Chapter 28
Johnny pulled his Rover into a vacant parking space in front of Dr. Robertson's office. Peering through his mirrored aviator sunglasses, he glanced around at the other cars in the parking lot. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew that he was looking for any familiar vehicles. He did not want to be seen walking into a psychologist's office. Seeing nothing he recognized, he stepped out of his vehicle and headed up the sidewalk.
He stood in front of the door, running his sweaty palms down the sides of his faded jeans. He had never seen a therapist before, and he wasn't looking forward to seeing one now. He pocketed his sunglasses, exhaled, then reached for the door handle.
He walked into the reception area, surprised by the décor. He had expected a cold sterile office, but what he saw was a quaint and welcoming waiting area. The medium blue walls were decorated with various paintings, all depicting various scenes of peaceful meadows. Shades of greens, yellows, and violets gave the paintings a sense of serenity. The furniture was covered in plaid cloth using a similar color scheme. Green plants stood tall, protruding from gold pots placed in the empty corners, adding texture to the pale blue sheers that served as curtains, blocking the view of the waiting room from those who were walking along the sidewalk.
Johnny felt an urgency to turn around and walk back out the big wooden door; yet, what he had seen of the office so far had felt non-threatening, a direct contrast to the sense of dread he had been feeling for the last few days.
"May I help you, sir?"
Johnny turned to face the counter, offering his trademark grin to the dark-haired receptionist sitting behind the desk.
"Ah, yea… I have an appointment with Dr. Robertson," he explained, leaning his elbows along the counter.
The friendly woman smiled back at him, but said nothing. When she lifted her eyebrows, questioningly, Johnny spoke up.
"Oh, Gage… John Gage."
She looked down at her appointment book, running her manicured frost-colored fingernail down to the 11:00 am slot. "Yes, right here. I see you're a new patient," she began, reaching for a clipboard with paperwork attached. "Please complete this while you wait, and then give it to Dr. Robertson when he calls you into his office."
Johnny accepted the proffered papers, choosing a pen from the round pencil holder on the counter, and then took a seat in the empty waiting area. Leaning back against the soft cushions in the oversized chair, he crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and began completing the demographic information on the papers.
Filling out his name, address, and telephone number were easy, but he began to struggle when he got further down the questionnaire. With the pen poised over the first question, he leaned his head back against the head rest, scanning over the document before he began answering them.
'List all medications you take on a regular basis.'
'Are you having any physical symptoms today?'
'How many hours of sleep do you get each night?'
'Are you troubled by nightmares?'
'How often do you experience unexplained pain? Describe the type of pain and what parts of your body are affected. What makes it better? What makes it worse?'
'How much alcohol do you consume each week?'
'How often do you take drugs that were not prescribed for you by a physician?'
Johnny's face contorted in confusion. With the exception of the question about nightmares, none of the others were related to his emotional struggles. He glanced at his watch, realizing that he didn't have very long to complete the form, and so, he began scribbling down his answers as quickly as possible. "Brackett or Early could treat me for this," he mumbled to himself.
His eyes reached the last question just as the door to the psychologist's office opened. He quickly propped his elbow on the arm of the chair, resting his forehead along the heel of his hand. He refused to look up, not wanting to see the person who was exiting Dr. Robertson's office, hoping that they wouldn't see him, either. Los Angeles was a very big city, but he still felt embarrassed to be seen in a counselor's office, even by a stranger.
"Mr. Gage?"
Johnny jerked his head up, seeing a tall friendly looking man with reading glasses perched above his forehead, standing in the open doorway. Johnny felt his stomach summersault as he stood up and made his way to the office. It struck Johnny as odd that the doctor wasn't wearing a white lab coat. He didn't look like a doctor, in a casual button-down shirt and striped pants.
"I'm Dr. Robertson," the other man said, extending his hand.
"John Gage," Johnny answered, shaking the proffered hand.
"Well, Mr. Gage, please come inside and make yourself comfortable."
Johnny walked in, nervously snickering when he didn't see a Victorian-style fainting couch anywhere in the room. "Where am I s'posed to lay down, Doc?" he asked with a grin as he sat down in another oversized chair.
"Would you be more comfortable lying down?"
"Naw, jus' kiddin'; forget it," Johnny said, waving the man off with a flick of his wrist; obviously, Dr. Robertson was a serious kind of fellow.
Surprising the anxious paramedic, Dr. Robertson chuckled. "Hollywood likes to have patients lying down, not me."
