Chapter 13

 

Mark LaBlond laid on his double bed, his eyes glued to the thirteen inch black and white Zenith portable on top of his dresser.  He had the volume as low as possible while still being able to hear the sound. His old man had been furious about the booze.  Thank God he hadn't found out about the stolen car. Mark was grounded for the next two weeks, and was supposed to be doing his homework.  He was surprised his father hadn't thought to remove the TV from his room, but Mark wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.  He'd die if he had to spend two weeks under house arrest with no TV.  He didn't know what had happened to Jim, but he imagined his friend's punishment was similar to his considering their parents were close.

 

The teenager started to shake his shaggy chestnut hair out of his face, then thought better of the movement.  His right cheek was red and tender.  His father had back-handed him three times.  The last blow had sent Mark crashing into a kitchen chair.  He’d tumbled over it before striking his head on the floor.  That was his old man for you.  Most of the time he ignored the three boys he’d sired, but when he did have reason to pay attention to them it was generally by using his belt or his fists.  The older Mark got, the better he understood why his brothers had moved out of the house as soon as possible after high school graduation.  Mark was planning to do the same, if he even lasted that long.

 

The boy grabbed a football off the shelving unit of the headboard behind him and tossed it into the air.  He kept one eye on the sports report coming from the evening news while he tossed and caught.  Tossed and caught.  Tossed and caught.  The boy became so mesmerized by his actions that he tuned the news out until he heard the anchorman say, "And when we return, we'll report on a county firefighter who was last seen on Saturday morning.  Perhaps you can help locate John Gage."

 

Mark caught the football and sat up. A picture flashed on the screen before a commercial came on.  The dark headed man was wearing a formal uniform of some kind, not unlike a military uniform, and smiling a crooked grin at the camera. 

 

Oh, shit. It's him!  I think it's him. I think it's the guy I hit!

 

Mark's mouth went dry and his heart hammered as he waited what seemed like hours for the commercials to end.

 

"Come on, come on."

 

When the anchorman reappeared he perfected a look that was a cross between concern and sympathy. 

 

"John Gage, a Los Angeles County Firefighter/Paramedic, was last seen by friends and co-workers leaving the fire station where he's based, Station 51 in Carson, shortly after going off-duty at eight a.m. on Saturday morning.  According to his partner and close friend, Roy Desoto, Mr. Gage was headed to San Bernardino for the weekend.  Whether he arrived there or not remains a mystery.  When Mr. Gage didn't report for work this morning with the rest of his crew, his station mates grew alarmed.  According to Fire Department Headquarters Mr. Gage has maintained an exemplary record during his six years with the department, and it's not within his realm of normal behavior to go AWOL.  Mr. Gage was last seen driving a 1968 Harley Davidson Motorcycle.  He was dressed in blue jeans, a denim short sleeve shirt, a black leather jacket, black boots, and black helmet.  John Gage is twenty-seven years old, and has dark hair and brown eyes.  He's six feet one-inch tall, and weighs one hundred and fifty pounds.  Anyone who has seen Mr. Gage can call either the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department, or the Los Angeles County Fire Department Headquarters.  Both phone numbers are on the bottom of your screen.  Please take note of them, and be on the alert for the missing firefighter.  In other news today--"

 

Mark reached over and shut the TV off with trembling fingers.  When the phone on the headboard shelf jangled he snatched it up on the first ring.

 

"He's a fireman!  Mark, he's fireman!" came Jim's strangled exclamation.  "That. . .that. . that's like hurting a cop, man.  We're dead, Mark.  We're dead. If they find out they'll arrest us.  You know they will!"

 

"Calm down," Mark whispered while glancing at his closed door.  "Just calm down.  It'll be okay.  We just gotta keep our heads on straight and keep our mouths shut."

 

"What about Bobby?  What about Kath?"

 

"I talked to Bobby a little while ago.  He was so drunk last night he doesn't  remember a thing, so don't worry about him.  As far as Kathy goes. . .I'll talk to her."

 

"But what if she won't listen?  What if she narks?"

 

"She won't."

 

"But what if--”

 

"She won't," Mark insisted.  "Don't worry, she won't.  Besides, she's working tonight so she hasn't even seen the news."

 

"Maybe not.  But she'll hear about it eventually.  It'll probably be in the paper tomorrow, and it'll probably be on TV for a couple days at least."

 

"Like I said, I'll take care of Kathy.  You just keep quiet about everything and lay low 'til this blows over."

 

"Laying low won't be hard 'cause I'm grounded for the next two weeks."

 

"Yeah, me too."

 

Before the conversation could progress there was knock on the door.

 

"Mark, are you on the phone?"

 

"Yeah, Ma!"

 

"Well, your father says to get off it and get off it right now!  Say goodbye to whoever it is you're talking to and get that homework done.  You're in enough trouble as it is, young man!  I wouldn't test your father's temper at this point if I was you."

 

"I won't, Ma!  And I'm getting off the phone." 

 

The boy waited until he heard his mother walk away, then spoke into the telephone again.

 

"Listen, I gotta go, but meet me under the bleachers during lunch tomorrow."

 

"Why?"

 

"So we can figure out how we're gonna get to the canyon."

 

"Get there?  Why?"

 

"Because we've got to kill that fireman if he’s not already dead."

 

Mark hung up the phone before Jim could respond to this statement.  He laid back on his bed, mulling over the best  way to end John Gage's life.

 

____________________

    

Ricky slowly raised his head from his arms.  He swiped his shirtsleeve across his eyes as he looked out the window.  The sun was rapidly disappearing in the western horizon.  Soon it would be dark out, and Billy would think his brother had forgotten about him.  Billy would think Ricky didn’t keep his promises.  Ricky knew promises were important.  Billy had died trying to keep promises to get help for some injured men.  He’s been killed by the enemy. . .whomever that was, as he crossed a flooded rice paddy, but Ricky’s dad had always said the important thing to remember was that Billy had been willing to die in order to keep his word.

 

God sent Billy back to me, and I’m all he’s got.  I’ve got to keep my word.

 

The despair was gone now, to be replaced with a sense of urgency.  Ricky rushed down the hallway to the bathroom that was between Pam’s old room and the bedroom Ricky and Billy used to share that was now just Ricky’s.  He opened the linen closet and stared at the shelves.  He wasn’t certain of exactly what he needed, but his mom liked to watch Medical Center, and Ricky watched it with her, so he knew a little bit about First Aid.  He grabbed two towels and a washcloth off a shelf, then dug around until he found the old metal First Aid kit Billy used for Boy Scout trips.  Ricky had always wanted to be in Boy Scouts too, only the troop leader said it wasn’t allowed because of his ‘condition.’  That had made Billy so mad he threatened to quit the Scouts, but Ricky wouldn’t let him. 

 

“You can teach me everything you learn, Billy,” Ricky had told his twelve-year-old brother.  “Then I’ll kinda be like a Scout, too.”

 

“You already are a Scout,” Billy replied while giving his little brother a hug.  “You’re a hundred times better than any Scout I know.”

All these years later Ricky still wasn’t sure what Billy had meant that day, but even now when he thought about it, it made him feel good inside.  And, gave him the courage to carry out his plan.

 

Ricky left the bathroom carrying his supplies.  He retrieved a paper grocery bag from the kitchen pantry and put the towels and washcloth inside it.  He then reached to the seldom-used cabinet over the sink, grabbing two thermoses and an industrial sized flashlight.  He filled one thermos with cold water and one with hot water.  Because of his lack of fine motor skills, it took him a few minutes to seal them.  When he was sure the water wouldn’t leak out he placed the thermoses in the paper bag and added the flashlight.  He rolled the bag’s top down, carrying it in one hand and the First Aid kit in the other.  He unlocked the front door and headed across the yard. 

 

Ricky didn’t like to be out by himself after dark so he kept his eyes on the fading sun while hiking as fast as he could.  Maybe Billy was feeling better and could come back to the house with him.  That would be for the best.  Then Mom would see for herself that God had allowed Billy to return to them, and she’d be able to tell Ricky how to help him so God wouldn’t take him away again.

 

The young man ran the last fifty yards to the fort.  He burst through the door with a smile.  “I’m back, Billy!  I told you I’d come back!”

 

Ricky set his bag and First Aid kit on the trunk.  He dug the flashlight out and turned it on.  As soon as the beam hit the injured man’s face Ricky’s smile changed to a frown.  Billy wasn’t better.  As a matter of fact, he looked worse.  His eyes were closed, and beads of water were plastering his hair to his forehead, and he was really pale, and every few seconds he’d moan and squeeze his eyes shut even tighter like something was hurting him real bad.  There was no way Ricky was going to be able to get him to the house.

 

Ricky propped the flashlight on the trunk lid, then stuck his right hand in the bag again and pulled out the red thermos.  The one that held the cold water.  He unscrewed the top and poured liquid into the cup.  He knelt by the man’s side, holding the cup to his lips.

 

“Drink some of this, Billy.  It’s water.  It’ll make you feel better.  I promise.”

 

Johnny felt something being pressed against his mouth, and smelled something he vaguely identified as plastic.  The words ‘drink’ and ‘water’ finally permeated his thick brain.  He opened his eyes a mere slit.  He squinted as he took the full force of flashlight beam in his face.  Though the light made the pounding in his head increase to an almost intolerable level, he saw the red cup being held to his lips.  The desire for a drink overrode the pain.  He parted his mouth and allowed his caretaker to tilt the cup.  When the water came down too fast he sputtered and coughed, choking on the liquid while giving a strangled cry at the torment this action caused him.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”  Tears welled in Ricky’s eyes.  He’d done the wrong thing.  He shouldn’t have given Billy the water.   “I’m sorry, Billy.  I’m sorry.  I just want to help you.  I’m so sorry.”

 

“Kay. . .okay.”  Johnny’s left hand grasped the young man’s wrist.  His voice was hoarse, the volume so low Ricky had to strain to hear him. “It’s. . okay.  Too. . .too fast.  Go. . .slower.”

 

“You mean you want more?”

 

“Ye. . .yes.”

 

Ricky smiled and blinked his tears away.  If Billy wanted more than Ricky must be doing the right thing.  After all, water was good for you.  He’d heard Nurse Dixie say that more than once when he pointed out to her that the soda refills at Rampart’s cafeteria were free.

 

Ricky helped the man take a long drink.  When the cup was drained, he poured another one.  Johnny drained it dry as well.  Ricky set the cup on the trunk, then pulled the First Aid kit and bag to his side. 

 

“I’m gonna make you better, Billy.  Just like Doctor Joe Gannon.  Do you remember him?  Does God let you remember TV shows?”

 

In Johnny’s current condition keeping up with this conversation was impossible.  He had no idea who Billy was, and if there was a doctor at Rampart named Joe Gannon he couldn’t place him, and as far as what God was allowing him to remember...well, not much at this point.

