Mudslide
These good fellows don't belong to me, but I promise when I'm done to pick um up, dust um off, and with a kiss on the cheek, return them safely home.
When someone is going through a storm, four words can change everything.
I'm here for you.
– Thema Davis
A/N Thank you so much for the reviews and the notes. I appreciate you all.
CHAPTER 9
The ground was dry, the dirt and rocks crumbling under his feet and tumbling below until it could no longer be heard or seen. Using the rope to control his descent as much as possible, he still found himself in a rapid downhill slide more than once. Pausing at a rock outcropping, he caught his breath and looked down. His memories of this hill were different from when he went for Roy. Most likely, adrenaline and panic had blinded him to the dangerous stunt he pulled that day without any safety backup. He was genuinely amazed at how anyone could have survived this fall.
When his feet finally hit the sand, he secured the rope and looked at the surroundings again. There was absolutely nothing out here, and no access could be seen. It is one of nature's beautiful hideaways, untouched by human traffic. The tide was way out this time of day, and the expanded beach was beneath him. Looking at it without crisis in his eyes, he realized how incredibly beautiful it was down there.
To his left, the car sat in its same secure location, and for a moment, he just quietly studied it: the slope angle and the distance of the fall. How many times did it roll over? Or was it mostly held in place with the thick mud and deposited in its current location? Grabbing his small camera from the backpack, he walked around it and started taking pictures. No one may ever see them, but someday, if Roy could ask, he could show his friend what he had survived. Climbing up, he did the same from outside the car, taking pictures and studying how it rested so solidly in the pocket of rocks that seemed to clutch it like a nature-made baseball glove. Inside, he carefully avoided the large pools of old blood that were blackened now, dusted with sea spray and sand, and working on becoming one with the surrounding environment. Everything else was the parts of Roy's life scattered about before seeming so insignificant, yet now seen as the pieces of his friend that might never be the same again.
Grabbing a couple of the bags he found, he began collecting small items from the car, including emptying the glove box of paperwork and work badge. He held the badge tight before tucking it safely into his backpack. There was little else he could carry back up: some packs of seeds, two unused kitchen towels, a mud-covered stuffed animal he assumed belonged to Jennifer, and something that caught his breath.
A single black feather.
Reaching to pick it up, he jumped when the large bird landed on the car's upside.
"Yours, I presume," he said with a smirk.
The raven hopped beside him and moved to his spot on the seat.
Johnny sat down and watched him. "You were here with him, I know." His eyes filled with tears. "I should have been here."
The raven cocked its head and watched him.
"He's safe now, thanks to you."
The thought that this creature was the only reason they had found Roy left him breathless. He wouldn't have been found in time, maybe for a long time. Wiping the tears away, he tucked the feather in his pocket.
"I'm saving this for him. When he's ready, he'll know who saved him."
That evening flooded back to him. They had turned back, then the bird stopped them. Even now, he realized how he terribly underestimated the creature's intelligence. But it knew, even when Roy was no longer conscious. It knew. He opened the seed packs and scattered them out for the raven, watching him hop down and eagerly eat them.
"It's the least I can do for you, fella. You may never understand what you've done for us."
Climbing back out, he stood back, taking a last look at the death trap his brother had escaped. Soon, it would be recovered and taken to a salvage yard to be torn apart for scrap. His friend had survived, and Mother Nature would take all this back.
Back on the sand, the sun was now flexing its midday strength, and the sweat was already running down his back despite the light ocean breeze. Looking up at the intimidating hill, he knew the last time he was here, he was lucky to have a free ride. However, he would be working his rear off to reach that road again this time. He double-checked his rope and clips and began the tedious climb back to the road.
He slipped about one-third of the way up, just sliding a hair but landing on his side with a grunt. It knocked the wind out of him, forcing him to sit and catch his breath. It was crazy how out of shape he was feeling, so quickly out of energy and breath. And now his side was going to be sore. Slowing his breathing down, he got back up and started again. Another few feet and again, he slipped, further this time. Frustration was building. What was wrong with him? He had done this a thousand times at work; he was being careless and rushing. His steps were deliberate this time, making it a little further, then down again, exhausted and out of breath; he'd not even reached the halfway point. Leaning against the dirt, his arm went over his head in irritation at the blazing hot sun and glare that brought him a headache.
