfast? Marco cooked."
"I have him a plate right here," Mike responded, setting the plate of eggs, bacon and toast on the small breakfast table. "Marco's getting him a glass of water."
"Huh?" Chet remarked, trying to find leverage to pull up into a sitting position. "Lopez 's here too?"
"He's helping Roy with the dishes," Mike said in a monotone voice. "We ate while you were sleeping," he explained, seeing Chet glance at his watch. "How about some coffee?"
Chet watched Johnny stand with a slight grimace reminding him of the paramedic's rather violent welcome to Chet's apartment earlier. Once he finally sat up, placing his right foot on the floor, he realized just how much his head ached and felt the throbbing sensation return to his foot. Suddenly the memories of the previous night began to hurl themselves at his slowly waking brain while guilt and remorse battled for supremacy within his suffering soul.
"Ugh…I think something crawled inside my mouth and died," he said leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees for a moment. "My teeth are fuzzy…gotta brush 'em."
Mike offered the young man an outstretched arm but his proposal was swatted away.
Marco stepped through the doorway between the kitchen and living room holding Chet's glass of water. He stopped when he saw his partner trying to assume a standing position and rushed over to assist.
"He's all yours," Mike scoffed, backing away from the man who had refused his help earlier. He then watched as Marco's offer also fell on deaf ears.
Chet halted his partner with an icy glare then struggled alone down the short hallway to the bathroom. He slammed the door shut, clicking the locking mechanism then dizzily grabbing hold of the square countertop to maintain his vertical stance.
Mike locked eyes with Johnny who was putting away Roy's stethoscope. "Well?"
Johnny merely shrugged his shoulders then zipped up the medical bag. "Vitals are stronger."
"That's a start, I guess." Marco added, a hint of frustration coloring his voice.
"I redressed his foot," Johnny reported. "Dr. Harrison left it open and applied a wet to dry saline dressing. There's some drainage but nothing unusual." He ran his hand down the back of his neck contemplating the young physician's reasoning for his choice of treatment.
"What kind of a quack doctor leaves a deep cut open like that?"
"An informed one, Marco."
Three sets of eyes simultaneously focused on Roy as he stood in the kitchen doorway drying his hands on a paper towel.
Roy looked beyond them down the hallway and decided that this might be his only chance to tell the rest of the group what he knew. "Look, I gotta make this quick."
Mike and Johnny each sat down but Marco remained standing, bouncing slightly with nervous energy.
"Alright listen, before Johnny and I got called out on that run, the one before the warehouse fire, Chet and I were alone in the kitchen cleaning up. He asked me to take a look at his foot but before I could, we got toned out." He glanced at his partner who was listening to him intently, head nodding his agreement as he remembered the events of the night before.
Then later at the hospital after…," Roy paused, momentarily dropping his head at the reminder of their lost brother. "When Chet came in to pick Johnny and me up, he said he had injured his foot when he was carrying Kyle Carrigan out of the building."
Suddenly, understanding appeared on Marco's face as the pieces of the puzzle began to slowly drift together in his mind.
"So anyway, I was in the exam room with him and when I helped him pull off his boot there was a lot of blood covering his sock and he was in quite a bit of pain. His boot was cut and his foot was bleeding but that was all."
"I'm not followin' ya, Roy," Johnny said with confusion in his voice.
Roy looked earnestly at his partner and then made eye contact with the other two men. "Fellas…his boot and his foot had gaping holes…but not his sock."
"What?" Johnny asked, arching both eyebrows skyward. "How can that be? I mean, if his boot…," Johnny relaxed his facial muscles as he stopped mid-sentence remembering the trauma his patient had suffered the previous night. "Uh…that wasn't his boot was it?"
"That doesn't make any sense, Roy."
"Yes…it does, Mike," Marco spoke up, arms crossing his chest but he didn't elaborate. He allowed Roy to continue with his story.
"When Carrigan and Jacobs went down in the explosion, they fell down a flight of stairs with a lot of debris. Right, Marco?"
"That's right," the lineman agreed.
"Carrigan's right boot was damaged resulting in an injury to his right foot so Chet must have switched boots with him to make it look like he had been injured on that run." Roy looked at the others knowing that he was making a damning accusation about one of their own. "Now, the county will give him paid time off because it looks like an on the job injury."