 

“Bil. . .Billy?”

 

“Yeah.  That’s your name.  Billy.  And I’m Ricky.  Your brother.”

 

Johnny started to shake his head.  He gasped at the pain that movement caused him.  He stopped the motion and tried to open his eyes a little wider. 

 

“Not. . .Bill. . .Billy.  John.   My name’s. . .John.  John. . .”  Johnny paused.  No matter how hard he tried, recalling his last name was impossible. “John. . .Johnny. . Johnny.”

 

 

“Johnny?”

 

“Yeah.  But I don’t. . .I can’t. . .I don’t--”

 

“It’s okay.  I know you’re Billy.  You almost look exactly like him. . .pretty much you do.  Well. . .kind of.  And if God wants me to call you Johnny now, I can. Maybe later you’ll remember you’re Billy, huh?”

 

“I don’t. . .no.  It’s. . .John.  John. . .um. . .John. .”

 

“It’s okay, Billy.  It doesn’t matter.  You’re still my brother.”  Ricky began unpacking the First Aid kit.  “I’m gonna help you. But you need to tell me how, okay?”

“How?”

 

“I think I brought some good stuff here, but I don’t know what you need me to do.” 

 

Johnny struggled to lift his head to look at the assortment of items the young man was spreading on the floor.  “Huh?”

 

“To help you.  I think I brought some good stuff to help you.”  Ricky studied the man’s left arm and leg.  “I know what to do for cuts. You wash those and put Bactine on them.”

 

Before Johnny could stop him, Ricky had soaked the wash cloth with warm water from the blue thermos and was patting it against his arm.  The warmth felt good, but the texture of the cloth against his raw skin hurt.  He bit his lower lip, allowing Ricky to continue his ministrations.  Though the paramedic knew the wounds needed to be treated with more than warm water and Bactine, this was a start. 

 

Ricky worked on Johnny’s arm and leg for several minutes, being careful not to rub, but instead gently pat.  He turned the flashlight so the beam would shine on the wounds.  They were red and angry looking, and he hoped the Bactine would help chase the germs away.  Ricky wasn’t sure what germs were, but he knew they could make you sick. 

 

Johnny felt the cool spray of Bactine on his leg and arm, then felt Ricky lift his head away from the wall.  He cried out as the young man tried to clean the blood from the gash on the back of his head.

 

“I’m sorry,” Ricky apologized again.  “I’m sorry.  But there’s lots of blood, and big bumps, too.  Three cuts.  You’ve got three cuts on your head, Billy.”  Without touching the man Ricky pointed.  “One in the back.  One on this side by your ear.  And one on this other side by your eyebrow.”

 

“Don’t. . .just leave ‘em. . .alone.  Don’t worry ‘bout. . don’t worry about ‘em.”

 

Ricky did as he was told.  Just the little bit of handling he’d down of these wounds had started them bleeding again.  He thought Billy might need stitches.  Billy had gotten stitches once before.  A long time ago when he was racing his bicycle down a hill and fell off.  Doctor Kantell had put the stitches in then, but he was retired now, so maybe Doctor Brackett would be able to put them in for Billy.

 

“What. . .what else can I do for you, Billy?”

 

Johnny was so weak, and in so much pain, that he barely took note of what the young man was calling him.  At this point it mattered little anyway. 

 

“My. . .boot.  We have to. . .have to get my boot and sock off.  Left boot.”

 

Ricky nodded. He moved down Johnny’s leg and grabbed the heel of his boot.

 

“No!  N. . .no!”  Johnny panted as his eyes flew open.  “Cut.  Do you have anything. . . anything you can cut it off. . off with?”

 

Ricky rummaged through the First Aid kit until he found a pair of scissors.  These weren’t dull bandage scissors, but rather real scissors that Billy had taken from Mom’s sewing kit.  Ricky remembered how mad Mom had been about that.  She said they were the best scissors in the house and were only to be used by her.  But she didn’t stay mad at Billy for long, because no one could ever stay mad for long at ‘Charming Billy,’ as Mom used to refer to him.  When she was done being mad she finally allowed him to keep the scissors in his First Aid kit. 

 

Even with the sharp scissors at his disposal, cutting off the thick leather boot was an arduous task for Ricky.  He didn’t have the coordination necessary to make this a quick job.  Johnny choked back his screams so the young man would keep working.  He knew the boot had to come off.  It had stayed on far too long already.

 

When Rick finally tossed the remains of the boot and sock aside Johnny collapsed against the wall.  The sensation in his foot was a cross between heaven and hell.  Heaven, because it felt good to have the pressure gone.  Hell, because he could barely move the ankle as he watched it balloon to three times its normal size. 

 

“Wow!  It’s real fat, Billy.  And lots of colors, too!  Blue.  And purple.  And over here,” Ricky pointed while being careful not to touch the ankle,  “it’s green right here.”

 

“Ice.”

 

“What?”

 

“Ice.  I need. . .ice for it.  And. . .and a pillow to put it on.”

 

Ricky’s face fell.  “I don’t have any ice.  But I’ve got a pillow.” 

 

The man reached behind the trunk and retrieved the pillow he’d pulled from it that afternoon when getting the blanket he’d used to cover Johnny.  Gingerly, he cupped the heel of Johnny’s foot in his hand and lifted.  He blinked away tears again when the paramedic cried.  Ricky slid the pillow beneath Johnny’s foot, then brought it down to rest as gently as he could.

 

“What else can I do, Billy?”

 

Johnny knew he’d have a better chance of survival if he could rest a while and then get out of here.  His last name still eluded him, and other memories, like where he worked and how to get in contact with anyone who could help, were also elusive.  He thought he’d known that information earlier, but if he had he could no longer call it forth.  He recognized that the young man helping him was mentally disabled.  Where he’d come from, or why he insisted Johnny’s name was Billy, the paramedic didn’t have a clue.  Nor did he have the confidence that this person, who called himself Ricky, could bring back help even if Johnny was able to tell him who to call.  Therefore, his best chance for assistance was to get to a road and flag down a passing car, or to a home where someone could summon an ambulance for him.

 

Other than the hope that the swelling in his ankle would decrease so he could at least walk with the aid of a makeshift crutch, Johnny knew his shoulder would have to be put back in place before any lengthy trek on his part began.  The necessary steps came automatically to his aching head, even though at the moment he had little idea where the knowledge appeared from.  He knew this was going to hurt like hell, and was far from certain it would even work.

 

“My. . .my shoulder.”

 

“Your shoulder?”  Ricky picked up the flashlight.  He shined the beam on Johnny’s left shoulder, then on his right.  “I don’t see any blood there, Billy.  Your shoulders are okay.”

 

“No. . .my right shoulder.  Dis. . .dislocated.”

 

Ricky wasn’t sure what the man meant, but he nodded.

 

“We gotta. . .gotta get it back in.”

 

“Back in where?”

 

“The sock. . .socket.”

 

 

“How?”

 

“You help me stand. . .stand up.  Then. . .then you’ll hold my arm as tight. . .tight as you can, straight out in front of me.  I’ll. . .I’ll do the rest.”

 

“What will you do?”

 

“Don’t worry ‘bout that. You just hold on tight.  Now help . .help me up.”

 

Ricky put the flashlight back on the trunk lid.  He placed one hand beneath the paramedic’s left arm pit, and the other on his left elbow. 

 

“Okay, Billy.  I. . .I got you.  Do you want me to count to three?  I can, you know. Count to three.  I can do that.”

 

Johnny smiled.  “Sure.  On three you lift and I’ll stand up.”

 

“Okay.  Ready?”

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

 

“One. . .two. . .three!”

 

Getting to his feet was every bit as excruciating as Johnny knew it would be.  And difficult.  He couldn’t use his right hand to push himself up, and he couldn’t plant his left foot on the floor, so he was at a disadvantage to begin with.  Ricky clung to his arm and pulled him up.  If it hadn’t been for that Johnny knew he’d have never made it.  As it was, the small room spun in front of him.  He stood balancing on one foot, bent over at the waist.  He took deep breaths, willing himself not to throw up again while at the same time praying the vertigo would pass.  Beads of sweat trickled down the paramedic’s back.  He continued to take deep, slow breaths, until he convinced himself the worst of the pain had passed.

 

“Okay. . .Ricky?  Is that your name?  Ricky?”

 

“You remember, Billy!  You remember!”

 

Johnny didn’t bother to correct Ricky.  If the guy wanted to call him Billy, then fine.  He hurt too much to care at the moment, and knew he’d only be hurting worse in a few seconds.  His words came with long pauses in-between as he fought exhaustion, pain, and the inability to think clearly.

 

“What I. . .what I need you do is hold onto my right. . right wrist as tightly as you can.  I’m going to. . .to pull my weight away from you very. . .very quickly.  That should. . should pop the shoulder back in place.”

 

 

Ricky’s eyes grew round.  “But won’t that hurt?”

 

“A little.  But don’t worry. . .worry ‘bout it.  Gotta. . gotta do it.   Once it’s over. . once it’s over I’ll feel better.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.”

 

“Lots better?”

 

“Lots better.”

 

“Okay.”  Ricky thought this sounded fairly easy.  Once they pulled on Billy’s shoulder he’d feel better.  Then maybe they could walk home together.

 

Ricky reached for Johnny’s wrist, but he swiveled away. 

 

“Wait!  Wait until. . .until I tell you.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Johnny gritted his teeth and began raising his right arm.  He cried out as searing agony threatened to make his world go black again. 

 

“You. . .you’ll have to do it.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Lift. . .lift my arm.  Straight out.  Lift it and hold it . . hold it straight out in front . .front of my body.”

 

 

The action of Ricky lifting Johnny’s arm until it was extended straight was almost more than the paramedic could bear.  Between his poor balance and the pain, John knew he couldn’t stay in this position long.

 

Johnny was sweating heavily and taking ragged gasps of air when he instructed,  “Okay, now take my wrist with both hands and hold on tight.”

 

As soon as Ricky had a firm grip, Johnny took a deep shaky breath.

 

It’s now or never.

 

“On the count of three again, Ricky.  On the count of three I’m gonna. . .gonna pull backwards.  You stay just like you are.  Don’t pull. . .don’t pull on my arm, but don’t let go either.  Under. . .understand?”

 

“I understand.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Can I count again?”

 

Johnny managed a small smile.  “Yeah.”

 

“All right.  One. . .two. . .three, go!”

 

Johnny threw his weight backwards.  He screamed at the agony invading his shoulder, but he didn’t stop the movement.  When the shoulder didn’t pop in place he tried again and again.  On the fourth try, with the world around him fading to black, and with Ricky’s heartbreaking cries of, “Billy!  Billy, stop!  Billy, don’t hurt yourself!  Billy, stop!  Please, stop!” Johnny passed out. 