After resting for a few minutes, he shifted back into position and resumed the climb, this time slower and more cautious than usual but with fewer slips. Just over halfway, his legs were shaking, the constant strain on the muscles weakened them quickly, and his breathing was more labored. The pauses became more frequent as the pounding in his head intensified, and he shook the empty water container in his hand. Dehydration was his enemy right now, but it still annoyed him how quickly he was succumbing to the climb.
When he felt a rock collapse under his foot, he rapidly discovered he didn't have the strength to catch himself, and he ended up losing a lot of ground, only stopped by the safety rope when all slack was spent. Here he lay where he landed before rolling over to vomit. With dread, he looked up to see the last third of the climb ahead of him, and there was nothing left in him to get there. Shifting to a larger embedded boulder, he secured his seat and closed his eyes. Knowing that falling asleep could end his life at this height, he began a head-to-toe assessment of his condition in hopes of convincing himself there was no reason he couldn't get back to his car. There were no broken bones, legs, and arms while pushed past their limit, still functioned, and he finally rationalized that it didn't matter since staying on the side of the cliff wasn't an option.
With blind determination, he finally crawled onto the road's edge and collapsed. His body didn't want to move, but he knew on this stretch of highway, a car could easily run over him by drifting onto the shoulder. He had to move one more time. With the rope untied, he shoved his gear into the back seat of the Rover and climbed into the front seat. The world was spinning, and he leaned his head on the steering wheel, his muscles quivering with exhaustion.
Stupid, he cursed himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Looking at his watch, it had taken him twenty minutes to climb down and two-plus hours to get back up. Opening the door, he threw up again until there was absolutely nothing left to come up. He contemplated his next step: go home and rest, go to the ER, confess to his idiotic adventure, and face the wrath of Brackett and Dixie. Or call for help? The way he felt right now eliminated the option of driving all the way back home; it just wasn't possible. He'd cause an accident and possibly injure someone else. The diner wasn't far, and he could use the phone to get a ride. But who would he call?
Shakily, he pulled onto the main road and headed to the little restaurant. Finding a parking spot, he walked over to the pay phone outside the building and leaned against the pole for support. Slipping in a coin, he dialed the familiar number.
"Hey, yeah, I'm having car trouble. Could you get me and give me a lift home? Yeah? Thanks, man."
Of course, it wouldn't take his rescuer more than a minute to know where he was and then question why he was back at the accident site. The goal was to pull himself together long enough to get back home and lock the door behind him.
"What can I get you, hon?" The pretty young waitress asked.
"Turkey sandwich and a coke," he replied without looking at the menu.
"Sure thing," she said overly sweetly while smacking her gum.
"Hey, you have a bathroom?"
She nodded, "Sure baby, it's through the storeroom, in the back."
He struggled not to roll his eyes. "Thanks."
Splashing water on his face, he grabbed paper towels to clean the dirt and sweat off his face and neck.
"Better," he told himself. Liar.
When he returned, the sandwich and drink were waiting for him at the counter. He took a few sips of the Coke but instantly felt nauseous again, so he pushed the sandwich back.
"Something wrong?" she asked as she passed by.
"No, it's fine. I'm just not feeling the best."
"Oh, can I get you some milk or something?"
"I'm good for now, thank you." He laid out some cash for the bill and walked back outside as soon as she returned to the kitchen. Lacking the strength to pace or stand around, he climbed back into the Rover and waited.
The loud knocking at his window startled him awake. He looked over to see Mike's face staring at him. Unlocking the door, he pushed it open.
"Sorry, must have fallen asleep." He felt Mike pushing against him. "What?"
"How much have you had to drink?"
Johnny was confused. "Drink? Um, some coffee, no milk, no…" He trailed off, then shrugged.
"Pop the hood," Mike told him, a bit annoyed.
"Why?"
"You called me because the Rover was broken down, remember?"
Nodding, he turned the key, and the engine cranked right up. "I'm good."
Mike stood back beside him. "What's going on with you?" Then he saw the filthy clothes, covered in dirt, his arms scratched up and bleeding in spots. "Johnny? What happened?"
"Had to," he shrugged.
"Don't tell me you went down there," Mike's tone rose with concern. "Johnny, you could have been seriously injured. As it is, you look terrible."
"Mike," he grabbed the engineer's jacket. "I don't think I can drive. I feel rotten."
"Come on, you're going to Rampart."
Instantly, his head was shaking. "No, no, no, hospital. Joanne will be so mad at me. I just need a shower and some sleep."