"Ah, for the dramatic effect?"
The older man stepped behind his desk to take a seat, nodding his agreement. "Makes the patient appear more vulnerable, weaker. In my opinion, anyone who has the courage to see a therapist has a lot going for them; they definitely are NOT weak, or vulnerable."
Johnny looked down for a brief moment, then shifted his gaze back up at the psychologist. He could see why Captain Stanley liked him. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all.
"Mr. Gage, would you care for a cup of water, or perhaps coffee?"
"Um, please jus' call me John or Johnny," the dark haired paramedic said with a nervous grin. "And I'm good for now, thanks."
"Very well, and you may call me Todd, or Robertson, or pretty much anything else you'd like," the psychologist offered. "Trust me, I've heard it all," he said with a toothy smile, removing his glasses from his forehead and positioning them on the end of his nose. He glanced at the paperwork, briefly, then looked over the rim of his glasses, giving his new patient a quick physical assessment, noting how the young man's left knee was bouncing as he cracked his knuckles.
"John, I want to go over a couple of things that I share with all of my patients. The first is that everything we discuss will be completely confidential, and nothing will ever be disclosed without written permission from you, unless I believe that you are a danger to yourself, or someone else."
Johnny raised his shoulders upwards, waving his hands in front of him. "No, no... Not gonna do that, Doc." He had just met his therapist; there was no way he was going to divulge his deepest secrets to a stranger, especially not a man who could ruin his career by telling Headquarters about his recent dark thoughts.
Dr. Robertson smiled at his patient, undecided about whether he believed him or not at this point. "That's good to hear. The second thing is that you are in control here, not me. I will help guide you through the process, but you will set the tempo. There may be times when I push you along, and I can't promise that it will always be comfortable, but we'll make the journey together. Does that make sense?"
"Um, yea, I... I guess so." Johnny relaxed into the comfortable chair, settling into the cushions. He felt his heart pounding in his chest and he wasn't sure why. After all, there were no needles anywhere around the room like there would be if he were at Rampart for a doctor's visit. This was a completely new experience.
"Now, what brings you into my office today?"
"Well, my... um," Johnny gulped, feeling a constriction in his throat. "My captain, uh, Captain Hank Stanley with the LA County Fire Department, recommended you. You helped him and his wife through some, uh, difficult times, and he said you could pro'bly help me, too."
Dr. Robertson quickly scanned the intake form, noting that Johnny had indicated that he was single. "I see... Are you in a relationship that's having difficulty?"
Johnny's eyes shot wide open. How could Dr. Robertson possibly know that? Slowly, his eyebrows relaxed a little when he realized why the psychologist had asked the question. "Oh, no... See, Cap and his wife were... I mean, that's really not for me to say 'cause you a'ready know 'em, and all, so... Um..."
"John?" Dr. Robertson interrupted, clasping his hands together on the desk.
"Yea?"
"Why don't you tell me what happened?"
Johnny's dark eyes darted around the room, unsure of how to answer the question. "What happened when?"
The psychologist peeled off his glasses, folding them and dropping them into his shirt pocket. "Anything that has caused you distress. It might be something that happened in the last day or two, or perhaps it was something that happened when you were very young. Like I said at the beginning, you're in the driver's seat, here."
Johnny snorted nervously, then began to cackle. "That's kinda funny, Doc. See, my paramedic partner hardly ever lets me drive the squad. It's a runnin' joke around the station that, um, you know... I'm never actually in the driver's seat."
"Well then," Dr. Robertson said with a smile, having finally found a way to engage his new patient. "That sounds like a good place to start. Being a fireman and a paramedic puts you on the front lines when people are having some of the worst experiences of their lives. You see a lot of pain and suffering; and no matter how hard you try, you can't turn off your emotions. I'll bet you've seen and heard things that have haunted you for a long time afterwards, things you can never un-see." He leaned back in his squeaky chair, rocking slightly. "Am I right?"
Johnny felt like this man had suddenly crawled inside his mind. "Damn, Doc, you're good."
Forty-five minutes later, Johnny stepped out of the psychologist's office, stopping by the receptionist's desk to schedule his next appointment. The session had gone much easier than he had anticipated, nothing too traumatic had been brought up. He tucked the appointment reminder in his shirt pocket and walked out the door into the noonday sun. He had a lightness in his step as he walked over to his Rover, no longer concerned about who might see him.