 

Ricky was still clinging to the paramedic’s wrist as the man went down.  He grabbed him, easing his fall.  He struggled to lean Johnny against the wall.  When he got the man situated he knelt beside him and covered him with the blanket. 

 

“I thought we’d fix your shoulder and then you’d be all better, Billy.”  Ricky wiped both sweat and tears from his face as his lower lip quivered.  “I thought that’s how it was supposed to work.”

 

Johnny’s eyes remained closed.  No amount of pleading on Ricky’s part could bring the man back to consciousness.  He sidled down to Johnny’s ankle and placed the injured foot on the pillow again.  Not knowing what else to do for the paramedic, and knowing his mother would be home soon, meant Ricky had to leave. With the exception of the flashlight he left the supplies he’d brought with him.  He sealed both thermoses, hoping the man would find them on top of the trunk if he woke up and wanted a drink of water.

 

Ricky laid a hand on the side of Johnny’s face.  “I’ll be back tomorrow, Billy.  We’ll try to fix your shoulder again, then you can come home with me.”

 

The young man stood.  He opened the door and headed into the night.  The powerful beam from his flashlight led him home.  He wasn’t afraid of being out after dark this evening.  He had too much on his mind.  Worry over his brother’s physical condition.  Worry over the thought of what Mark LaBlond would do if he found the fort and the man inside of it.  And worry over the fact that he might be lying to himself about who the man in that fort really was, and in so doing was committing a terrible misdeed. 

 

Johnny.  He said his name was Johnny.

 

Ricky ignored that nagging thought as he trudged the rest of the way home.

 

 

Chapter 14

 

At seven o'clock the next morning the Station 51 A-shift was gathered around the TV in the day room.  This was the third time in the past thirteen hours that they'd watched a news broadcast about their missing co-worker. Despite those broadcasts, no one had called into department headquarters with information regarding Johnny.  Nor had anyone called into the sheriff's department.  The men turned to look as Roy entered from Captain Stanley's office.  Roy didn't say anything, but simply gave his head one small, negative shake.  Cap had suggested he try to call Johnny's apartment this morning.  Not that Hank thought John would answer, but if nothing else it gave Roy something to do besides stand around and try to hide his worry.  The negative head movement indicated what all the men suspected would be the case - Johnny hadn't returned to his apartment during the night.

 

Roy opened a cabinet and grabbed his mug, then poured himself a cup of coffee. He carried it to the table where he sat alone.  He sipped the hot liquid while reading the article on the front page of the paper regarding Johnny's mysterious disappearance.  The same picture that was being used on the news broadcasts was reprinted in the paper.  Roy's eyes kept darting to the wall clock, as though willing eight to arrive so he could dash to his vehicle and begin searching the roads Chet had assigned to him.

 

The paramedic was staring at the paper, no longer reading the article he'd long ago memorized, when the klaxons sounded.

 

"Station 51, man with unknown injuries at Lawrence Canyon Road near Wild Valley Crossing.  Lawrence Canyon Road near Wild Valley Crossing. Time out; 7:06."

 

Roy frowned at what little information they were given as he ran for the squad.  He hated calls like this.  They had no idea what was wrong with the victim, and it sounded like locating him could be a challenge as well.  

 

Just like Johnny would have done, Charlie stopped in front of the wall map.  Both he and Mike Stoker traced their fingers over the map until they found the road they were looking for and the fastest possible route to get there.  Charlie raced around the front of the squad and climbed in the passenger side while Mike pulled himself into the engine's cab.

 

Cap acknowledged the summons. "Station 51, KMG-365."  He handed Roy a slip of paper with the vague address on it, then took his place next to Mike in the engine.  The vehicles pulled out of the station with the squad in the lead.

 

"Go left, Roy," Charlie instructed as they approached the end of the driveway.

 

Five minutes into the run, with an ETA of fifteen minutes yet, the radio beeped.

 

"Station 51, cancel call to Lawrence Canyon Road.  Repeat.  Station 51, cancel call to Lawrence Canyon Road."

 

The paramedics heard Hank Stanley's voice come over the radio.

 

"10-4, L.A. Station 51 canceling call."

 

Charlie rolled his eyes.  There was nothing worse than having your morning coffee interrupted by a call that was ultimately canceled.  Well, nothing worse unless that same call came at three a.m. and woke you from a sound sleep. 

 

"Guess it's back to the barn, huh?"  Charlie asked as Roy turned at the next corner so he could circle around the block.

 

"Looks that way," Roy agreed.  He glanced at his watch to see it was now seven-fourteen.  At eight they could start their search for Johnny.  Roy hoped they wouldn't get any other calls before then.  He didn't want that search to be

delayed by so much as five minutes. 

 

Charlie easily read the expression on Roy's face, and from that, guessed his thoughts.

 

"Don't worry.  Johnny will turn up."

 

Roy wouldn't meet Charlie's eyes when he said quietly, "I know."

 

But when?  Roy wondered as he pulled the squad into the apparatus bay once again.  And in what condition?  Exactly what condition will Johnny be in when he finally turns up?

 

Roy didn't allow himself to dwell on those thoughts as he exited the squad.  He headed back to the kitchen, his cold cup of coffee, and a newspaper article he'd rather not read.

 

____________________

 

"But, Mom!"

 

Ellen Mason slammed the phone down after explaining to a fire department dispatcher that the call her son had made was a false alarm.  Her cheeks were red with both anger and embarrassment. She'd felt like an idiot apologizing to the man for this foolishness on the part of her twenty year old.  Ricky hadn’t even pulled pranks like this as a little boy.  What would prompt him to do so now was a mystery to Ellen.

 

The woman held up a stern finger.  “Don’t you ‘but Mom’ me, mister.  What did you think you were doing calling the fire department like that?  You know perfectly well that making prank phone calls can get you in trouble with the police.”

 

“But that’s how I can help Billy!”

 

“What?”

 

“Billy.”  Ricky struggled to get the words out. They always trailed his internal thoughts, and in pitifully slow fashion at important times like this.  “I was awake all night thinking, and thinking, and thinking until my head hurt so bad I couldn’t think anymore.  But then, I remembered that the fire department can help people so I called them.”

 

Ellen shook her head.  When she’d arrived home at quarter to ten the previous evening Ricky hadn’t been watching TV like she’d expected to find, but was already in bed.  If he’d been awake when she’d tapped on his door, then poked her head in the dark room, he’d never indicated such.  At the time she was relieved, assuming this current obsession with Billy had come to an end. 

 

The woman’s voice softened.  “Ricky, I know you miss Billy very much.  I know you keep his memory close to your heart and always carry him with you.”

 

“I do.  And Dad, too.  I carry Dad with me, too.”

 

Ellen smiled.  “That’s good, sweetheart, because you should.  Your father and Billy were two very special men, and I know you loved them a lot.  But they’re gone, son.  God has called them home to Heaven.  No amount of wishing either of them back will make your dad or Billy return.”

 

"But Billy did return, Mom!  He did!  I found him in the canyon yesterday.  Him and his motorcycle.  And Mark was there, too, with his friend Jim.  Billy was hurt, and they hurting him even more!  He needed help, but they were hurting him, just like the time Mark hurt that kitten.  I snuck into some trees, and acted like I was a really big bear.  I wanted to scare them away from Billy.  Then another boy came and they left, but Billy was still hurt.  I helped him to the fort and--"

 

Ellen held up a hand.  "I don't have time for this, Ricky."  She glanced at the clock, seeing it was seven-fifteen.  "I have to get to work and so do you.  Do you want a ride to the bus stop?"

 

"But--"

 

"Son, enough," Ellen commanded.  In a slow, deliberate voice she asked again, "Do you want a ride to the bus stop?"

 

Ricky's eyes dropped to the floor. He shook his head.

 

The woman reached out a hand and ran it through her son's pale brown hair.  "You're going to walk to the bus stop?"

 

Rick nodded, once again unable to give his mother a verbal response. 

 

Ellen sighed as her hand fell away from her youngest child.  The umbilical cord had been wrapped around Ricky's neck at birth, cutting off his oxygen supply for an undetermined amount of time. He had an I.Q. of 70, meaning he was considered mentally retarded, yet was at the high end of the scale in terms of his disabilities. He was ‘educable’ as the experts called it, and in some areas had reached a sixth grade level academically speaking.  Though there had been challenges and heartaches that came with raising him to adulthood, Ellen's husband, Bill, and their older children, Pam and Bill Jr., had helped carry the load.  Now Bill and Billy were gone, and Pam was busy raising a family of her own.  Ellen hadn't expected these types of problems from Ricky at this stage in her life.  How she wished that Ricky was right, and that Billy was back.  Billy and Ricky had always been close.  If Billy had ever been embarrassed by Ricky he'd never shown it.  Instead, he was fiercely protective of and loyal to the little brother who never had learned how to throw a baseball, and who was thirteen before he could master the necessary coordination to ride a bike.   If Billy were here now he'd pull Ricky aside and know exactly what questions to ask to get to the bottom of what was bothering the young man.  But despite Ricky's active imagination, Ellen knew her oldest son wasn't here and never would be again.  She wished Ricky could somehow find the inner strength to come to that same conclusion.

 

The woman and her youngest child walked out of the house together.  As Ellen climbed in the car she asked one final time, "Are you sure you don't want a ride?"

 

"I don't want a ride."

 

"All right then.  I'll see you this evening."

 

"Bye."

 

Ricky never raised his head from the asphalt of the driveway as he walked.  He tracked his mother's car through his eyelashes.  As soon as she turned off the road they lived on, Wild Valley Crossing, and onto Lawrence Canyon Road, Ricky raced across the street.  He trotted sideways down the steep slope of the canyon until he was swallowed up by the long grass and completely obscured from view.

 

 

Chapter 15

 

 

In the hours since Ricky Mason had last been to the fort, the man hidden inside had lost track of everything. 

 

The time.

 

The day.

 

The date.

 

Where he was.

 

His name. 

 

The things that should be simple to recall now eluded him, but he found himself oddly detached from any concern over that matter.  His head pounded so hard that he heard the sound in his ears.  Fire spread up his left leg and arm.  His left ankle had no shape to it any longer.  He cried out if he accidentally moved the swollen joint. The muscle spasms in right shoulder came in a rhythmic pattern that refused to cease.  Johnny had even resorted to slamming the shoulder into the wall behind him with the hope of popping the joint back into place, but he didn't have the strength to make this maneuver any more effective than his earlier attempt with Ricky had been.

 

Dried blood streaked the paramedic's face and was now mixed with dirt and sweat.  He was hot, and longed for a cool drink.  Earlier he'd found some water.  He'd taken a few sips from the cup throughout the night, but eventually his shaking left hand had dropped the thermos and the precious liquid had spilled from it. 