Taking the keys out of the ignition, Mike grabbed the backpack from the passenger seat and guided Johnny to his truck. "Get in," he said.
Passing the accident scene, Johnny looked down to the ocean. "I had to see it."
"Why? It's a wrecked car, not some mystery to be solved. It's a damn miracle we got Roy out of there alive, and you go and put yourself in almost the same situation? Did anyone even know you were out here?"
Silence. Mike's question had been answered.
"Sorry, man," Johnny said softly. "I thought I could get down there and back home with no one missing me."
Mike let it drop for now. He wasn't a medic but knew enough to see that Johnny wasn't in the condition to argue over hair-brained stunts. When he returned to town, he sat at a stop light and looked at the sleeping man. He had spent the entire drive debating whether to take him home or to the ER. He'd watched him this week at work, seeing his friend spiral downhill. A decline that now lacked Roy to call him out on it. Johnny needed help.
"Johnny?" He nudged the sleeping man. "Johnny?" A harder nudge. "Johnny!"
The only response was a subdued moan. Emergency, it would be.
Pulling into the back of the hospital, where the emergency room and ambulance bay were, he parked close to the door, climbed out, and went to Johnny's door. "Come on, pally, we're here."
Johnny moaned a complaint but wouldn't wake fully. "Home," he mumbled.
Closing the door back, Mike went into the ER and around the corner to the nurses' station for help. Dixie was standing there talking with Kelly Brackett. Both were familiar faces that he was grateful to find.
"Mike," Dixie greeted him with a smile. "What are you doing down here?"
He frowned and almost hesitated. "I don't know if it's an emergency, but I've got Johnny in my truck, and he's not acting like himself. Somethings wrong."
Brows went up, and they immediately followed him back out the door. Opening the truck door, Johnny was still sleeping, turned sideways, and resting his head on the back of the seat. Brackett was there first and shook the man's arm.
"Johnny?" He was very concerned about getting the same response as Mike. "Johnny!"
Opening his eyes, he felt groggy and hungover, struggling to keep them open. "Roy? Take me home," he mumbled, then tried to go back to sleep.
"Pulse 120, respirations 26," he told Dixie. Trying to rouse him again, "Johnny, what's going on? Are you sick?"
"Doc? I need home. No hospital. Home?" He slurred his words, never opening his eyes.
"Mike, grab a stretcher, and we'll get him inside."
Johnny heard that. "No, no stretcher. I can walk."
Everyone looked at him with doubt, but Brackett gave the man the benefit of the doubt. Guiding him out of the truck and feeling like he was bearing most of the man's weight, Mike helped him slide into a wheelchair. Inside, Dixie pulled off his jacket and helped him get on the exam table.
"I'm really okay; I just need some sleep."
"You can get some sleep after we check on you. What's all this from?" She examined the visible scattered cuts and scrapes.
"Just some hiking."
"Johnny," Mike said sternly.
When they realized he wouldn't elaborate, Mike updated them on what he knew about Johnny's afternoon adventure.
"I can't believe you'd take a risk like that," Dixie admonished him. "Think about what it would do to Joanne if anything happened to you, too."
Great. More guilt to feel like lead in his stomach. Stomach. Leaning over, he threw up on the floor.
"Sorry."
Dixie turned to Kel. "He's hot, Kel. BP 85 over 64." She stuck a thermometer in his mouth.
They managed to get his shirt off, with a bit of protest and were shocked to see the bruises and abrasions over his back and hips.
"Temp is 102.4."
Kel didn't want to rule out infection, but the symptoms were more in line with dehydration and overheating. "Groggy, vomiting, general weakness, confusion, elevated heart rate, dry skin and mucous membranes. I think he's very dehydrated. Let's get some labs and start an IV."
Once his fluids were infusing, Dixie wrapped a blanket around the young man and dimmed the lights before looking over to Mike, who was still watching over his friend. "Let me know if he needs anything."
Mike nodded and sat in the chair she offered. The medical team working with urgency to treat Johnny had been unsettling to the Engineer. He wasn't ready to be pushed out of the room, not yet. Back at the desk, Dixie knew one person who would want to know where Johnny was, so she picked up the phone and made the dreaded call.
Within minutes, Joanne was at her side. "Oh, God, Dixie, how is he? What happened?"
Dixie took her hands, "He's okay, Joanne. He's dehydrated and a little banged up, but he's going to be fine."