Johnny liked Dr. Robertson. The older man had a kind, nonjudgmental demeanor, and he seemed to have quite a bit of insight into the mind of a first responder. It had felt good for Johnny to talk about himself during the visit. He had been given an assignment to complete before his next appointment and so, he headed off to the store to pick up what he would need. Maybe counseling wouldn't be so bad after all.
E!
Beverly took a seat behind her desk at the Wellhouse. She had never dreamed she would ever trust a man again, certainly not fall in love. But she had... and now she was afraid she had ruined the relationship by forgetting her birth control pills.
Beverly sat lost in her thoughts, watching through the window at the scene unfolding on the picnic table in the backyard. One of the newer residents, who had been rescued from a brothel where she had literally been in chains, was visiting with her family for the first time in two years. A red-haired toddler giggled as she ate her ice cream, the daughter of the rescued woman. She had not seen her baby since the day she had been born, but now she would have a chance to be a part of the little girl's life, as long as she was able to beat her drug habit.
Beverly's hand dropped to her lower abdomen. Even though she wanted to be a mother, she had long ago given up on that dream. What kind of a mother would she be? She had never known the love of a parent. Would she be capable of giving love to a child? Then her thoughts turned to Marco. He was the kind of man who would insist on marriage if she were carrying his child. But would he resent her? Would he think she had trapped him, purposefully deceived him?
She felt the backs of her eyes beginning to sting. She couldn't think about that now; she had work to do. Maybe she wouldn't become pregnant after missing just two pills. Maybe she would never have to face Marco to tell him the news that would ruin their relationship. But worry seemed to take up residence on her shoulder, pounding her skull with a hammer. She rubbed her temples, then pulled open the drawer to retrieve some aspirin.
She held the clear bottle of bitter white pills in her hand, turning the half empty bottle around, watching the pills turn, over and over. Should she take them? Would it harm her child, if she were pregnant? She felt her hot tears overflow her red-rimmed lower lids. She slipped the bottle back into the drawer then headed for the kitchen for a glass of water and a paper towel. She couldn't let the residents know she was upset. She couldn't let anyone know what might be wrong... not even Marco.
E!
Johnny grabbed the paper bag from the seat, stepped out of his Rover, and headed up the stairs to his apartment. When he walked inside, he put up the lunchmeat, bread, and milk, then withdrew the black and white journal he had purchased. Dr. Robertson had suggested that he go to a place where he would be alone and undisturbed, and begin to write down his thoughts, telling his life story as though he were an observer. He had also been told to exercise, and so, he decided to take a walk to the neighborhood park. He filled up his canteen with cool water, not knowing how long he would be gone. Slipping his keys into his pocket, he walked back out into the afternoon sun, feeling the cool autumn breeze rustling through his hair. He slipped on his sunglasses, then headed down the sidewalk with his canteen and journal in hand.
It was a beautiful day for a walk and the park was a little over a mile from his apartment. He felt better about himself than he had felt in a long time. Maybe by journaling, his nightmares would dissipate. He knew it wouldn't happen immediately; Dr. Robertson had told him that much, but over time, they should get better. So Johnny set out on his journey to the small park, and what he hoped was the beginning of his internal healing. He had to work on himself before he would be able to work on his relationship with Lily... and with his parents; he knew he couldn't avoid them forever.
E!
Roy slammed the phone down for the sixth time. "Damn it!"
"Roy," Joanne chided, nodding her head towards the stairs.
Roy knew he needed to watch his language, now that the children had gotten home from school. "I'm sorry," he sighed. "I'm just getting worried about him."
"He's a grown man, Roy."
Roy looked over at the love of his life. "You didn't see him yesterday. You weren't the one… holding him when he was sobbing, Jo. He was really... thinking about doing it."
Joanne walked around the kitchen bar, stepping up behind her husband who was perched on one of the bar stools. She began kneading his shoulders, feeling the tension that the last few days had deposited there.
"Honey... When you two left yesterday, I called Iris. Maybe I shouldn't have done it, but I wanted her to know just how depressed Johnny was, so... I told her that he... he had been having those... thoughts," she whispered, unable to vocalize the word she was thinking. "Iris agreed to go through his medications and take anything that... Well, that might be dangerous to him."
"You what?" Roy asked, turning around to face her.
"Don't be angry, please? I'm just as worried about him as you are. I just thought that... Well, he isn't injured so he shouldn't be needing any pain meds and... And I didn't want him to be... tempted, you know?"