 

As sunlight from outside seeped through the cracks in the walls, Johnny forced his eyes open.  He was still seeing double. He lifted his left hand and wiped it across his eyes, unsure as to what it was that was clouding his vision and making everything blurry.  He repeated this action three times, but nothing would come into clear focus.

 

The man exhaled a breath that caught in a small, hiccuped sigh.  He knew he needed medical treatment. His shrouded brain could even recall some of what that treatment should be, but pain, exhaustion, blood loss, and dehydration were combining together to make it impossible for him to determine how best to get that treatment.

 

When the door burst open Johnny gave a startled jerk.  John could hear the man's panting breaths, as though he'd been running and suddenly came to a stop.  He squinted and looked up, but his vision refused to clear.  Not knowing for certain where the name came from he spoke, Johnny muttered, "Roy?"

 

Johnny felt the person kneel beside him.  A cool hand was placed on his forehead. A thick voice urged, "Billy!  Billy!"   

 

The paramedic struggled to think.  When he was finally able to speak again he whispered, "No.  No. . .John.  Johnny."

 

Johnny felt the man scramble from his side, then heard the door slam.

 

Musta'. . .musta’ given the wrong answer, was the paramedic's last thought before lapsing into unconsciousness once again.

 

 

_________________

 

 

Ricky had worked at Goodwill for two years.  The only days he'd missed were the ones he took off for his brother's funeral, and then his father's funeral.  He'd never skipped work, and he'd certainly never called in before and said he was sick when really he wasn't.  But today Ricky had called in sick, then ran down to the end of the road and caught the bus that would take him to Rampart.  His mother wouldn't let him summon help from the fire department for Billy, so now he'd have to get help another way.

 

The young man raced through the ER corridor, awkwardly dodging hospital personnel as he sprinted for the nurse’s desk with his limping gait.  He didn't recognize the woman there.  She looked up as he danced from foot to foot in front of her.

 

"May I help you?"

 

Ricky craned his neck, looking in every direction. "Nurse Dixie.  I need to see Nurse Dixie!"

 

"Pardon me?"

 

Those words meant the woman couldn't understand him.  Ricky knew people had a hard enough time understanding what he said when he was calm.  When he was excited it was almost impossible for anyone but his family members to know what he wanted.

 

Ricky forced himself to take three deep breaths like Billy had taught him.  When he spoke again his words came out slower and clearer.

 

"Nurse Dixie!  I want to see Nurse Dixie."

 

"She's on her break right now.  May I help you with some. . hey, come back here!  You can't go down that corridor!  It's for employees only!  Get back--"

 

Ricky ignored the woman as he ran for the nurse’s lounge.  Nurse Dixie had taken him there the night his father died. He knew it was a place the nurses came to drink coffee and eat their meals. 

 

Ricky pushed the swinging door open, coming to an abrupt halt.  He saw Dixie and Doctor Brackett standing in front of a console television set staring down at the screen.  Their backs were to him, and the space between their bodies allowed Ricky a glimpse of the screen.  He heard Doctor Brackett say, "No word on Johnny yet?"

 

Nurse Dixie seemed sad when she shook her head.  "No.  None at all.  I talked to Roy a little while ago. Marco and one of his brothers were headed over to San Bernardino to see if anyone at a gas station or restaurant might remember seeing Johnny. Roy and the rest of the guys were going to drive along various roads Johnny might have taken coming home."

 

The pair grew silent as the eight fifty-nine news break came on prior to the start of Password. 

 

"The search continues for Los Angeles County Firefighter/Paramedic John Gage.  Mr. Gage has not been seen since leaving Station 51 in Carson when he went off-duty at eight a.m. on Saturday morning. For more on this story, stay tuned for the news at noon."

 

As a commercial came on, Dixie reached down and shut the TV off.  

 

"Where do you think he could be, Kel?"

 

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. Though his answer was typical of the practical Kelly Brackett, even Ricky could pick up on the bleakness in his tone.

 

"Anywhere between here and San Bernardino, Dix.  I just hope he's not lying in a ditch somewhere in need of our help.  I tried to talk him out of buying that cycle, you know."

 

"I know.  And I tried to talk him into wearing a helmet.  I pray to God he did."

 

The doctor laid a hand on Dixie's shoulder. "Listen to us.  We're talking like we know Johnny had an accident with that motorcycle of his.  He might not have.  He might have. . ."  The man’s voice faded, as though he had no alternatives to offer.

 

"Have what?"

 

When Brackett didn't answer the nurse Ricky knew it was because he couldn't think of anything else that might have happened to the man named Johnny.  Or at least not anything else that was likely. 

 

Before Dixie pressed the doctor further, he was paged. He raised a surprised eyebrow when he spotted Ricky in the doorway, but didn't ask what he was doing in the hospital at this time of the morning.  Brackett smiled at Ricky as he passed by.  He gave the young man a quick pat on the shoulder and a "Hi, Ricky.  How are you?"

 

The busy doctor didn't wait to hear Ricky's response of, "Fine."  By the time the twenty year old voiced it, Brackett's quick strides had carried him halfway down the corridor.

 

Brackett's greeting to Ricky prompted Dixie to turn around.  Like Kelly, she was surprised to see the young man.

 

"Ricky, what are you doing here this time of the morning?  Are you on a break?"

 

 

Ricky stepped the rest of the way into the lounge and allowed the door to swing shut behind him.

 

"Uh. . .uh, yeah, Nurse Dixie.  I'm on my break and I. . .I need to talk to you."

 

"Talk away then."

 

"Well. . .I. . .what I really need, Nurse Dixie, is to ask you about some things."

 

"What kind of things?"

 

Ricky wrung his hands as he talked.  If his mother had been present she would have recognized that Ricky knew he was about to tell a lie.  To Dixie, the young man appeared nervous or agitated. 

 

"Billy. . .God sent Billy back to me, Nurse Dixie.  But he's sick and I don't know how to help him."

 

Dixie gave Ricky the same kind of sad smile his mother gave him when he brought up the subject of Billy.  She'd heard Ricky speak of his brother before in the present tense, as though Bill Jr. was still living. When Ricky had done it in the past she'd never tried to remind him that Billy was deceased.  She knew he was well aware of this fact, but like a child who attempted to ease his pain through a pretend world where everybody was always happy, Ricky sometimes pretended Billy was still living in order to ease the grief he still felt over his brother's tragic death.

 

"Well, why don't you tell me about Billy's illness.  Maybe I can give you some ideas as to how to make him better."

 

"Yeah," Ricky smiled.  "Yeah, that's what I want.  That's why I came to see you, Nurse Dixie.  You're really smart."

 

Dixie chuckled.  "I don't know if I'm really smart, but I have helped a few sick people in my day.  So how about it?  Why don't you tell me what's wrong with Billy."

 

Ricky thought a moment.  He tried his best to categorize the injuries and ailments he'd observed on the man in the fort.

 

"He has a big ankle."

 

"Like a sprained ankle?"

 

"Yeah.  A sprained ankle.  Billy sprained his ankles a lot playing football."

 

"Well, you elevate a sprain. . .rest it on some pillows."

 

"I already did that."

 

"Good for you," Dixie praised, as she indulged Ricky in this game of 'let's pretend.'  "Then you put an ice pack on it."

 

"Ice?"

 

"It will help reduce the swelling."

 

"Okay.  I can do that," Ricky nodded.  "Billy is hot, too."

 

"Like he has a fever?"

 

"Yeah.  A fever.  He has a fever."

 

"Then you wipe his face down with a cool cloth and give him plenty of liquids to drink.  Water or fruit juice."

 

"We have apple juice at home.  It’s Billy's favorite.  It's my favorite, too.  Is that okay?"

 

"That's fine.  Anything else?"

 

"Billy has some bumps on his head, and I don't think he can see so good.  Like a con. . .con. . .con. . ."

 

"Concussion?"

 

"Yeah.  I don't know what that is, but I learned about it on Marcus Welby, MD last week."

 

Dixie smiled at the reference to the popular TV show.  "In the case of a concussion, you need to wake your patient up every hour.  It's important that he can state his name, tell you where he's at, and tell you something simple that everyone should know. . .like who the president is."

 

"Oh."  Ricky frowned.  "What if I don't know who the president is?"

 

Dixie laughed.  "It's President Nixon.  President Richard Nixon.  Can you remember that?"

 

"Sure.  Richard.  That’s easy.  His first name is the same as mine.”

 

"That's a good way to recall it."

 

 Before she could offer Ricky further advice on what to do regarding a concussion for his hypothetical patient, he continued. 

 

"And his arm and leg have lots of cuts.  And I think his shoulder hurts real, real bad. It might be dis. . dis. ."

 

"Dislocated?"

 

"Yeah.  That's the word."

 

"Did you learn that on Marcus Welby, too?"

 

"Nope.  Billy told me about it when I tried to help him fix his shoulder last night."

 

Dixie's brow furrowed.  "You tried to help him fix his shoulder?"

 

"Yeah. After I hid him in the fort."

 

"Hid him in the fort?"

 

" 'Cause that mean Mark was after him, Nurse Dixie.  And Jim, too!  They were gonna kill Billy!  They were beating him up, so I had to scare 'em off and then hide Billy in--"

 

Now Dixie knew Ricky was completely immersed in a fantasy world.  He sounded like a nine-year-old boy telling a tall tale.  Before he had a chance to relay anymore of his story Betty poked her head in the lounge.

 

"Dix, Doctor Early needs to see you."

 

"Thanks.  Tell him I'll be right there."

 

"Okay," Betty acknowledged.  "Hi, Ricky."

 

"Hi." 

 

Betty left the lounge followed by Dixie and Ricky. 

 

"Is there anything else I should do for Billy, Nurse Dixie?"

 

"No.  Nothing that I can think of."  Dixie glanced at her watch.  "You'd better head back to work, Ricky.  You've been here fifteen minutes already.  I don't want you to get in trouble."

 

"Yes, Ma'am."

 

Ricky hurried from the building with a spring to his step.  Nurse Dixie had told him what to do for Billy, and now he could make his brother better.  Now he could show God he was grateful to Him for sending Billy back to earth. 

 

Ricky stood in front of Rampart waiting for the ten o'clock bus that would take him home.  Despite a nagging voice in the back of his mind, he refused to think of the man who'd just been featured on the TV newsbreak. The man named Johnny who was missing, and who was also Nurse Dixie's friend.

 

 

Chapter 16

 

 

Mark LaBlond trotted out a side door of Wild Valley High School.  He kept one hand in the right pocket of his faded denim jacket as he ran across the parking lot.   As his feet hit the grass of the school’s athletic field he spotted Jim standing beneath the metal bleachers.  Mark ducked under the silver supporting cross-bars.  He put a hand on Jim’s back, urging his friend deeper into the hiding spot the bleachers created.