"Can I see him?"
"He's sleeping, but you can sit with him. Joanne?"
"Yes?"
Concern creased her brow. "I think he's taking what happened to Roy a lot harder than we realized."
Joanne nodded. "He's been unusually distant. I knew he was stressed." She looked sad. "I didn't know it was this bad."
Dixie pulled up a smile. "We'll get him through this. Come on, let's check on him."
When they entered the patient room, Mike stood up.
"Thank you, Mike, for getting him safely to us," Joanne told him.
He nodded, then passed quietly behind them, returning to the small waiting room. Joanne moved to the bed, pushed his hair out of his face, and watched over him as he slept. She noticed his pallor and the dark circles under his eyes for the first time. Pulling a chair beside the bed, she planted herself and waited. There were limited interruptions, repeated vital signs, and a second bag of fluids to infuse. He didn't stir, but she was constantly encouraged that he was stable.
After the second bag was infused, Dixie came in with Kel.
"Kel, how's he doing?"
"His vital signs are better. Let's see if we can wake him."
Joanne nodded and watched he approach the bedside, nudging the sleeping man. "Johnny."
This time, he responded quickly, although he was still feeling weak. When his eyes opened, he was confused. "Doc?"
"How are you feeling?"
"Confused, what happened?"
"Do you remember calling Mike?" Dixie asked him.
He rubbed his head and started to sit up.
"Easy does it," she warned him, then adjusted the bed so he was no longer flat on his back.
"I think I do. I remember heading to the diner."
"You called him," Joanne told him.
"Joanne?" He was startled to see her, but he focused on Brackett. "What happened, doc?"
"Well, I'm going to assume it's a combination of things. Extreme stress, significant dehydration, and lack of nutrition. Johnny, have you been eating the last few days?"
Of course, he knew the answer to that one. Joanne leaned forward in the chair as Johnny shook his head. "I've just not had any appetite since, well, you know, with Roy."
"Well, your body was already under great stress, then you deprived it of food and water and decided to do an extremely strenuous activity in the hottest part of the day. You're lucky that Mike found you when he did."
Johnny looked sheepishly at Joanne. "Sorry."
"I'd been trying to reach you all day. What were you thinking, Johnny? You put your life at risk for that stupid car?" She reached up and tucked some dark locks behind his ear, her other hand in his. "Do you know how terrified I was to think something happened to you?" She teared up. "I can't lose you and Roy, too."
His chest tightened. "Roy?"
She squeezed his hand. "Nothing changed today, but I need you to help me get through all this."
"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking right about things."
"You need rest, full meals, and to stay hydrated," Kel told him. "Or you're just going to wind up right back here."
"I'll do better, doc."
Joanne leaned in for a hug. "You better believe you will." Pulling back, she smiled softly at him. "You're too important to us."
"Can I go home, doc?" His voice almost pleaded.
Kel had already considered the options, knowing that Johnny would fully protest being admitted. "I'll let you go, but expect you back tomorrow morning for a check."
"Mike said he can take you home," Dixie told him.
He agreed to the plan; anything to not stay here. "Thanks, Doc."
Joanne looked back and nodded. "He'll do exactly what you say."
Dixie smiled. "I think we've got it under control."
Johnny was too weary to roll his eyes. "Agreed."
Upstairs, Joanne sat beside Roy, looked at the monitors, tucked her head into her hands, and cried.
Rolling over in bed, his eyes opened to daylight, immediately groaning with aching muscles and bruised body parts. At least the pounding headache was gone. All he wanted was a shower and to feel somewhat human again, so he crawled out of bed and went straight to the bathroom. Still covered in dirt, he gently cleaned the various wounds, occasionally hissing between his teeth and kicking himself for being so stupid. Getting dressed, he looked at the clock. Damn, it was already ten am. Brackett would kill him if he didn't check in this morning with him. He had to admit, he felt a bit better. Heading down the stairs, he stopped short, finding Chet sitting on his couch.
"Remind me to take that key from Joanne," he scoffed as he headed to the kitchen, where he found the next surprise. "Really?"
A to-go container with breakfast sat on the table, including a cup of hot coffee. Chet just shrugged. Instead of arguing, he sat down and started eating. There was no way he would admit to finally feeling hungry again. Chet refreshed his coffee cup and sat down at the table with him.
"Did you sit down here all night?"
Chet shook his head. "Mike stayed until around six."
