The false alarms ceased again, despite the police's inability to locate Barnes. In some ways this was more unnerving than the continual pursuit of bogus calls and every time the tones sounded, Johnny jumped. He felt as if he were in the trough between big waves, waiting for the next one to hit, never knowing if this would be the one to capsize him. His gut twisted in knots and he had a constant headache. He couldn't sleep. If he could have found an excuse to live at the station, he would have used it, as he feared going home and being alone, even with a plain clothes detective watching his apartment. Roy offered to let him stay at his home on the days off, but Johnny had declined, not wanting to involve Roy's family. The fear translated itself into anger; he wanted to take the city apart brick by brick, until he found Barnes. The whole thing made him so angry he felt like he would explode, and the others tiptoed around him like he was a nuclear device with a loose wire. Cap teetered on the brink of requiring him to take administrative leave regardless of what was previously discussed.
"Is Sam there now?"
"I'm sorry, he won't be in until after ten o'clock. Would you like to speak with someone else?"
"No. I'll call back later."
The distress evident in his voice prompted the counselor to ask, "Are you all right? Is there something I can help you with now?"
"No. That's okay."
"Would you like to leave your number so Sam can call you when he gets in?"
Johnny hesitated a moment before replying. "No. Thanks, anyway."
He hung up the phone and ran his hand through his hair, wondering how he would pass the time. As he crossed to the kitchen to scrounge up something to eat, a crash in the hallway made him jump. He glanced at the door, wishing he had gotten around to installing one of those little peep holes that obviated the need to open the door to see who was outside. Deciding that he didn't really want to know what was going on in the hall, he instead pushed a chair up under the doorknob and double-checked the lock.
The hands on the clock seemed to dawdle maddeningly as the light outside slowly faded into night. At half-past nine, he decided to shower. At ten o'clock he watched the hands make five more tortoise-like sweeps around the face of the clock before calling the crisis center again.
"Mercy General Rape Crisis Center. This is Sam. How may I help you?"
Closing his eyes in relief and sinking down onto the sofa, Johnny said, "I'm going crazy."
"What's going on?"
"He's back. I had to tell the police about him, because he… uh… it was getting dangerous for everyone else. But, they didn't catch him. I know he's out there. I can feel him out there. I want to kill him." All the anger and fear he was feeling spilled out as he talked non-stop for at least ten minutes, without repeating himself.
Concentration in karate class this day eluded him. He and a partner were practicing five-step basic sparring, in which one person presses an attack using a different technique with each step and the defender blocks the kicks and punches. His timing was off and another student had just punched him in the face.
"I'm sorry, man!" apologized the student who had accidentally hit him.
Anger flashed in his eyes for a minute before he stuffed it down. "It's okay, man. My fault. I wasn't paying attention."
They bowed to each other and began again. Johnny kept wishing for the sensei to say yame so he could sit down. He wished the class were over so he could just get the hell out of there. He wondered how he could get away without meditating today. Still not paying attention to what he was doing, he got hit in the face again. "Shit!"
"Karate teach control. If angry, lose already. If calm, maybe win. Control self."
The class bowed to Ishii Sensei and started to disperse. "Come, Johnny-san." The sensei stopped him with his voice before he made his escape.
"You begin. I go." Ishii Sensei left Johnny alone to meditate. He returned several minutes later.
"Johnny-san! You no concentrate!"
Johnny eyes flew open as he jumped at the sound of Ishii Sensei's voice. Embarrassed, he looked down. "I'm sorry."
"You afraid. You angry, too."
"Hai." There was no point in denying it to the sensei, who always seemed to know more about him than he wanted to reveal.
"Good. Pay attention."
Johnny's expression seemed almost comical as he tried to figure out what Ishii Sensei meant by that.
"Ah!" the sensei huffed in frustration. "English no good. Where Midori? Pay attention. Be afraid. Be angry."
"Are you telling me that I should feel afraid and angry? I have been trying so hard to get rid of those feelings!"
Ishii Sensei held up his hand. "Wait Midori. Lie down. Shiatsu."
Reluctantly Johnny lay down. He didn't think it would do any good, since he wasn't able to concentrate on anything. But as the sensei worked to open the channels, he felt himself relaxing, felt the anxiety draining from him. He never knew when he had fallen asleep.
A hand on his shoulder woke him up with a start. His eyes flew open to see Midori's face above his. She smiled. "My father asked me to explain 'attention' to you."
"Okay." He sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face.
"I'll try to explain. Pay attention means to experience fully without making value judgments. Whatever you feel, feel it completely, without evaluating whether or not it is good or bad, whether you want it or not. Just feel. Be the feeling. And when you do, the opposite will happen. Sorrow will no longer be so sad. Fear will no longer be so frightening. Anger will no longer be so angry. Understand?"
Johnny listened intently to Midori's explanation. He sort of understood, but he didn't really believe it.
"Go home. You try." Ishii Sensei instructed. "Hai?"
"Hai." Johnny rose to his feet and bowed to the sensei.
Midori walked with him to the doorway of the dojo. "Are we still going to the movies tonight?"
Johnny sighed. "I'm not very good company right now, Midori…I'm really sorry."
He sat on the floor in front of the sofa with his legs crossed, trying to clear his mind. Inhale, ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. Exhale, ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku. He took a deep breath and held it. No, that wasn't right. He was supposed to inhale and exhale, not hold his breath. He tried again. Finally, he attempted to think about the rape. Allowing himself to begin to remember, he visualized the attack: Barnes holding the gun, Barnes' grinning while holding his arms wide, the whorled pattern of the cement on the floor, Barnes' booted foot, the worn, wooden butcher's block, his clothing on the floor at his feet. Reliving the attack, he began to re-experience the sensations he felt: Barnes grasping and prodding him, the weight on his back, the burning pain… He managed to stay with it for about fifteen seconds longer before he panicked, started gagging, and rushed into the bathroom to relieve himself of his sickness. Disgusted with himself, he leaned back against the wall opposite the toilet. He had tried and failed. He just couldn't do this.