 

“Okay, I’ve got a plan.”

 

“What kind of a plan?”

 

“A plan that will get us to the canyon after school.”

“I told you on the phone last night that I’m grounded.  I’m not allowed to go anywhere after school but home.”

 

“Neither am I.  But I’ve got an idea.”

 

“What?

 

“For me, it’s pretty simple.  This is Tuesday, and on Tuesdays my mom does volunteer work at the library.  She won’t be home until five-thirty.  My old man doesn’t get home until six.  I’m supposed to go home right after school, too, but they’ll never know whether I did or not as long as I make it back before Mom’s car pulls in the driveway.”

 

“But what about me?” Jim asked.  “My mom doesn’t volunteer anywhere.  She’ll be home waiting for me.”

 

“Call her from the pay phone in the cafeteria and tell her Mrs. Crable wants you to work on the mural after school.”

 

“I don’t know,” Jim wrinkled his nose with doubt.  “I’m not sure she’ll go for it.”

 

“Of course she’ll go for it!  Your mom loves your artwork, man!  Besides, the mural is like school work, and if you’re doing school work then that’s not really breaking any grounding rules, is it?”

 

Jim contemplated his friend’s words.  He was a talented artist, and his mother was proud of his skills.  His father, on the other hand, would rather that he play football, or baseball, or run track.  If he had to make this request of his dad, Jim knew he’d be told to forget the mural for the next two weeks and get his butt home.  His mother, however. . .his mother was a different story.  She knew he’d put months of time in already sketching out the mural that was being painted in the vast entrance foyer of the school.  She also knew Jim, and a group of other Advanced Art students, were about ready to begin painting in the forms they’d sketched on the walls with heavy leaded drawing pencils.

 

Jim gave a slow nod of his head.  “She might believe me.”

 

“She’ll believe you,” Mark assured.  “She’ll believe you and tell you it’s okay.”

 

“But I’ll have to be home a little after five.  She knows they lock the school up at five.”

 

“Don’t worry.  You’ll be home.”  Mark took his right hand out of his pocket.  He displayed the silver Smith and Wesson revolver he’d taken from his father’s gun case that morning.  “What we gotta do won’t take us long.”

 

Jim swallowed hard as he stared at the gun.  He watched Mark secrete it in his pocket again as the bell rang indicating the end of fifth hour.  They’d have just five minutes to reach their next class before the tardy bell.  As the boys emerged from beneath the bleachers, then jogged toward the school building, Jim wondered how he’d gotten himself into this mess, and if there was any way to get out of it now short of killing that fireman.

 

_________________

 

 

Ricky swiped at the sweat on his forehead with his shirtsleeve, then used the same sleeve to swipe beneath his eyes.  He wasn’t a baby.  He shouldn’t be crying. 

He wanted to be brave like Billy and do the right thing, only now doing the right thing was growing more difficult to achieve.  He’d lied so much already.  To his mother.  To his boss.  To Nurse Dixie.  And worst of all, to himself.  And because of all those lies, the man was sicker, weaker than he had been when Ricky had left him that morning. 

 

After talking to Dixie the twenty year old had returned to the fort with renewed vigor.  He carried an ice bag with one hand, and two canteens from the camping gear that was stored on a shelf in the garage.  The gear hadn’t been used since Billy had gone to Vietnam.  One canteen was filled with cold water, while the other held apple juice.  Ricky would do the things Nurse Dixie said.  He’d put ice on Billy’s ankle, and wipe his face with a cool cloth, and make him drink apple juice, and wake him up every hour.  Ricky had even wound his watch so there was no chance it would stop.  But after three hours passed, and Ricky had done all the things many times over that Nurse Dixie told him to, Billy still wasn’t getting any better.  He was hot.  He was restless.  He grimaced as though it hurt him no matter where Ricky touched him.  He couldn’t swallow the apple juice Ricky tried to get him to drink.  Instead, it dribbled out the sides of his mouth and ran down to be absorbed in his blood stained shirt. But most importantly, when Ricky asked Billy his name he no longer even said, “John.”  He didn’t say anything.  He just looked at Ricky through half-open eyes that didn’t appear to be able to focus any longer, and when Ricky asked him who the president was he mumbled, “Roy?” in a hopeful sort of voice as though whoever Roy was, he could be of help.

 

“No.  That’s wrong,” Ricky said for the seventh time.  “It’s Richard Nixon.  Richard, like my first name.  Can you say it’s Richard Nixon?  Can you say the president is Nixon?”

 

“Ro. . .Roy?”

 

“I don’t know any Roy!”  Tears ran down Ricky’s face as despair overwhelmed him.  He’d done wrong.  He’d been bad.  He’d done so wrong and been so bad that this man. . .Johnny. . .that Johnny might die.  “Please, tell me who Roy is and I’ll get him!  Please tell me how to help you!”

 

Johnny wasn’t sure what kept him from answering; his parched throat, or the fact that he couldn’t make sense of what the young man was saying.  He sensed that his caregiver was upset, but he didn’t know why, nor how to rectify the situation.  The best he could do was ask for the one person who would make sense of it all. 

 

“Roy?  Get. . .Roy.”

 

Ricky grabbed fistfuls of his own hair and yanked with frustration.  “I don’t know any Roy!  I already told you I don’t. . .” the young man calmed as a thought came to him.  “But Nurse Dixie.  I know her.  I can get Nurse Dixie!”

 

Why the name Dixie was familiar to him Johnny couldn’t recall, but somehow he was aware that she could help him in much the same way Roy could.

 

“Dix. . .yes.  Please. . .Dix.”

 

“Okay.  I’ll go get her right now.”

 

Ricky studied his patient. His lips were dry and cracked, his face as pale as the sheets on Ricky’s bed that his mother washed in Clorox Bleach.  Dried blood matted his hair in clumpy tufts on his head.  His ankle was as big as a birthday party balloon, and the torn skin surrounding the scrapes on his left arm and leg were now Stop Sign red.  Every few seconds the paramedic would claw at his right arm, as though forgetting how much it hurt to touch it, while at the same time the constant pain being so severe all he wanted to do was the fix the arm like he’d try to do the night before. Ricky was afraid his patient was sick enough that Johnny might die before he returned with Nurse Dixie.  He chewed on his lower lip, wondering what he could do to prevent that.  When his eyes fell on the trunk he jumped to his feet.  He scooped everything off the top, transferring grocery bag, towels, First Aid kit, and thermoses to the floor.  He opened the trunk’s lid and dug until he found the velvet case.  He pulled the case out, yanked it open, and reached for the medal resting inside.

 

Ricky bent down to pin the medal on the paramedic’s shirt.

 

“This was Billy’s medal.  It means he was very brave.   It’s. . .it’s my fault that you’re here in my fort and that you’re sick.  That’s why I gotta give you Billy’s medal.  So you’ll be brave while I’m gone.  You have to be alive when I get back with Nurse Dixie, okay?  Please. . .Bil. . .Johnny, you have to be alive.”

 

By the time the paramedic forced his eyes open Ricky was gone.  Johnny’s left hand rose to his chest.  He fingered the medal.  A slight frown tugging at his mouth signaled his confusion over where the Silver Star came from and what it was for.  Garbled words Johnny could make little sense of echoed in his aching head. 

 

That’s why I gotta give you Billy’s medal.  So you’ll be brave while I’m gone.  You gotta be alive when I get back with Nurse Dixie, okay?  Please. . .Bil. . .Johnny, you gotta be alive.”

 

John Gage knew it takes far more than a medal to make a man brave.  And as for still being alive when his caregiver returned. . .well, the last thing he was willing to do was make a promise he might not be able to keep.

 

 

Chapter 17

 

 

Roy DeSoto stood at the nurse’s station sipping a cup of coffee.  Dixie eyed the man with concern.  He looked tired.  But more than that, he looked completely dejected.  As though, in less than forty-eight hours time, he’d lost all hope of Johnny ever being located.

 

“He’ll be found, Roy,” Dixie said with an assurance she didn’t necessarily feel inside.

 

Roy finally spoke the thoughts he’d kept from Charlie Dwyer earlier that morning.

 

“Yeah, eventually I suppose.  But in what condition?”

 

Dixie didn’t answer that question.  In part, because she had no answer for it, and in part because, like Roy, she didn’t want to dwell on the numerous responses available since none of them were good.

 

The paramedic set his coffee cup aside and leaned against the wall that separated the nurses’ area from the enclosed base station.  Roy massaged his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger before letting his right hand flop to his side. 

 

“Joanne and I searched all the roads Chet assigned me and then some.”

 

“Joanne went with you?”

 

“Yeah.  I picked her up after I got off work this morning, then dropped her back at home before I came here.  School lets out at three-thirty so someone had to be there for the kids.”

 

“Neither of you spotted anything?”

 

“No.  Not that I expected we would, to tell you the truth.  I mean, it was a long shot at best.  Not only did we drive along the roads, we also parked the car and walked quite a ways.  We even hiked down into the canyons calling Johnny’s name, searching under brush, and looking for any sign of an accident.  But there was nothing.  No skid marks.  No parts from a motorcycle or a car.  No bent guardrails.  Nothing.” 

 

“Maybe one of the other guys will have better luck.”

 

“Maybe.  But Cap told us to call into the station every couple hours and leave a message with B-shift.  I just checked in when I got here.  So far, neither Cap, Mike, or Chet has had any luck either.”

 

“What about Marco?”

 

“So far no one’s heard from him, which I assume means he hasn’t run across anyone who saw Johnny.  We’re all supposed to meet back at the station at five.”

 

Now Dixie understood what had brought Roy to Rampart.  He was at a loss as to where else to look for Johnny, so was killing time with her until he was forced to return to Station 51 and say that exact thing out loud to his shift mates. 

 

“What about the woman Johnny went to see?  Annie?  Has anyone heard from her?”

 

Dixie’s mistake brought a small smile to Roy’s face as he remembered the conversation the he, the nurse, and Johnny had right here at this same counter just ten days earlier.

 

“Amy.  And yeah, department headquarters got a call from her shortly after lunch time.”

 

“What’d she say?”

 

“A friend alerted her to the news broadcast about Johnny the department had running on a San Bernardino station so she caught the noon edition.  She told Lieutenant Shonbeck. . .the guy in charge of personnel, that Johnny left her apartment about five minutes after twelve on Monday morning.  As far as she knew he was headed to his own apartment.”

 

“Which means he should have been home no later than two barring complications.”

 

“Yeah,” Roy agreed.  “I don’t know where in San Bernardino Amy lives, but that would be about right.”