"Well, the gear that was in the squad is right over there by the door…let's have a look." Johnny walked over to the pile of turnouts and began sorting through it; his mind telling him his fears were founded while his heart hoped he was wrong.
"Think about it, fellas. He must've come to work hurt and didn't report it." Marco raised his right hand to his chin then upward to tweak his mustache as his dark eyes relaxed losing their focus on the others in the room as he thought back to the first run of the shift. "He told Cap that our feet got tangled up on that beauty parlor run…but that wasn't what happened. He lied." Marco blinked rapidly to refocus his eyes and looked up at his crewmates.
"You're right," Mike chimed in. "I saw him stumble on his own. Now, I guess we know why."
"No, we don't. We don't know why." Johnny stood up holding two right boots in his hands. One was slightly larger than the other. He peered inside looking for initials then turned them over to inspect for damage, grimacing at what he found. Angrily, he threw them back down into the pile of turnouts. "Why the hell would he do that? I mean, if he was hurt…why not just let Cap know and get a replacement? Why put others in harm's way AND risk being terminated from the department?"
"Probably because he doesn't have any paid leave left." Marco crossed in front of Mike, taking a seat on the sofa. "Think about how many times he's called in sick over the last six months or so."
"He's outta time," Johnny said, not realizing the double meaning of the phrase he'd uttered.
E!
Inside the bathroom, Chet finished brushing his teeth; grateful that the minty flavor of his toothpaste replaced the foul film that had coated his mouth and teeth while he slept. The sound of the running water triggered another urge and he leaned against the wall with his left shoulder as he stood in front of the toilet to relieve himself. With that task accomplished, he washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face, leaning over the small sink allowing his face to drip dry. After a few moments, he leaned onto his palms and took a long hard look at himself in the mirror. The image looking back at him was only a distant memory of the man he had once been. His unshaven jaws and chin framed his hollow features. The longer he stared at the image in the mirror, the more blurry and indistinct it became as his normally bright blue eyes dulled melting into watery pools. Now, not only did he not know who he was but he no longer even recognized his own face in the mirror. Finally, unable to look at his reflection any longer, he gripped the sides of the countertop and slowly leaned down on his forearms. His tears flowing freely down his scruffy cheeks. He wept for the lies he'd been told his entire life, cried for the disappointment he had become to his family and mourned for Kyle Carrigan whom he had failed to rescue. And he knew then that he had to make sure that his failed rescue attempt was the last failure the world would suffer at the hands of Firefighter Chester B. Kelly.
E!
"So you fellas think he's been calling in sick because he's hung over?" Johnny looked back and forth between Mike and Marco. He had already discussed it with Roy and knew how his partner felt.
"I never thought I'd say this but…yes, I do."
"I'm beginning to think so too, Marco," Mike agreed.
"Have you noticed anything else at work?" Johnny hated to ask the question, but he'd had more than one alcoholic relative in his family over the years and knew that when things got as bad as they appeared to be for Chet, then that person was likely imbibing on the job.
Before anyone could answer, a bumping sound reverberated from the bathroom. Mike and Roy rubbed shoulders as they rushed down the hallway, Marco and Johnny behind them.
Roy knocked on the door, calling out to the man inside. "Hey Chet…you alright?" When he got no answer, he grabbed the doorknob but felt his efforts stopped as he twisted it in both directions. He turned to the others hovering near him. "Locked."
Mike turned sideways reaching in over Roy's shoulder and knocked three times. "Chet, unlock the door, man. Let us in."
Roy listened closely for sounds inside the bathroom. "Quiet," he said holding up one hand and inching his ear closer to the door.
Inside, Chet had allowed himself to slump down with his back against the door, shoulders convulsing with silent sobs. He pulled his left knee up against his chest, leaning his head back against the door as the tears continued to streak down his cheeks. He inhaled a shuttering breath unable to maintain his silence while the pounding on the door continued. "Eh…eh…eh," he cried out, unable to hold back the sound of his misery.
"C'mon, Kelly…unlock the door or we'll take off the doorknob," Johnny said, his voice rising over the noise of his pounding.
Chet sniffed, drying his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Please…just leave me…alone…please?"
"Not gonna do that, buddy. I've got you some breakfast cooked and I know you've got antibiotics to take because I saw them on the counter. Now, unlock the door and let's get something in you, ok?"