Roy exhaled loudly, wrapping his arms around her waist and laying his head on her chest. He loved the feeling of her small fingers carding through his thinning hair. "I'm not mad, baby. I'm actually glad you did it. I just wasn't expecting you to share what I told you, that's all."
Joanne kissed the top of his head. "Iris has his pills and you have his gun. Maybe we've made it a little less convenient... Just in case."
The mention of Johnny's gun brought back the memory of the day before. When he had placed the gun case in his tool box, he had heard an odd clunking sound. "I better go check on the pistol. I think it shifted out of the foam holder when I set it down yesterday."
Roy stood up, kissing Joanne on her ruby lips. "Keep the kids inside, alright? I don't want them to know it's out there, especially not Chris. He's a curious boy and I don't want to tempt him in any way."
"I will."
Roy walked out the kitchen door into the garage, closing the door behind him, just in case the children came down the stairs. At least that would give Joanne a couple of seconds to intercept them before they walked into the garage.
Joanne set about removing the chicken from the refrigerator to prepare for their dinner, when suddenly she heard the crashing sound of the kitchen door slamming into the wall. Spinning around, she saw Roy rushing through the doorway, his face pale and his blue eyes wide.
"I've got to go over there, Jo. He... he kept the pistol."
"What?"
"The gun case... the gun's not in it... and he isn't answering the phone..." He stared at her in disbelief, not wanting to believe that his friend had lied to him. Then again, if Johnny was intent on killing himself, there was no reason to tell the truth.
Joanne grabbed onto the kitchen counter with one hand, covering her mouth with the other. Her face lost all its color and her green eyes welled up with tears. "Ohmygod, Roy... He wouldn't... would he?"
"I don't know," he said in a raspy voice. "But I'm gonna find out."
"Should I call a squad?" Joanne called after her quickly departing husband.
"No!"
Roy charged out of the garage, jumping into his Porsche without even opening the door and quickly darted down the street with his emergency flashers on.
E!
Johnny finished writing in his journal, detailing his boyhood trip from Montana to Alabama during the civil rights movement. The sun was beginning to set and the breeze brought a hint of a chill with it. He stretched out his fingers, gathered up his canteen, pocketed his pen, and began the long walk back to his apartment.
He was surprised that the task of journaling the most horrific details of his life had been easier than he had anticipated. While he could still smell the dank musty scent of the river, it was as if the events had occurred to someone else. Somehow, by transferring his thoughts from his memory to the blank pages of his journal, they lost a bit of their razor-sharp edge, no longer feeling as if they had the power to slice through his jugular at any minute.
Roy eased to a slow rolling stop at the intersection near Johnny's apartment. Jerking his head quickly from side to side, ensuring that the lanes were clear, he down-shifted before accelerating rapidly, tires screeching, in the direction of his destination.
Johnny had made it about halfway to his destination when he heard the unmistakable sound of rubber sliding on the asphalt ahead. Cringing in anticipation of crashing metal and shattering glass, he looked up just in time to see a familiar gold sports car and his partner's auburn hair wiping wildly in the breeze as the car was revved up.
"Roy?" he questioned to himself, his chin hanging open slightly. As the car made the turn, Johnny could see that the emergency flashers were on. "ROY!" he screamed, even though he knew that his partner was too far away to hear him.
Johnny sprinted down the sidewalk, weaving and bobbing his way around a couple of joggers and an elderly gentleman who was walking his dog. The only reason Roy would be driving down this street was if he was heading to Johnny's apartment. And if his emergency flashers were on, then something was very, very wrong.
Johnny sucked in his air through his nose, blowing it out through his mouth, just like his track coach had taught him years ago. It had been a long time since he had competed in a distance run, but if Roy was urgently looking for him, then he had to clock his best time ever.
His arms pumped, his cheeks puffed out, and his sweat-soaked brow was exposed as the wind blew his dark hair back across the top of his head. He felt his lungs burning and his side began to ache, but images of Joanne or one of the DeSoto children being sick or injured spurred him on. The pounding of his feet on the sidewalk set a steady pace for his breathing, and Johnny kept one destination in mind – his apartment.
Roy felt his heart skip a beat when he turned into Johnny's apartment complex, seeing the Rover in its usual parking spot. Johnny was home, so there was only one reason Roy could think of that would keep him from answering his phone for the last few hours. "Please don't, Junior. Please don't do this to me."