 

Their conversation came to a halt as the nursing shift change ensued.  Dixie spent a few minutes going over things with the woman taking her place.  When she was finished she turned in the direction of the women’s locker room.

 

“Let me get my purse and jacket.  Then we can walk out together.  Unless you were planning to stay here a while longer.”

 

“No,” Roy shook his head.  He glanced at the clock to see it was three minutes after four.  “I might as well head to the station.”

 

Roy waited at the end of the corridor for Dixie.  When she returned she was wearing a lightweight navy jacket over her uniform, and had the long strap of her purse slung over her right shoulder.  The pair walked out of the building together, both of them squinting slightly when the sun assaulted their eyes.  They paused, standing together a moment at the juncture of the employee parking lot where Dixie’s car was parked, and the visitor’s lot where Roy’s car was parked.

 

“Please call me after you meet with the guys.  I’d really like to know if anything was discovered regarding Johnny’s whereabouts.   I’ll be home all night.”

 

“I’ll call you,” Roy agreed. “Unless they have some news, I should get home around six.  I’d go back out and look for Johnny, but unless Chet has some other ideas I just don’t know where to beg--”

 

“Nurse Dixie!  Nurse Dixie!  Nurse Dixie, wait!  I have to talk to you about Billy!”

 

Together, Roy and Dixie turned at the sound of the voice hailing the woman.  Dixie gave an inward groan.  She genuinely liked Ricky Mason, but it had been a long day and she was tired.  Her worry over Johnny had kept her from sleeping well the night before.  She was looking forward to getting home, soaking in a warm bubble bath, eating supper, and going to bed early.  She wasn’t in the mood for anymore of Ricky’s nonsense, but did her best to smile as he approached.

 

“Hi, Ricky.  I missed you at lunch today.”  The nurse glanced at her watch and frowned. “Aren’t you usually home by now?”

 

“I didn’t go to work today.  I lied to Mr. Olson. . .my boss, when I called him and said I was sick.”

 

“You lied?”

 

“Yes.  Because of Billy.”

 

“Ricky. . .”  the nurse lightly scolded.

 

“Nurse Dixie, I really need to talk to you.” 

 

“About Billy?”

 

“Well. . .yeah. . .”  Ricky’s eyes dropped to the pavement.  “Sort of.”

 

“Ricky, why don’t you let me give you a ride home.  Maybe you and I should talk with your mom and tell her how you’re feeling today about Billy.  I think that will help, don’t --”

 

Ricky’s head snapped up.  He couldn’t wait any longer.  He interrupted the nurse with frantic urgency.

 

“I tried everything you said.  I really did!  But he’s still hot, and he won’t stay awake, and I can’t get him to drink apple juice, and his arm hurts him so bad, and he doesn’t know the president is Richard like my first name!”

 

Roy’s eyes shifted from this young man he didn’t know to Dixie.  It was obvious to the paramedic that Dixie shared a friendship with Ricky, and also obvious that Ricky was mentally disabled. Roy had to listen hard to understand the thick, and sometimes garbled words, Ricky spoke. Although Roy didn’t want to intrude on a private conversation, he thought he’d better stick around to make certain the frenzied man wasn’t out to harm the nurse.

 

Dixie put an arm around Ricky’s shoulders.  She could feel him trembling beneath her touch.

 

“Ricky, come on.  Let me take you home.”

 

“Please, Nurse Dixie, please!  You gotta help him.”  Ricky jerked away from the woman.  Tears ran down his face as he beseeched the nurse and the man standing with her.  “I know I did wrong.  I know I shouldn’t have lied!  I. . .first I thought God sent Billy back to me.  I really did!  I thought it was a miracle, and if I helped Billy get well, then he could stay with us forever and ever.  Only. . .only I know now that I was just pretending, and that it’s wrong to pretend.  He’s not Billy.  Don’t you see!  He’s  not Billy!”

 

“No, Ricky, I don’t see,” Dixie said softly in an effort to calm the distraught young man.  “Are you just pretending Billy is hurt and you’re taking care of him?  Is that what you’re telling me?”

 

“No!  I mean yes!  I mean. . .”  Ricky wrung his hands.  “I mean, yes I was pretending he was Billy, but no, I’m not pretending to take care of him.  He’s hurt bad, and he says the president’s name is Roy, and that I should get Roy, only I don’t know any Roy!”

 

Although Roy himself was still confused, it suddenly clicked in Dixie’s mind as to just who Ricky might be talking about when he referred to ‘Billy.’ 

“Ricky, just who are you taking care of?”

 

“He says. . .he says his name is John.  Johnny.”  Ricky started crying harder now.  “I think he’s your friend Johnny, Nurse Dixie.  I think he’s your friend Johnny, because when I told him I’d come get you he said, ‘Yes. Dix,’ and I think he meant you.”

 

At those words Dixie quickly considered her options.  The nurse contemplated telling Roy to go back to the ER and get Kelly Brackett, but then she remembered Brackett was in surgery.  Getting Joe Early was out of the question because he’d already gone home for the day, and as far as Mike Morton went, he’d been with a patient in treatment room one when Dixie went off-duty.  Besides, there’d been a lot of publicity regarding Johnny’s disappearance in the past twenty-four hours.  It was still possible that Ricky was playing a game of ‘pretend,’ and that wherever he was taking them wouldn’t lead them to Johnny.  Dixie didn’t want to pull a doctor out of the hospital on a wild goose chase.  She knew Roy was having the same thoughts when he said, “I’ll follow you in my car.  If this does have to do with Johnny we can call for a paramedic unit and an ambulance from the nearest house.”

 

“You can call from my house,” Ricky volunteered.  “He’s in my fort.  Mine and Billy’s fort.  It’s not far from where me and my mom live.”

 

Roy gave a terse nod to the young man as he ran for his car.  Dixie put a hand on Ricky’s back and urged him around to the passenger side of her red Mustang.  She ran to the driver’s side, slid behind the wheel, and started the car.  She watched for Roy, and when she saw the Porsche turn down her parking aisle Dixie backed out of her spot and headed for the nearest exit.  When she got on the main highway she was forced to rely on Ricky for directions to Lawrence Canyon. 

 

The nurse kept a close eye on her rear view mirror to make certain she didn’t lose Roy in rush hour traffic.  She prayed, for Ricky’s sake, that he wasn’t lying to her and Roy.  Then she prayed that if Ricky had, in fact, found John Gage, that the man could hold on just a little while longer.

 

Hang in there for me, Johnny.   

 

Dixie turned off on the road Ricky indicated.  She pressed down on the accelerator, increasing her speed as the Porsche on her tail urged her along. 

 

Help is on the way, Johnny.  Help is on the way.

 

Dixie imagined that the man in the car behind her was thinking similar thoughts as she gave the little Mustang even more gas, and pushed the speedometer to sixty.

 

_________________

 

The apple stopped mid-way to Kathleen Cahill’s mouth.  She was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a snack while reading the newspaper that had been delivered as she’d arrived home from school.  She’d just finished the front page article on the missing paramedic.  Though she didn’t know for certain, she suspected he was the man Mark hit on Monday morning.

 

Mark hadn’t called Kathy the previous evening at the drugstore like he’d promised he would.  She’d wanted to call him when she got home, but her stepfather didn’t allow her to call boys.  To make matters worse, Tom. . .Kathy’s stepdad, didn’t like Mark.  There was only one phone in the house, mounted on the wall between the kitchen and the living room, meaning Kathy’s ability to have a private conversation was almost impossible.  Aside from her mother and stepfather living in the house, she also had three younger half sisters ages three, five, and eight.   Her mother was out in the backyard playing with them right now.  Kathy could hear the shrieks and giggles coming from the elaborate swing set and jungle gym Tom had built.

 

Kathy read the article again.  It said the missing man was a Los Angeles County Firefighter/Paramedic, and the latest word was that he’d last been seen leaving his girlfriend’s San Bernardino apartment a few minutes past twelve on Monday morning.  The teenager did a quick mental calculation.  She knew it was possible that John Gage might have been traveling Lawrence Canyon road at the same time she and the boys were.  When she’d cornered Mark in school that morning to ask if he and Jim had found anything when they’d searched the canyon Monday afternoon she thought he seemed nervous.  He wouldn’t look at her, and his answer was nothing more than a rushed, “Yeah, we looked.  Didn’t find anything though.  Told you we wouldn’t.”

 

“How come you didn’t call me at the drugstore to tell me that?  I asked you to.”

 

“Got in some trouble with my old man.  I’m grounded from using the phone.”

 

“What kind of trouble?”

 

“Oh, just the usual stuff.  Not doing my chores, bad grades, smarting back. . .you know.” 

 

“But this happened after you went to the canyon?  I mean, you did look for the man, right?”

 

Mark got mad then.

 

“Kath, I said we looked, okay?  We looked!”  The bell rang then, signaling the start of classes. “I gotta go.  See you later.”

 

Kathy had never known Mark to be so anxious to get to a class.  She watched him run down the hallway, then disappear around a corner.  She thought his behavior was strange, and even more so when lunch time came and he never appeared in the cafeteria.  Unlike some of the boys who skipped out of lunch to have a smoke somewhere on campus where they hoped the assistant principal wouldn’t catch them, Mark never missed lunch.  He said it was the best part of the whole school day.  He and Jim always sat with Kathy, but today they were nowhere to be found.  Mark didn’t sit next to her in eighth hour study hall either, like was normally the case.  When the bell rang signaling the end of school he would have left the building without saying goodbye if she hadn’t caught up with him and Jim outside the main entrance doors.

 

“Hey, guys!  Wait up!”

 

Mark was slow in turning around.  “I gotta get going, Kath.”

 

“Going where?”

 

“Home.  I told you, I’m grounded.  Besides, I’ve got a lot of homework to do.”

 

Kathy turned to Mark’s friend.  “What about you, Jim?  Wanna walk home with me?  Maybe stop at the Dairy Queen for a shake or something?”

 

Jim’s eyes had darted to his friend.  “Uh. . .no.  No, I can’t.  I’ve got a lot of homework to do, too.”

 

“But--”

 

Mark interrupted his girlfriend.  “Listen, we don’t have time to talk right now.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah. . .okay.  See you tomorrow.”

 

Kathy stood with her books clutched against her chest, watching as the two boys took off running.  She thought it was strange that they carried no schoolbooks of their own, nor spiral notebooks, or folders.  After all, if they both had so much homework to do they wouldn’t be leaving the school empty handed. 

 

The teenager pondered the boys’ odd behavior on her walk home.  Now that she had read the newspaper article she got a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach.  Had the boys read it, too, and were they out searching for the man?  Or had they found him and. . .and what?  Were they hiding him?  Was Mark afraid to come forward and say he’d caused the accident that sent the motorcycle skidding down the road?  Or was the man dead and were the boys getting rid of the evidence?

