Johnny lay rigidly in his bunk, listening to the snores and rustlings of the other sleeping men. He was drowning in their nearness. The seawall safeguarding the core of his being had been breached and the presence of another person, any person, in the same room stung like salt water flowing through, burning the sensitive essence within.
The sounds of breathing pressed in all around him. It suddenly sounded like Barnes. His own breath quickened as he realized he wore only shorts and a T-shirt in a roomful of nearly naked men, all of whom he had spent the day antagonizing. His heart felt like a terrorized rabbit running in his chest. What if they attacked him? Sweat began to pour off him as he imagined himself fighting them off, seeing his fist smash into their faces, blood spraying back in his own face. He saw his hands close around Roy's neck, choking the life out of him, his partner's face turning purple. Suddenly, Johnny knew he was going to be sick. He bolted from the bed into the latrine and vomited mostly bile. Shaking, he leaned back against the cool tiles as his heart rate and breathing slowing returned to normal. Using the wall, he levered himself back up and went to the sink to rinse his mouth and splash water on his face. He gazed at his reflection. He did not know the man in the mirror.
Upon returning from the toilet, he gathered up his turnout gear and headed for the sofa in the break room. The air seemed cooler here, and he could breathe again. The sounds of the freeway traffic filtered into the room. He always wondered where so many people had to go in the middle of the night. Why weren't they at home, in bed, asleep?
Henry slept in the middle of the sofa. "Move over, Henry. You smell like a dog."
Henry yawned and thumped his tail in response, but, of course, didn't move.
"Well, boy, I guess it's good you can't understand what I'm saying, because you wouldn't like me, either." Johnny scooted the dog down to the end of the sofa. "Henry, you weigh a ton." Then he lay down on the sofa, with one leg atop the back and the other foot on the floor, so as not to disturb the dog.
Finally the shift ended and Johnny bolted from the station as fast as he could, returning straight home and locking the door behind him. He looked down as his foot crunched on the glass that still littered the floor in front of the doorway. He walked around the trashed apartment in disgust. Just seeing the mess angered him afresh. He punched the wall above the ruined television set over and over until his fist broke through the drywall. He felt so much rage. He didn't know what to do with it. Rubbing his bruised knuckles with a sigh, he returned to the kitchen for the broom and began to sweep up the debris.
A cleaning frenzy seized him, and he started to clean the whole apartment from top to bottom. When he pulled open the shower curtain, he saw the sodden lump of clothing still moldering in the corner where he had first kicked it. He had not been able to bring himself to touch it since. Using one plastic bag as a glove, he picked up the musty smelling articles of clothing and shoved them into a second bag. He then tossed the bag on the floor and began scrubbing the bathroom.
A few hours later saw the task to completion. Johnny worked hard and fast, working up quite a sweat. He opened the refrigerator, searching for something cold to drink; unfortunately, the refrigerator fairy had not made an appearance, and the interior remained as empty as it had been seven days ago. The only thing in there was the other five cans of beer and he definitely didn't want that.
Deciding he might as well go shopping, he went into the bathroom to get cleaned up. That damned bag of clothing still sat obscenely on the floor. He briefly considered just flushing it down, but figured that the plumbing bill would bankrupt him. Not wanting to just throw the clothes away where someone else might find them, and knowing that the contents inside the bag were too damp to burn, he kicked the bag behind the toilet where he wouldn't have to see it and got into the shower.
Johnny wandered up and down the aisles of the supermarket, adding various items to the cart. He didn't really like to cook, but the thought of chili cheese dogs and fries and other fast foods truly nauseated him. He picked up a couple of packages of spaghetti noodles and some jars of sauce. Cereal, bread, peanut butter and jelly soon followed. He added some fresh fruits and vegetables as he passed the produce section. A gallon of milk and two cartons of juice went into the top section of the cart, where small children usually sat. He neared the butcher department, intending to purchase some chicken. But the odor of raw meat assailed his nose, and he gagged as his stomach turned. He managed to back away into the frozen food section, where the air felt cooler and the scent smelled different. He stood, panting shallowly, trying to force down the urge to vomit in the middle of the store, for several long minutes.
"Sir? Are you okay?" A store clerk looked at him with concern.
"Uh, yeah. I'm just trying to remember what to buy." He glanced down into the frozen food case before which he stood. Reaching in, he randomly grabbed several packages of frozen vegetables, which he tossed into the cart before proceeding to the checkout stand.
Just as he finished loading the groceries into the back of the Land Rover, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. A hand squeezed his heart and his breath stuck in his throat until he recognized that the red-haired man getting into the car next to him was not Toby Barnes.
Once inside the seeming safety of his car, he rested his head on the back of the driver's seat. "I am going crazy," he said to the roof. He was just about to drive back to his apartment, when he spotted the hardware store directly across from the supermarket. This reminded him of another errand he needed to do, so he pulled the Land Rover up closer and trotted into the store. Purchases quickly made, he returned home.
It took two trips to get the groceries up the stairs to his apartment. He met Mrs. Carter, his landlady, as he headed back down the stairs.
"Oh, my, Mr. Gage! What happened? Are you all right?" The grey-haired woman's eyes filled with concern as she spoke.
"Yes, I'm fine. It only looks bad. Uh, I was just coming to see you. Would you mind if I changed the lock on the door to my apartment? It always sticks when it rains. Of course, I'll give you the keys."
"You go right ahead, Mr. Gage. I appreciate all the little things you do to help with the upkeep of this old building." Mrs. Carter beamed at the young man who was one of her favorite tenants. She found him to be so polite and so helpful, a nice, clean-cut boy, and so kind to allow a garrulous old woman like herself to bend his ear from time to time.
"Thank you." He went upstairs to begin the task. Soon he had not only changed the lock on the doorknob, but installed a deadbolt lock as well.
He went downstairs to give Mrs. Carter the keys. He ended up staying for over an hour, drinking coffee and nibbling on a cookie as she entertained him with all the latest neighborhood gossip. Finally he excused himself, pleading fatigue, and went back to his apartment. The emotionally exhausting events of the past few days overwhelmed him, and he fell asleep on the sofa shortly after sitting down.