He jumped out of his car, sprinting up the stairs with his keys in his hand; he was more grateful than ever that he hadn't given Johnny his key back the day before. His hands were shaking as he struggled to get the key into the key hole. He heard the locking mechanism disengage and used his right shoulder to push open the door just as he turned the knob.
The door crashed into the wall, jarring the windows before swinging back closed as Roy scrambled through Johnny's apartment, terrified of finding his lifeless body. "Johnny? Johnny, answer me!" he called out, his voice cracking with the strain.
Roy searched Johnny's bedroom and bathroom, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. He rushed back towards the kitchen, pulling open the hall closet door along the way. Still finding no signs of his partner, he ran out onto Johnny's balcony, but found it empty as well. Forcing the bile back down into his stomach, he peered over the ledge, but found the ground below merely covered with grass. "Where are... you?" he whimpered, running his hands through his windblown hair.
Roy stepped back inside the apartment and picked up the telephone. He quickly dialed his home number and wasn't surprised when Joanne answered after only a half ring.
"Hello?"
"He's not here, Jo. His Rover's here, bu-but he isn't. Oh God, where... Wh-where would he have gone?"
Joanne began to cry, unable to control her emotions. It seemed as though her biggest fear was coming true. "I don't know... I don't know," she repeated, wrapping her free arm around her abdomen as her tears poured.
"I-I've got to check the... ammunition. I'll... I'll call you back... in a minute," Roy stammered, his breathing coming in short gasps as he hung up the phone on the kitchen wall.
Johnny rounded the corner of his apartment complex, still maintaining top speed. Something was wrong, and he wouldn't slow down until he found out what was going on. He saw the Porsche parked beside his Rover, and his already rapidly beating heart shifted into an even higher gear. He took the stairs two at a time, then burst through his own doorway.
Seeing no sign of his partner, Johnny tossed his canteen and journal in the general direction of his coffee table, continuing his sprint down the hallway. His apartment was small so there was only one other place Roy could be. His breathing was coming in gasps, preventing him from calling out Roy's name.
In Johnny's bedroom, Roy was digging through Johnny's closet in search of the sealed box of ammunition. Johnny had told him it was there, but now he couldn't find it. That could only mean one thing. Johnny had taken it with him.
"Shit! Oh, shit!" Roy cursed in a high pitched frantic voice. He slammed the closet door shut, taking a step backwards as he spun around just as Johnny came barreling through the bedroom door.
"Umph!" Roy bellowed as Johnny ran right into him, knocking him in a backwards summersault across the bed and onto the floor.
Johnny, thrown back against the wall by the momentum of his collision with his partner, saw the pained expression on Roy's face as he fell onto the floor. Johnny pushed himself off the wall, jumping across the bed and onto the floor near his red-faced partner who had obviously had the breath knocked out of him. Shifting onto one knee as though he were tending to a patient, Johnny grabbed Roy's shirt collar with both hands, staring into the frightened blue eyes he knew so well.
Neither man could speak. Johnny was breathless from his half mile long sprint and Roy, who had landed awkwardly on his upper back and neck, couldn't inhale enough air to say a word.
"Ugh, R-Rah-Roy? Wh-wha's... wrong? What... ha-hap'ned?" Johnny gasped.
Roy's face was reddening from his lack of oxygen and he felt his eyes bulging. As the tiny bright lights dissipated from his field of vision and he was finally able to regain his breath, he grabbed Johnny's biceps, shaking him as hard as he could. "Pl-please... don't... do it?" he wept, looking directly into Johnny's worried brown eyes.
"Huh?"
"We'll get... through it, Jo-Johnny. Please don-don't do it... please. PLEASE?" he screamed at the younger man, trying desperately to get through to him.
"Roy... ROY!" Johnny said, his breathing beginning to slow down, but his heart rate still far too rapid from the adrenaline rush. "What are ya talkin' about?"
"Please, Junior... I-I love ya like a... brother... please, don't..." Roy's voice faded as he recognized the confused look on Johnny's face. "You're... alright?"
"Yea, but what the hell's goin' on? What's wrong? Jo? The kids? One o' the guys?"
Roy's eyebrows drew together in confusion as his blue eyes darted back and forth, searching Johnny's eyes for an answer, but getting nothing. Johnny really didn't know why Roy had come rushing over.
"Roy, talk to me," he called out, still clutching Roy's shirt as he kneeled over the supine man.
"You... didn't answer... the phone, and... the gun, I... I thought," he stuttered, feeling his eyes beginning to sting as he realized that his friend was uninjured.