 

Kathy shook this last thought off.  She didn’t think Mark would try to keep something like that a secret, but. . .well, she was aware Mark had a dark side.  If it wasn’t that her stepfather made his dislike of Mark so openly known, maybe Kathy wouldn’t even be dating him.  She had to admit, Mark LaBlond wasn’t really her type.  Yes, he was cute and funny and adventuresome, but Kathy knew they didn’t have much in common.  She was a good student, while Mark couldn’t care less about school.  She was a hard worker, while Mark was on the lazy side.  She didn’t like getting in trouble, while Mark always seemed to be looking for it. 

 

The teen stared down at the picture of the missing paramedic.  If she knew something that might help the police find him it wasn’t right for her not to make them aware of it.  The man. . .John Gage was his name according to the paper, surely had people in his life who cared about him and were worried about him.  Maybe she’d be making a fool of herself if she did call the police.  Maybe Mark really hadn’t hit anyone, and all Kathy would gain was trouble.  After all, if she called the police then the story of the stolen Cadillac and the drunken boys would come out. 

 

The girl sat at the table another fifteen minutes thinking the situation through.    She finally put her uneaten apple back in the fruit bowl and stood.  She carried the paper with her and crossed to the phone.  She dialed the number for the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department listed at the bottom of the article.  When a woman answered, Kathy said, “Hi.  Uh. . .hi.  I. . .I need to talk to someone about the missing fireman.  John Gage.  I. . .I might know where he’s at.”

 

_________________

 

Johnny roused to the sound of distant voices and feet crashing through the brush.  Vague memories came forth of an assault with a club of some kind. The paramedic’s eyes roamed the dim interior of the structure that had become his home.  Even if there was a place to hide in the small cabin, Johnny knew he was no longer physically capable of moving on his own.  As the door burst open the paramedic steeled himself for what was to come, while praying the end would be quick.

 

Chapter 18

 

The name, “Johnny!” echoed off the walls of the fort as it was exclaimed in unison by Dixie and Roy.  The nurse supposed their surprise at actually finding their missing friend came from the fact that neither she nor Roy fully believed Ricky was really leading them to John Gage.  As the trio hiked down the canyon there was still a part of Dixie that believed this story of Ricky’s was a figment of his imagination prompted by the news stories about Johnny, combined with his desire to have his deceased brother brought to life again.  But the battered man propped against the far wall was not a figment of Richard Mason’s imagination.  Nor was he figment of Dixie McCall’s or Roy Desoto’s imaginations.

 

Regardless of whether she’d believed Ricky or not, Dixie had the foresight to bring the medical bag she carried in her car.  She and Roy made use of what the bag held as they worked together to take Johnny’s blood pressure, pulse, respiration rate, and temperature.  All the while Roy kept up a steady stream of conversation with his partner, attempting to get Johnny to respond to him.

 

“Johnny?  Johnny, can you hear me?”

 

Johnny winced as his head rolled back and forth against the wall.  Roy stopped the movement by placing both his hands on either side of Johnny’s face. 

 

“Johnny?” 

 

The injured man squinted up.  It took him a long moment to bring the shadows in front of him into fuzzy focus. When Johnny finally found his voice it came out in a harsh croak that was barely audible.

 

“Ro. . .Roy?”

 

“Yeah, partner, it’s me.  Dixie didn’t want to miss the tour of your new home away from home, so she came along, too.”

 

Johnny squinted harder.  He could discern the bright white of a nurse’s uniform, and was able to tell the woman wearing it had her long hair clasped back in a large gold barrette.  The face was indistinguishable from this distance, but he muttered, “Dix?”

 

Johnny felt a gentle hand pat his right kneecap.  “Yes, Johnny.  It’s Dixie.”

 

“I. . .I’m sor. . .sorry, Dix.”

 

“Sorry for what?”

 

“Forgot. . .forgot my hel. . .helmet.”

 

Again, a pat to the knee and the woman’s voice.  “Don’t you worry about that right now.”

 

The nurse looked at Roy.  “We need that squad and ambulance you were talking about earlier.”

 

Roy nodded.  “I’ll call Rampart, too, so someone knows what’s going on.”

 

“Ask for Kel,” Dixie instructed.  “He should be out of surgery by now.  If not, see if Mike’s available.”

 

“I will.”

 

From where he still stood in the open doorway Ricky asked,  “Is Johnny gonna be all right?”

 

Dixie smiled at the young man, mindful that Johnny could hear what she was saying.  How well he’d process it she didn’t know, but she made sure to keep her tone and words positive.

 

“Johnny will be fine.  We need to get him to Rampart though.  Can you take Roy to your house and let him use the phone?”

 

“Sure.”  Ricky gestured with a wave of his hand. “Come on, Roy.  My house is across the street from your car.”

 

“Ricky, can you bring me two clean bed sheets when you come back?” Dixie asked.

 

“What for?”

 

“So I can immobilize Johnny’s arm.”

 

“We tried to put his arm back like it should be.  Johnny tried to do it with my help, but we couldn’t.”

 

“That’s okay.  It’s not an easy job.  We’ll wait to try again until we get to the hospital.”

 

“But it hurts, Nurse Dixie.  It hurt Johnny a lot to try it.”

 

“I know.  But Doctor Brackett will give him some medicine so he doesn’t feel the pain.”

 

“Oh.  Okay.  That’s good.”

 

“You go with Roy now.”

 

Roy started to rise from the floor, only to have Johnny clutch at his arm with his left hand.

 

“Roy?”

 

“I’m going to call for a squad, Johnny.  I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

 

The injured man tried to push himself up.  “Go. . .I’ll go . .go, too.”

 

“No you won’t.”  Roy gently urged his friend back to the floor. He briefly wondered why a Silver Star was pinned to Johnny’s blood and vomit stained shirt, and wondered where it had come from, but knew those questions could wait until later.  “You just sit here and rest.  Dixie’s going to stay with you.”

 

“Dix?”

 

Johnny’s confusion was apparent.  How much of that was caused by his head injuries, versus how much was caused by his fever, dehydration, exhaustion, and pain, Roy didn’t know.  He did his best to calm the man.

 

“Dixie’s right here.  I’ll only be gone a few minutes.  Dix is gonna stay with you.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Roy, just go,” Dixie said softly.  “He’s probably not going to understand much of what’s going on for a couple days to come as it is.  We need to get him to Rampart.  He’s been out here without help for long enough now.”

 

Roy nodded.  This time when he stood Johnny didn’t try to stop him.  The injured man appeared to be unaware that his best friend had just left his side.  He remained quiet and only semi-conscious as Dixie more closely assessed his vast array of bruises, scrapes, bumps, cuts, and other wounds.

 

“And then you wondered why I passed on that motorcycle ride you offered me,” the nurse muttered as she examined the angry road rash on Johnny’s left arm and leg.   “John Gage, what am I going to do with you?”

 

In her mind Dixie saw a crooked grin and heard a little-boy contrite, “Sorry, Dix.”  She wished, in reality, she saw and heard the same things.  But, Johnny’s eyes were only half open and held none of their usual light or mischief.  Their dullness, and the slackness of his features, made Dixie say softly, “Hurry up with that phone call, Roy.  Hurry up.”

 

Chapter 19

 

Mark knew if he looked long enough he’d find it.  He’d always suspected Retard Ricky had some kind of hiding place here in the canyon, and there it was, a dilapidated old building nestled in a thick grove of trees and over grown bushes.

There was a trail through the grass starting where the fireman had been sprawled the day before that led right to the fort’s front door.  Mark put a hand on Jim’s chest and urged him to the ground.  When he spoke, he kept his voice pitched to a stage whisper, mindful that they were within thirty feet of the fort.

 

“I bet Retard Ricky’s got the guy in there.”

 

“Why?”

 

“How should I know why?  He’s retarded, man.  Really retarded.  Retards do stupid stuff.  I bet he was the one we heard yesterday pretending to be a bear.”

 

“But why would he pretend to be a--”

 

“I already told you I don’t know why.  What I do know is we gotta get rid of the guy.”

 

“What guy?  The fireman?  Or Retard Ricky?”

 

“The fireman first.  Retard Ricky second if he shows up and causes us any trouble.”  Mark pulled the Smith and Wesson out of his jacket pocket.  “Come on, let’s go.”

 

Because Jim couldn’t think of any way to stop what Mark was determined to do, he combat-crawled along side his friend toward the door of the fort.  As his elbows dug into dusty ground, Jim tried to convince himself that if the fireman was still breathing, he’d be better off dead than continuing to suffer until he finally passed away from his untreated injuries.  That didn’t stop Jim from pleading to a higher power, Let him be dead.  Please let him be dead already, as he crept for the door.

 

_________________

 

The cool, wet cloth Dixie was bathing Johnny’s face with brought him to awareness once again.  The paramedic’s eyes lethargically traveled the interior of the fort before landing on his favorite nurse.  He was still seeing her as a white blur, but he knew who his caregiver was.

 

“Didn’t know. . .didn’t know you made house. . .house calls.”

 

Dixie smiled.  “Only for my friends.”

 

“Sorry. . .sorry ‘bout this.  No. . .helmet.  Forgot.  I--”

 

“Johnny, don’t worry about it.”  Dixie poured more water from a thermos into the wash cloth she’d found in a paper grocery bag.  She began running the wet cloth over Johnny’s face again.  “Do you remember what happened?”

 

“I. . .I. . .” Johnny’s brow furrowed with concentration, which only made his headache worse.  God, but it seemed like he’d had that damn headache forever.  What he wouldn’t give for a couple aspirin.  “No. . .I. . .a car. . .bright. . .really bright lights.   Maybe?  I. . .I’m not sure.  Going too fast. . .the car.  It was going too fast.  But. . .I don’t. . .I’m not sure, Dix.  I don’t. . .I don’t. . .I don’t know for sure.”

 

“It’s okay,” Dixie soothed as Johnny became increasingly agitated at his inability to recall the accident.  “It doesn’t matter right now.  Roy is calling for a squad and ambulance.  You’ll feel better after you’ve had a few days of rest at Rampart.”

 

“Work?”  Johnny tried to sit up straighter, only to have Dixie hold him place.  “I. . .I’m supposed to be. . .I’m on-duty.  Gotta. . .gotta go.”

 

“Whoa there, hose jockey.  Take it from me, you’re definitely off-duty right now.”

 

“But Cap--”

 

“Captain Stanley knows where you’re at.  Or he will soon enough.”

 

“But I’ll be. . .be in trouble. . .trouble. . .AWOL. . .didn’t mean to not show up.  Tried to get outta. . .outta here but--”

 

“Johnny, Hank will understand.  Believe me, you won’t be in trouble.”

 

“No?”