"I don't need a babysitter," he said, annoyed.
"Apparently, you do." Chet's tone was flat.
Was he finally tired of Johnny's games? He chose to ignore the statement.
"Joanne's orders," Chet said, leaning back in the chair. "And the grieving wife gets what she wants."
Johnny internally chuckled. Joanne was a force to be reckoned with when she went on the warpath.
He finished the coffee and stood up after eating at least half of the food. Looking at Chet, he watched the man glance at the tray of leftovers.
"I ate enough," he smirked. "Am I allowed to drive, or do I also need to be escorted?"
Chet got up. "I ride with you. Marco dropped me off."
Shaking his head, he grabbed the keys. "Come on, shadow."
Jogging to catch up, Chet quietly smiled at hearing his friend's joking tone. It had been a while.
"So," he started before pausing.
"Go ahead."
"So, that nurse, Carolyn."
Johnny rolled his eyes. "Really, Chet?"
He shrugged. "Come on, she's hot, Johnny, and you know it."
"She's nice and sweet. Also, had a boyfriend named Jake, last I heard."
His brow was raised. "So, maybe single now?"
Johnny couldn't help but chuckle. "I don't know. You ask her."
Suddenly, the lineman was serious. "You ask her."
Johnny quickly shook his head, looking over. "I'm not asking her. Grow up, Chet."
The lineman sat back and furrowed his brow. "I'm grown," he mumbled.
Pulling into the hospital, he headed to the front parking lot and found a space. "I'll meet you upstairs."
Chet climbed out and stood at the front of the Rover, waiting for him.
His hands went to his hips. "I can find my way to the ER, Chet."
"Joanne." Was all he replied.
"Ugh," Johnny groaned and started walking to the front entrance. "I'm not a child."
Chet chuckled.
"Shut up."
After reaching the emergency room, Johnny approached the check-in desk.
The nurse was unfamiliar to the men. "Sir, this is the emergency room. We don't take appointments."
Johnny shook his head. "I'm here for a follow-up appointment. Dr. Brackett wanted to see me."
"Dr. Brackett isn't on duty today. I'm sorry, sir, but I must get the next person checked in."
Johnny backed up and looked at Chet. "Well, I tried." He shrugged.
A flash of panic crossed the man's face as Johnny started to walk away.
"Exactly where do you think you're going?"
Johnny froze at the voice, slowly turning around. "Going nowhere. Here, I'm here. Look, Chet brought me."
"Room four," she said, hands on her hips.
No one questioned Dixie, ever.
He sat patiently as she gathered vital signs, critically eyeing him up and down while clicking her tongue. After drawing some blood, she pulled off the paper and passed it to him: "Kel's in his office."
"So, he is here today."
"Administrative day," she answered, then smiled. "I'm glad you're feeling better."
"Thanks."
Hopping off the table, he went to the hallway and looked around.
"I sent him upstairs," she said. "Go see Kel."
He almost smiled, then looked at her expression. Was he in trouble? "Okay."
Kelly Brackett's door was just down the hall, towards the waiting room. Knocking, the doctor called him right in, motioning for him to sit.
"You look like you feel much better, Johnny."
Johnny passed the paper over. "I do."
Kel looked over the information, glancing back at the young man.
"Johnny, I'm not releasing you back to work for a week."
He started to protest in surprise. A hand went in the air.
"I'll follow up on the repeat labs, but I expect they have normalized. Yesterday, you presented borderline responsiveness, with critical lab values and abnormal vitals, Johnny. I was very concerned about that and what put you in that condition. And I'm not talking about a dangerous stunt, but more not realizing how dehydrated you were and the stress from lack of eating had put on your body."
He scribbled on a piece of paper and passed it over to him. "Johnny, this isn't a punishment. You wore your body down, and two bags of fluids and eight hours of sleep aren't going to suddenly fix that. You have to sleep, and eat, and make sure you stay hydrated." He paused. "And this is my recommendation; I can't make you do it, but I need you to stay home and stay there until you're back in my office in ten days. Being here all hours of the day and night, missing meals, and becoming sleep-deprived is only making things worse."
Without further discussion, he took the paper and left. His emotions were now in turmoil: worried, stressed, frustrated, and angry for the first time in a long time. The last thing he needed was to be denied work because someone wanted him to eat more sandwiches. Reaching the waiting room, it was empty, so he headed directly to Roy's room. There, he found Joanne curled up in the chair, sleeping.