Chet listened to Marco's voice pleading with him to unlock the door. He considered his situation and felt a strange sense of déjà vu at the similarities with his nightmares. At least Charles Kelly wasn't behind him squeezing the breath out of him while his husky voice spoke ridiculing remarks into Chet's ear. "Ohmygod," he whispered to himself weakly. He thought for a moment about Johnny's threat to remove the doorknob to get inside and decided that he might as well face them before his shiftmates damaged his door. He reached behind him, over his right shoulder and turned the locking mechanism.
From outside the door, Marco heard the faint clicking sound of the lock and gently pushed the door open; inching it forward as Chet scooted across his bathroom floor just enough to allow the door to be opened.
Marco saw his young friend sitting on the floor, his right leg stretched out in front of him nearly touching the far wall of his tiny bathroom. Marco could tell by the shuddering breathing pattern that Chet was crying uncontrollably; his curly mop of hair being held in a death grip with his left hand as he propped his left elbow along the edge of his tub; his right hand draped limply across his lap.
The three remaining men understood that right now, Chet needed Marco more than the others and they parted allowing the older lineman access to his trembling partner. His heart was breaking for his young friend and the obvious emotional pain he was in. He reached out a steady hand, gently placing it on the shoulder of the crying man and giving him a reassuring yet gentle squeeze.
Chet had felt that same familiar hand on his shoulder hundreds of times through the years. As always, it was offering him a respite…but this time that respite was from his own internal struggle rather than to switch places on the hose. The light squeeze he felt left him wanting to curl around his own midsection and shrink away from the hand that was keeping him grounded. He could feel Marco shifting behind him, assuming a kneeling position. Chet knew that meant Marco was going to remain with him for as long as it took to pull the younger man out of his self-imposed exile.
Marco eased down behind his weeping partner. He had no idea what words he could offer since he really didn't know the details that had brought Chet to this point in his life. So, he did the only thing he knew to do. With his left arm, he reached beneath Chet's arm and around his chest using this position to slowly pull his partner into his embrace. Eventually, he felt the younger man relax ever so slightly and begin to lean back using Marco as a support. His own heart was pounding in his chest as he felt the shuddering of the man he held in his brotherly embrace. "That's it…just relax and let it go. I've got you." He could hear the sniffling and the low moan Chet was trying unsuccessfully to cage deep within his chest. He rested his chin on the mat of curly dark hair and again felt Chet relax further into him. He could smell the mixture of smoke, dust and sweat from their previous shift but he didn't mind. Progress was being made and that's all he cared about as he continued holding his hurting partner.
M-Mar-Marco," Chet began with hiccupping sobs. "I-I'm so so-sorry, man." His voice was barely audible as he continued to gulp for air amid his sorrow.
Marco pursed his lips, not understanding Chet's apology. "Hey…there's nothing for you to apologize for."
Chet squeezed his eyes tightly shut, forcing out even more moisture. He didn't understand how Marco could be so kind to him. He didn't deserve such a good partner and he knew that Marco didn't deserve a partner like him. "F-for bein' such a d-disaster."
Marco pulled him even closer against his own chest. "You're not a disaster, buddy. You're the best partner I could have. You," he hesitated wondering if now was the time to confront Chet. "You've ah…been drinking a lot haven't you?"
Chet was glad a roll of toilet paper was within reach. He pulled it off the holder and wrapped it around his hand. He didn't try to pull away from Marco. The human contact felt warm and reassuring; he'd not been embraced or even touched beyond a handshake in a very long time. He didn't care that the person holding him was a man; at the moment, he needed to know that he wasn't alone in the world and right now, Marco was giving him exactly what his shattered heart needed most.
Marco recognized that his partner hadn't yet answered his question so he allowed the silence between them to build. He waited while Chet dried his eyes and blew his nose, never relinquishing his hold on the upset man. He listened and felt Chet struggle to inhale smoothly and he knew the younger man was trying to collect himself enough to formulate a response.
"I…uh, yea…I have but it's…um, I know what you're thinkin' and…I'm not, uh…I'm not a drunk. I'm not."