"I've been down at the park, Roy. I was on my way back when I saw you turning onto my street with your flashers on. I knew somethin' was wrong so... I ran as fast as I could to get here. What's... Tell me what's goin' on... please?"
"Where's your pistol?"
"What? I gave it to you yesterday, man," Johnny responded, perplexed. He released Roy's shirt, settling back onto his aching haunches, reaching down to assist Roy into a sitting position.
"No, you didn't!"
"Have you lost your mind, Roy? I handed it over to you yesterday. It was in your hand when you left here."
"Empty," Roy panted, crawling upwards to take a seat on the edge of Johnny's bed. The room was still spinning and his heart was pounding in his chest. His legs felt weak and sweat began to run down the sides of his temples, his red hair standing up along the crown of his head, reminiscent of Albert Einstein's famous look.
"What's empty?" Johnny asked, joining his partner on the side of the bed.
Roy looked up, using his forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow. "C-case... the case didn't have a gun… in it, Johnny. It had... It had some rolls of... pennies wrapped up in... paper... towels."
"WHAT?"
"It was... jus' 'nough weight... to make it... feel right," Roy explained, still struggling to regain control of his rapid respiration and heart rates.
Johnny stood up, running both hands through his sweaty hair. "How? I... I haven't even opened up the case in... in a long time."
"I tried to… find your ammunition, 'cause I thought... I was afraid you..." Roy leaned his elbows onto his knees, hanging his head as the full force of what he thought had happened slammed into him. His shoulders began to shake, and his audible sobs broke Johnny's heart.
"Hey, pally, I'm here... I know what you thought, but... I'm here and I'm not... I'm not gonna do it, Roy. I swear, I'm not gonna do it." He sat down beside Roy, placing a supportive arm across the weeping man's shoulder.
"I was... Oh God, I was so scared, Johnny. I was afraid I'd find you... I can't even... s-say it."
"Dead?"
Roy nodded, sniffling as he used the heels of his hands to dry his eyes. "You... You scared the... the shit out of me!"
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry to have worried you, but... I don't know what happened? I mean, somebody must o' stole it, but when? Nobody's broken in here... nothing else is missin'," he said, pulling open his nightstand drawer where he often kept loose change and his prized turquoise belt buckles. Seeing that they were still present, he was about to close the drawer when he noticed his rolls of pennies were gone... and something else was missing. "Shit!"
"What?" Roy asked, sitting up straight again, still breathing hard.
"Some asshole addict must o' broke in while I was at Tehachapi. My... My change an'... pain meds are missin' and my pistol." He stood up, pacing in his bedroom then rummaging through his closet in search of the box of bullets. He found them inside the old shoebox where he had hidden them, sighing with a sense of relief. He couldn't handle it if his gun had been used to harm someone, even if it wasn't his fault. "Goddamnit!"
"Gone?"
"Naw... bullets are still there, but…" He walked over to the phone on the other side of his bed and picked it up.
Roy suddenly remembered what Joanne had told him earlier. Was it possible that Iris had taken the pistol before Johnny had gotten home yesterday? Johnny was about to dial the police station when Roy reached over and slapped the cradle, ending the call.
"What are ya doin'? I've got to report this."
"Wait... I think I might know... who took them."
Johnny returned the handset to the cradle. "Who?" he asked, feeling his anger beginning to boil over even more. Roy knew something he wasn't telling him.
"Iris."
"Iris? She never even knew I had it! And what about the drugs, huh? Iris isn't some junkie who'd steal my pain meds!"
"Gimme just a minute to... to call Joanne back. It's a long story, but... I'll bet you dollars to donuts that Iris has... everything."
"Why?"
Roy hung his head in embarrassment. His partner was not going to like what he was about to tell him. "Johnny... Joanne knows, alright?"
Johnny quirked an eyebrow at his friend. "Knows what?"
"About what we were talking about yesterday. She overheard some of it and... I told her the rest."
"WHAT!?" Johnny leaned his head back with a maniacal laugh. "Great! That's jus' great, Roy." He pointed an angry finger at Roy, feeling his disdain mushrooming inside him. "I trusted you, man. I... I told you that in confidence! How... How could you... betray me like this?"
"I'm sorry, alright?"
"No!" Johnny spat out, his dark eyes shooting burning daggers at Roy. "No, it is NOT a'right!"
"I didn't know she would tell Iris, I swear I didn't."