"Good morning," Carolyn said as she came in.
"Morning. How's he doing?"
"Good today. We're halfway off the blood pressure support, and they just weaned his ventilator settings this morning."
It was the first time Johnny felt a thrill of hope go through him. "That's great." He nodded to Joanne. "Has she been up yet?"
Shaking her head, she looked concerned. "She's not stirred. I didn't want to wake her, but it's not usual for her."
His brow furrowed, and he walked over to her. "Joanne?" He gave her a gentle nudge.
She stirred and opened her eyes. "Johnny," she smiled. "You sure do look better." Sitting up, she pushed the blanket off her.
"You feel, okay?" he asked with concern, noticing her flushed cheeks.
"Just wiped out, I guess."
Pressing his fingers to her forehead, he shook his head. "You have a fever."
"What?" She touched her face and groaned. "I think I do. I've had a headache and felt achy last night."
"Carolyn, can I get a thermometer?"
"I can't get sick, Johnny," Joanne said with worry.
"Well, we usually don't get to pick the convenient times to feel bad. Here." He passed it to her, and she placed it under her tongue.
"One oh one. You, young lady, are going home and to bed," he told her.
"I can't…"
"He won't be alone. Doc gave me a few days off to rest, and I can rest right here."
Carolyn stepped forward. "I know you want to stay with him, but we can't risk him getting a new infection right now. He's starting to make some progress."
Tears ran down her cheek, but she agreed. "Okay, but call me about anything."
"I will."
"And update me tonight after evening rounds."
"I will."
"And let the night shift know he doesn't like the sponge bath; I've been doing it."
He chuckled. "I will. Now go home."
"Well, pally, you are looking better, I must say." His color had improved. Studying the monitors, the numbers were stable. It was all encouraging. "Joanne will be fine. Probably just a virus, and she needs to sleep."
When lunchtime rolled around, Marco's face popped up in the doorway. "Hey."
Johnny stood up. "Hey."
"Good day?"
Nodding, "Good day."
"Momma sent this to you." Marco passed over a plate of food.
"Smells great, enchilada casserole?"
Marco grinned. "Made fresh for you. I can stay here, go eat."
Johnny paused and then saw the look on Marco's face. "I'll eat."
No movement from Marco.
With an exasperated sigh, he left the unit and headed to the waiting room. Thankfully, it was empty, so no one was around to hover over him. Sitting next to the large window, he enjoyed the delicious meal provided by one of their favorite chefs, Marco's mother.
"Tell your mom, best meal ever," he said with a smile, returning the dish.
"Good. Need anything today?"
He paused. With his mind finally a bit clearer, he remembered one more thing he needed to do today. "Can you hang out for just a minute? I need to make a phone call."
Marco sat down and nodded. "Sure, take your time."
He knew only one person to call for help right now.
It had been around an hour since Marco left when Hank and Emily exited the elevator. They found Johnny sitting alone. Emily passed the sad man with a kind smile and went through the doors to sit with Roy. Without speaking, Johnny stood up and walked with Hank back to the elevator.
Now, sitting in front of Johnny's apartment, Hank waited in his car with Brackett's medical note in his hand, dismayed at the doctor's recommendation. He still wasn't convinced that forced leave was the best thing for the young man with all that was going on, and Brackett was unaware of the other tragedy Johnny had just experienced. Although he looked physically better, Hank knew he was very far from healed, and leaving him alone right now was a dangerous game to play. Even the part of him that wanted to criticize Johnny for his incredibly insane behavior yesterday had already been quickly quelled by his wife, reminding him that he didn't need a boss right now; he needed all the friends he could get. The phone call today just confirmed his concerns.
Looking up, he saw Johnny coming down the stairs wearing his dress uniform, visibly filled with painful loss. He'd seen the young man go through a lot of trauma as a firefighter, but his concern for him deepened. The drive was quiet, and Hank already knew where they were heading. If he were honest, he would admit that he wasn't sure if this would send Johnny over the edge or be a step toward healing.
Once there, he parked at the end of the long line of vehicles and looked at Johnny. "Ready?"