Marco closed his eyes as Chet's words hit him hard. "No, that's not what I'm thinking. I'm thinking that maybe you've been relying on the booze to help you sleep and now you just…you can't sleep without it." Marco wasn't even listening to his own words as he held his partner close but when Chet's inappropriate laughter erupted, he replayed his own words back in his mind.
"Ha…haha…what the hell…do you call a drunk then?" Chet asked with a strained giggle. "I know you're just tryin' to make me feel better but…I swear…I'm not some alcoholic. I," he sighed, unsure of how to continue. "Damn, man. I wish I was…at least I'd have a reason…to be such a screw up. And…it's…it's fixable. This," he gestured at himself and his surroundings with his hand. "This can't be fixed."
Marco listened to Chet's utterings still unsure of what to say or do. "You…you are NOT a screw up, Kelly. I know you better than anybody and you're…"
"Damn it, Marco!" Chet reached out with his right hand and began to pound on the door of the cabinet that was within his reach. "You don't know me," he growled. "You don't know who I am!" Chet gritted his teeth. "You can't," he said continuing to pound on the cabinet; the noise summoning the remainder of his crewmates back to his bathroom. "'Cause…I," he sniffled then continued, "I don't even know who…I… AM!" His fist slammed into the cabinet doorway in a cadence that matched his final few words.
Mike reached down pulling Chet's fist away from the battered cabinet, feeling the struggling man pulling away from him.
"Aarrugh!"
"Let's get him outta here," Mike whispered to Marco.
The two men lifted their shorter shiftmate and began backing him out of the doorway of his bathroom and back to his sofa. He no longer had the energy to resist their efforts.
"Watch his foot, guys." Johnny reminded the duo as they made their way down the hallway and placed Chet onto his sofa.
Chet's anger seemed to have abated for which the rest of the crew was grateful. They watched him curl up on his side resuming his tearful trembling. Marco was the first to address him.
"What do you mean you don't know who you are?" He waited for a response but was only rewarded with a negative headshake.
The tension in the room was smothering and Johnny decided to try to interject a little 'Chet humor.' "C'mon, Chet…we know who ya are. You're Chester B. Kelly…but ya never told us what the 'B' stands for. My guess is Bombs," Johnny said with his lopsided grin, even though it didn't light up his normally expressive face. "Yea…your folks knew that you were gonna make my life hell with water bombs and they were tryin' to warn me."
Mike picked up on Johnny's game and he piped up next. "Let me think…maybe the 'B' stands for Badge…you know, as a reminder for you to stop losing yours." He smiled as the other men snickered at his comment.
"No wait…I think it stands for…Belly dancer. You remember that girl that was sweet on you…I think her friends called her Red or something like that. We got called out because one of the other dancers had fainted. She really liked you, Kelly," Roy said flatly but with a smile. "What do you think, Marco?"
Marco decided to take a slightly different approach to the game Johnny had initiated. "I think the 'B' stands for Brother." He placed a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Because you're one of the best friends I could ever hope to have and you feel like a member of my family," he said, his own eyes growing misty.
"Ahem, so," Johnny, spoke up around the lump growing in his throat. "Why don't you tell us, Chet? What does the 'B' stand for?"
Without missing a beat, the curly haired lineman spoke up without facing his shiftmates. "Bastard."
A grimace was passed around the group as they looked down at their friend. Johnny had already assumed the spokesman position for the assembled men. "C'mon, Chet…be honest with us."
"You asked me…I told you…end of story," Chet groaned.
Marco was growing frustrated with the brick wall they were seemingly up against. "You're Chester B. Kelly…son of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Kelly." He waited but got no response. "So, tell us what they were thinking when they named their son?"
With sincerity in his voice, Chet spoke up again. "I guess they were thinking they liked the name George."
Confused faces looked at each other and then back down at Chet.
"Huh? We're not talkin' about George, man. We're talkin' about you. Tell us what 'B' name they liked for their older son," Johnny clarified.
Chet finally looked up glaring into Johnny's face. But the glare was short lived as his lips began to twitch while he struggled for internal control. "I know who you're talkin' about, Gage. But Charles Kelly only has one son…and it ain't me."
E!
A/N: I again want to thank everyone for their continued support, reviews and PM's. For those who leave me reviews as guests, I can't get back with you to personally thank you so I hope you will accept this as a token of my appreciation. The feedback of the readers helps me improve my craft and keeps my muse busy. Thank you!