Johnny pressed both palms flat on the top of his dresser, leaning over as he worked to calm himself. He felt the tickle of the sweat rolling down along the side of his face and he rubbed it against his shirt sleeve as he pondered his predicament.
"I really... really wish you hadn't o' done that, Roy. I'm... ashamed enough about all this shit goin' on in my head and now you blab it across the entire fuckin' county!"
Roy stood up, staying at least an arm's length away from Johnny. He didn't know if his partner might take a swing at him, or not. "I'm sorry... I don't know what else I can say except that... I'm sorry. Johnny, Joanne loves you, and so does Iris... They're just as worried about you... as I am."
"Humph!" Johnny scoffed, looking away from the source of his ire. "You know I could lose my fuckin' job over this!" he shouted, his voice laced with venom.
"Okay, fine... Hold it against me. I can't change it now... But... if we didn't care so damn much about you, then we... we wouldn't have gone through so much trouble to keep you... alive," he said, his voice fading as he turned to walk over to the nightstand to pick up the phone. Until he talked to Joanne, he couldn't be sure that his suspicions were correct.
Johnny stood fuming at his bedroom window, watching as the rich hues of the autumn sunset relinquished their grip on the evening sky, his emotions toggling between anger and hurt.
Roy spent the next few minutes talking to Joanne in an effort to reassure her that Johnny was okay. Afterwards, while Joanne made the call to Iris, Roy and Johnny settled onto his bed, both men trying to regain their composure from the last few minutes.
Breaking the silence, Johnny looked over at Roy who was still trembling with his elbows leaning on his knees once more. "Roy?"
Roy turned his head slightly, just enough to see Johnny. The older man didn't respond audibly, wasn't sure he could. His pulse rate was still faster than normal, but it was finally beginning to slow down a little.
Johnny hated that Iris and Joanne knew about his depression, but he couldn't stay mad at Roy about it. It wasn't fair to his partner to dump that kind of emotional burden on him and expect him not to share the load with the woman he loved. And Joanne had only been acting on Johnny's behalf when she had contacted Iris.
"I'm... uh, I'm really... touched... that you cared enough to, um, to come rushin' over here when you thought... you know."
"I've never felt so... so helpless, Johnny," Roy said in a husky voice. "I couldn't get here fast enough."
Johnny looked away, staring back out of his window for a moment. His gaze remained locked on nothing in particular a little longer, unable to look at Roy to make his next statement. "Please don't ever do that again, not even for me, okay?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't want anything to happen to you, Pally," he said, reaching over and clamping his hand on Roy's neck, giving the other man a brotherly squeeze. "I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt, or killed, trying to get to me. Joanne and the kids need ya," he snorted, "hell the whole county needs ya way too much."
Roy shook his head slowly from side to side. Johnny was asking him to make a promise he couldn't keep, especially in Johnny's current state of mind.
"Please, Roy... I promise you that I will never intentionally harm myself, okay? I swear I will not kill myself. Now will you promise me you won't do this again?"
Roy squinted at his partner who was silhouetted in an eerie halo from the light of the setting sun glowing behind him. Roy licked his dry lips, finally nodding his agreement. "Yea... Yea, I promise."
The ringing telephone broke up the emotional moment. Johnny reached down, picking it up.
"Hello?"
"Um, Johnny?"
"Yea, hey, Jo. Does Iris have it?" he asked, crossing his free arm over his chest.
Roy could hear Joanne's voice on the other end of the phone and then saw his partner's countenance relax. "Good... No, no, I'll, uh, I'll talk to Roy. Maybe he can go get it. I think everyone will sleep better if it isn't here... at least for now."
Roy looked up at Johnny, nodding his agreement to pick up the weapon from Iris, feeling a huge sense of relief that what he thought would be a disaster turned out to be just a minor inconvenience.
"Thanks, Joanne... Here's Roy," Johnny said handing the phone to his partner.
Johnny exited the bedroom, wanting to give the DeSotos a few minutes of privacy. He walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of tap water and downing it quickly. He refilled the glass and was finishing it up when Roy walked back into the kitchen. Johnny lowered the glass, using his shirt collar to remove the water droplets from his upper lip.
"She okay now?"
"Yea," Roy mumbled, still feeling weak in the knees.
"Are you?"
Roy looked up at his partner, grateful to see him standing in his own kitchen rather than lying in a pool of blood on the floor of his bedroom. "Yea... Yea, I am now. Mind if I get a glass of water, too?" Roy asked, a slight grin forming on his round face. "My mouth feels like I stuffed it with a roll of Kerlix."