Johnny nodded at his captain, who was also in full dress uniform—as ready as anyone could be in this situation. Stepping into lush green grass, they walked towards the crowd surrounding the gravesite. There were only a handful of people there, family, he presumed and suddenly wondered if he should even be there. When a hand slipped into his, he saw Melinda standing beside him. The preacher was already speaking, so they stood quietly at the back of the group and listened to his kind words. Soon, the young girl's mother placed a framed photograph of Katie standing with what he presumed were her family. It was a family day at the beach with smiling faces and no concerns about things that could change their lives forever. He swallowed hard as the mother sobbed into her husband's arms as they lowered the casket to the ground.
Feeling the gentle tug of his arm, he followed Melinda to the grave and squeezed her hand as she tossed a single rose onto the beautiful white casket.
"We miss you so much, KK," she cried.
He held the tears in as Melinda hugged the mother and father, sharing their grief and not even hearing the introduction she gave to him. The man reached out his hand, offering thanks for all he did and for how hard he tried to save his baby. Then the mother was in his arms, hugging him, crying about how much she appreciated how hard he tried that night. He heard the words, returned nods, and told them how sorry he was for their loss. Turning, he stood and looked down to where the small body lay.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when Hank put his hand on his shoulder, he looked up to find everyone gone.
"It's time to go, pally."
He climbed into the passenger seat, feeling numb. Hank could feel the weight of the silence, though he was not yet sure if Johnny's mindset had decided which way the pendulum would swing. The drive was quiet, and Johnny just stared out the side window, watching the world go by as a blur. Soon, Hank was nudging him again.
"Try and get some rest."
Realizing they were back at his apartment, he shook his head. "I need to go back to the hospital. I promised Joanne." His tone was flat.
Hank debated whether to leave him here alone or have him in the hospital where others could keep an eye on him. "Go get changed; I'll wait."
Johnny took his position beside Roy as Emily updated him on a few changes that had happened. He was no longer focused on anything; explanations and medical terms were merely garbled messages.
"You'll call us if you need anything?"
He produced a smile and nodded. "I will. Thank you for staying with him."
"Of course." Emily's hand rested on his arm. "We're here for you too, Johnny."
Refusing to let those emotions rise, he nodded and returned to the room. With the room now quiet, he closed his eyes and slipped into the land of water and rocks.
"Johnny?"
Sitting almost straight up in a startle, he saw Dixie standing before him. "What?"
Her brow was furrowed with concern. "I think you were having a bad dream."
He leaned back again, running his fingers through his hair. "Oh, yeah, sorry." He took a quick glance over to Roy and saw two nurses beside him. "What's going on?"
"He hasn't tolerated the weaning of his blood pressure medicine, and his oxygen needs are up again," Dixie told him. "Kel's ordered another chest x-ray and some labs."
Johnny nodded. "Okay."
"Go freshen up. I'll stay until you come back."
He did need a bathroom break. "Thanks, Dixie."
She smiled and patted his arm. Although he looked so much better than the night before in Mike's car, he was still not back to himself.
When he returned, he found Dixie talking with Brackett at the nurse's station.
"Doc."
Kel frowned, seeing him still at the hospital. "I thought you were going home to rest."
Johnny shrugged. "Needed here more." He was too drained to go into details or argue with the man. "What's going on with Roy?"
"I think we just got overzealous with weaning medications, and he's just telling us to slow down. The antibiotics are treating the pneumonia, but his lungs aren't back to normal yet. He needs more time."
"Hey, Dix. How's the little boy from the other day? The one from the laundromat?"
With a quick glance, she looked at Brackett and realized he didn't know the story since he was off that evening. "I'm sorry, Johnny, he didn't make it."
Johnny didn't change expressions. "Oh, okay. Thanks." He turned around and went back to Roy's room.
Brackett was frustrated. "I don't like it, Dix. He shouldn't be here and have so much on his shoulders. They're expecting too much from him."
"I know, Kel. But Hank called me, and for personal reasons, he doesn't want Johnny home alone right now. He thinks he's better off here where we can support him. And seeing him now? I completely agree."
The evening passed quietly until a nurse told him he had a visitor in the lobby. He almost hoped it wasn't the crew this time. Keeping others company just called for too much energy. When the doors opened, he saw several unknown faces, but only one approached him. The woman was in her sixties, with gray highlights and a big smile on her face, holding a tin foil-covered plate in her hand.
"Johnny, I know you don't remember me. I'm Mrs. Martha from next door to Joanne and Roy."
He smiled. "Yes, you always make those delicious maple cookies."
She beamed with pride. "I'm so glad you enjoyed them." She passed him the plate. "I took Joanne some soup and the kid's meatloaf and potatoes. I brought you a plate for dinner." She tilted her head. "She seems pretty determined for you to have three meals a day, young man."
He softly chuckled. "Yes, ma'am." Motioning to the plate, he thanked her for dinner.
"I don't know anything about all this medical stuff with poor Roy, but I'm here for anything else you need. Okay, honey?"
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you."
Taking a seat at one of the small tables, he opened the plate to find a generous dinner that looked delicious. Feeling watchful eyes were on him even when alone, he took several bites before wrapping up the leftovers. Despite dozing on and off most of the day, he felt drained again and longed for his pillow and chair.
Settling into his spot, he watched the night nurse finish up Roy's care and charting. "He's stable. Try and get some sleep."
No one had to ask twice as he pulled the blanket up and quickly drifted back to sleep.
He heard someone calling for help. Getting up, he walked out of Roy's room and around the corner towards the doors, following the voice. A glance back, he looked at the station and wondered why no one was coming to help him. Pushing through the doors, he found the waiting room empty, yet still, the voice called for help. Pausing to determine which direction to take, he strained to hear the call and noticed the door to the stairs was standing open. Heading up them, one flight after another, following the voice until he reached a door that said ROOF.
Opening the door, he stepped onto sand. Confusion clouded his mind as he looked at the sunny sky and the ocean. He could hear her again, calling for him. When he reached the water's edge, he looked down to see his shoes getting wet. Then instinct had him running deeper into the water until he was submerged. It was icy cold and so dark he struggled to see anything or anyone. Then the cries returned, but now they were closer, and he swam as hard as he could to reach her. The cries turned into screams, screaming for him, calling out his name. When he got close enough, he could see her blonde hair floating around her face. He tried to call and grab her, but she remained just out of reach, and his lungs were filling with water. Suddenly, there was no air left; he couldn't breathe, and his own fight for life began. Then he saw her, floating and no longer moving, her piercing blue eyes still pleading to him, blue eyes that wondered why he did nothing.
Blue eyes that blamed him.
He woke up gasping for air, throwing off the blanket in a blind panic and rushing to his feet. Staggering over to the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face. His hands gripped the sides of the sink until his fingers turned white, willing his stomach contents to stay down. Closing his eyes, he forced his breathing to slow before hyperventilation sent him back to the emergency room. With a heart-wrenching grimace, he pushed it all backdown. Not here. Not now. Looking at himself in the mirror was almost shocking. He wondered who in the hell was looking back at him.
Roy's room was dim, the bathroom light casting shadows along the walls, and he reminded himself it was just another nightmare—nothing new, but having them here wasn't a good thing. Now afraid to close his eyes and risk sleep, he moved over to the wall across from his bed, leaning against it and bending to rest his hands on his knees.
Breathe, man. Breathe.
When he opened his eyes again, he found a pair of brown cowboy boots standing toe to toe with him. Taking a couple of seconds to pull up the 'I'm okay' façade before looking up, he was genuinely surprised at the face in front of him.
"Hannah." He raised his brow. "I was beginning to think I'd dreamt you up." No longer in scrubs, she wore a soft cotton paisley shirt and jeans, her brown hair resting down her shoulders.
She smiled softly at him. "I came to check on you and your brother." She glanced over at Roy, checking his monitors. Concern crossed her features as she studied his face. "But I think one is more stable than the other."
He felt overwhelmed. "I'm okay," he sputtered out.
He watched her hand move up to his chest until it rested over his heart. Closing her eyes, her breathing slowed until she seemed perfectly still, and a flash of discomfort crossed her features.
"So much pain," she whispered.
His eyes teared up. When she met him eye to eye again, he saw his pain reflected there, as if mirrors to his soul. "No," he whispered, almost a plea.
"This kind of pain cannot be left to fester and rot, John. I'm here for you."
He slid against the wall until his bottom rested on the floor, his arms around his knees, as if the physical act would protect him from falling apart. Coming to his level, she sat beside him, resting her hand on his arm.
"This is something you would share with him."
Johnny looked up at Roy's bed. "Yes. But I can't tell him now." Dropping his head down, he sighed. "Maybe never."
Her fingers cupped his chin, guiding his face to look at her. "Tell me."
He again saw those eyes full of kindness, empathy, and compassion. The words weren't a command; they were permission, and tears ran down his cheeks. Every part of him wanted to tell her- he needed to release the demons.
"Her name was Katie."