"Help yourself," Johnny replied, stepping aside to allow his partner access to the kitchen sink.
Johnny knew that Roy wanted to ask questions about his session with Dr. Robertson, but he also knew his friend respected his privacy enough not to ask. Johnny leaned against the counter watching Roy guzzle the cooling liquid.
"I think I'm gonna like Dr. Robertson," he said, using the comment as an opening for Roy to ask him questions, if he so desired.
"Good. Cap spoke highly of him when he and Rebecca were seeing him."
"Yea, he's... Well, it jus' wasn't what I was expectin', ya know? He didn't ask a lot of deep probing questions; said I was in control of each session so we'd discuss whatever I wanted to discuss." Johnny opened the refrigerator, removing the pitcher of sweet tea that Iris had left there the day before. He held it up as an offering to Roy, seeing the other man grin and reach out with his glass. He poured them both a glass full and then headed for the living room, thankful when Roy followed.
Roy sat down on the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him, leaning his head against the back with a sigh.
"He asked me to start journaling," Johnny said, picking up the black and white journal he had tossed at his coffee table as he ran inside his apartment earlier. "I was at the park, enjoying a relaxing afternoon and doin' my, uh, homework," he said with a lopsided grin. "That's why I wasn't here to answer the phone."
"I'm sorry I panicked, Johnny. You promised me you wouldn't do it without talking to me first, and... I guess, I... Damn," he said, scrubbing his face with his free hand. "When I opened up the case, and it was stuffed with rolls of pennies... Then I couldn't get you on the phone..."
"It's okay, Roy... I'd've done the same thing. No harm... no foul."
"I'm glad your appointment went well. I was afraid you might... you know... cancel."
Johnny snickered, sipping his tea before he answered. "Almost did, but I made promises to some very important people... and I keep my promises."
"I'm sure glad you do, Junior, I'm sure glad you do."
E!
Glowing embers, the remnants of the setting sun, colored only the distant horizon by the time Roy pulled up to Iris' house. The plump florist met him at the door, holding the antique pistol wrapped in a blue towel in her shaky hands.
"When I looked in his closet, just to make sure that there weren't any more bottles of leftover narcotics, I saw it and… all I could think about was… Johnny lying in a pool of blood, with his dark hair sticking to what was left of his skull," she paused, running her fingers beneath her eyes to remove the moisture that had slipped from them. "I just couldn't leave it there. I couldn't take a chance." She turned her green eyes up to Roy's concerned face. "I'm sorry that I caused so much trouble."
Roy smiled softly. He understood exactly how Iris felt. "I would've done the same thing if I had been in your shoes. You didn't know he was going to give it to me for, er, safekeeping. We did it because we all care about him."
"That we do," she said, wistfully, leaning against the door frame.
"How's Lily doing?"
Iris cut her eyes over her shoulder, seeing that her daughter's bedroom door was still closed. "She's doing okay. I think she's going to need some… help, you know? And she's missing Johnny… We both are."
Roy slowly nodded his head in understanding. "Johnny saw a therapist today. He seemed to really like the guy. Maybe Lily should see him, too."
"I'll think about it, Roy. I don't know if she'd even consider it, even if she needs it. She is one headstrong girl," Iris chuckled. "I love her so much. I can never repay you men for doing what you did to get her out."
"She's a very impressive young lady, strong like her mother," he said. He had grown fond of Iris, in spite of their rocky start. "And for what it's worth, Johnny really misses her, too."
"I think they would be good for each other, Roy, but how do I get him to see that?"
"Give him time, Iris," Roy said, taking a step back. He needed to get home to Joanne; he knew she was probably frantic with worry about what had happened between him and Johnny. "He'll come around."
"And if he doesn't?"
Roy snickered as he slipped the weapon into his pocket, handing the towel back to her. He didn't want the neighbors to see him standing at Iris' door brandishing a gun. "Then we'll give him a little shove in the right direction."
Iris giggled, feeling a sense of emotional relief at Roy's joking manner. "Thank you for being such a good friend to my, um, nephew. It means a lot to know he has you looking out for him."
"He does the same for me. We're a team, Iris. We'll always be a team."
Roy waved his hand as he turned to walk back to his car. The evening air was cool, whipping through his hair as he drove home with the top down on his Porsche. He needed the time alone to settle his nerves… and plan his next steps for how to help his partner find his way back home.
E!