 

“No.  When Hank gets his first look at you he’ll know exactly why you weren’t able to make it to work.  And if he doesn’t, I’ll be more than happy to explain it to him.”

 

A small smile pulled on the corners of Johnny’s mouth.  “Thanks. . .thanks, Dix.  You’re always. . .always watching out for me.”

 

“Someone has to,” Dixie teased. “And believe me, it’s almost more than one woman can handle on some days.”

 

This time the nurse was the recipient of that crooked grin.  Or at least as much of the grin as Johnny could muster.  And though there was little strength behind the words, she finally got her little-boy contrite, “Sorry, Dix,” in the way only John Gage could offer it.

 

The door flew open as Dixie was about to respond.  It banged against the inside wall, causing the nurse to swivel on her heels.  She was expecting to see Ricky and Roy, but instead found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.  Though Dixie’s heart threatened to flee from her chest, she immediately recognized her assailants were teenagers.  She hoped teenagers playing a bad joke.

 

“What’s the meaning of--”

 

The one wielding the gun yelled,  “Get away from him!”

 

“What?”

 

“Lady, can’t you hear?  I said get away from him!  Get away from that damn fireman!”

 

The sight of this second person in the fort, and the fact that she was a woman, dashed what little nerve Jim Keen possessed. 

 

“Mark, come on.  Let’s get outta here.”

 

“We’re not going anywhere until we do what we came to.”

 

“But her. . .the woman. . .”  Jim caught sight of Dixie’s uniform.  “The nurse.  We can’t--”

 

“Yes, we can.”

 

“Mark, we can’t just kill her!  We can’t--”

 

“You were willing to kill the fireman.”

 

“That was different.”

 

“How?”

 

“He’s. . .he was hurt.  Hurt and with no help.  He was gonna die anyway.   But now she’s here with him so--”

 

“So what?  We just leave?”  Mark glared at his friend. “We don’t just leave, Jimmy.  We can’t.  We came here to do a job and we’re gonna get it done.  This gun’s got enough bullets to take care of both Gage and the nurse.”

 

Dixie had no idea why these boys would want to kill Johnny, but she took an educated guess and came to the conclusion they might somehow have been involved in causing his accident.  If her conclusion was correct, then they’d showed up here today to get rid of the evidence.  

 

The nurse felt a hand clasp hers.  She looked down into Johnny’s bruised and drawn face.  He squeezed her right hand with his left.  Then, using her strength as a crutch, Johnny struggled to his feet. 

 

Rather than upset Mark, this action on the paramedic’s part amused him.  The man could barely stand, and it was obvious to the teen both sides of Gage’s body were crippling him.  His swollen left ankle didn’t allow him to put any weight on it, and his right arm dangled uselessly. 

 

“Wanna die like a man, huh, Mr. Paramedic?  Standing up.”

 

“Yeah,” Johnny rasped.  “Something. . .something like that, kid.”

 

Though moving was almost impossible for Johnny, he managed to hobble into a position that had his body half blocking Dixie’s.  When the woman tried to rectify this, Johnny gave her hand another squeeze.  With a firmness to his tone the nurse had never heard before he ordered, “No, Dix.”

 

Dixie supposed it didn’t make much difference which one of them died first.  The way Johnny was standing there was no doubt he was attempting to protect her, but the nurse knew his gallantry would do little good.  Considering the close range, there was no way the boy named Mark was going to miss either of his targets.

 

As the gun was aimed at Johnny’s chest, the nurse and the paramedic stood together waiting to die.

 

 

Chapter 20

 

 

Ricky's uneven gait caused him to stumble down the slope of the canyon.  He ran with all the speed and clumsy coordination he possessed, two folded white bed sheets tucked under one arm.

 

Ricky had listened while Roy summoned a paramedic squad and also requested an ambulance be sent.  Ricky tried to be patient while Roy waited to speak with Doctor Brackett next, but he was anxious to return to the fort and help Nurse Dixie.  Roy was still holding for Kelly Brackett when Ricky passed through the kitchen with the sheets.  He held them up.

 

"I'll take these to Nurse Dixie."

 

Roy gave the young man a distracted nod as he heard through the phone receiver,  "This is Doctor Brackett."

Ricky shot out the door as Roy identified himself to the doctor and began explaining the reason for his call.

 

The disabled man never stopped running.  It was his fault Johnny had gone without treatment for so long, and now he was determined to help in whatever way he could.  He didn't know how Johnny knew Doctor Brackett and Nurse Dixie, but Johnny was their friend, which meant Ricky was going to have face Kelly Brackett sooner or later and give a reason why he hadn't gotten help for Johnny right away.  Ricky dreaded that moment even more than he dreaded facing his mother over this issue.  But if nothing else, when he was forced to talk to Doctor Brackett he wanted to be able to tell the man that when he'd realized he'd done wrong he'd worked hard to make things right.  That he'd help Nurse Dixie and that man Roy make Johnny better.

 

Ricky's mother had often teased him about being a bull in a china shop when he was worked up about something.  What exactly a bull in a china shop did, Ricky wasn't sure, but he burst blindly into the fort shouting, "Nurse Dixie!  Nurse Dixie!" in much the same way he often burst blindly into his mother's kitchen while tripping over chairs, the mop bucket, the step stool, and anything else that might be in the way. 

 

Jim Keen never knew what hit him.  One second he was on his feet, the next he was flying across the room after being tackled from behind.  The teenage momentarily had the wind knocked out of him.  When he regained his breath and his footing he scrambled for the door.  He pushed the startled Ricky out of the way as he fled for freedom.  He didn’t know who else Ricky might have brought with him, and gun or no gun, wasn't about to wait and find out.

 

Though the distraction was minor, it was all Johnny needed.  Mark pivoted at Ricky's shout of, "Nurse Dixie!" That action took the gun off the teen's captives.  Just as Ricky had slammed into Jim's back, Johnny slammed into Mark's.  The paramedic's vision dulled to cloudy gray as agony screamed from his arm and ankle, but he willed himself to remain conscious as he tackled the boy and pinned him to the floor.

 

The force of Johnny's body battering into Mark caused the teen to lose his grip on the gun.  The Smith and Wesson flew through the air.  More by chance than by design, Ricky caught it as neatly as if he'd been fielding fly balls for the Dodgers his entire life.  He looked down at the gun.  At first he was startled at what had ended up in his hands, then the full ramification of what could have happened occurred to him.  He held the gun up and grinned from ear to ear.

 

"Nurse Dixie, it's just like playing Bonanza and I'm Little Joe again!"

 

"Here, Ricky, give me the gun!"

 

Ricky did as Dixie ordered.  Not since her years in the Army had Dixie held a firearm, but the necessities immediately came back to her. She quickly emptied the chamber and pocketed the bullets.   While Mark kicked, bucked, and elbowed in an attempt to dislodge Johnny from his back, Dixie pointed the empty gun at him, her finger poised on the trigger.

 

"That's enough, young man!"

 

Ricky thought it was so cool when the next words out of Nurse Dixie's mouth were, "Hold it right there, kid, or I'll shoot!"  Ricky knew there were no bullets in the gun, but that mean old Mark LaBlond didn't and Nurse Dixie sure pulled a good joke on him.  She was just like that pretty blond lady on Police Woman.

 

John Gage was certain he'd lost all grip on reality when he thought he heard Dixie shout at the struggling boy beneath him, "Hold it right there, kid, or I'll shoot!"  He took another elbow in the ribs, and one to his right arm that made him cry out, before the teenager's struggles began to abate.  The next thing Johnny was fully aware of was the fort filling with cops.  Explanations flew so fast he couldn't keep up with them. He finally felt hands grasp him around the mid-section and gently lift him off Mark's body.  The injured paramedic barely made it to a standing position before he collapsed into Roy DeSoto's arms, and the world around him faded to black.

 

 

Chapter 21

 

 

Five days later found John Gage resting comfortably at Rampart.  Or at least resting as comfortably as possible considering his assortment of injuries.  The first forty-eight hours of his hospitalization were a blur of hazy recollections.  He recalled regaining consciousness in a treatment room and having trouble accurately answering the questions Kelly Brackett asked of him.  Just getting his name out caused him to have to think hard.  When Johnny was asked what day it was, who the president was, or if he remembered what brought him to Rampart, he flunked royally.  He wasn't sure why he was so relieved when he spotted Roy standing off to his left, other than to say his friend's presence brought him a sense of security in what was otherwise a world of confusing images and memories.

 

At eight-thirty that night Brackett was able to tell the men of the A-shift, who were gathered in the ER waiting area, that Johnny had a severe concussion, a dislocated right shoulder, a sprained left ankle, a nasty case of road rash extending from his left biceps to his left shin, three gashes to his skull that had taken numerous stitches to close, and a temperature of one hundred and two.  The good news amongst all this was, the doctor expected his paramedic to make a full recovery given time, rest, and proper treatment.

 

Johnny had vague memories he'd rather not possess of the shoulder being put back in place.  He knew he'd been held down by an ape of a guy he hoped to never encounter again.  Though he'd been given enough diazepam to relax an elephant, he would have flown right off that table had the ape and Roy not been hanging onto him for Doctor Robbins, the orthopedic specialist Kelly Brackett had consulted. 

 

That first night in the hospital was a long one for John Gage.  He was awakened every hour for a neuro check, and in-between that his fever kept him restless and plagued by bad dreams.  The next night proved to be far better.  He stayed awake through a portion of a visit made by Roy and Joanne right after supper, but fell asleep while the couple was talking to him.  He didn't wake up until eleven o'clock the next morning.  During that time he slept through numerous vitals checks, and a brief examination done by Kelly Brackett as he made morning rounds.

 

By Sunday, his fifth day at Rampart, Johnny's fever had been mastered thanks to antibiotics and an IV of saline that assisted in rehydrating his system.  If he continued to improve at the rate he was Brackett was going to release him on Tuesday.  Because of his ankle, and the right arm that was encased in a sling, Johnny was going to have a hard time getting around for a while.  However; his apartment was small and easy to maneuver in, and his landlady volunteered to check on him several times a day.  In addition to that the guys from the A-shift had offered him whatever help he needed, not to mention the assistance Joanne and Dixie would readily give if necessary.

 

On Friday afternoon Doctor Brackett had allowed Johnny to give a statement to the police.  The paramedic still didn’t have a clear memory of the accident.  He was able to tell the detective questioning him that he left Amy’s apartment in San Bernardino at twelve-thirty on Monday morning, but shortly after that most recollection stopped.  When he was told he’d been traveling Lawrence Canyon Road Johnny merely shrugged. 

 

“If you say so.  I know I came home that way from Amy’s one other time, but I couldn’t tell you if that’s the road I took on Monday.”

 

Johnny could recall being beaten, but by whom he didn’t know other than to say, “Kids maybe?   A couple of teenage boys?”  And when asked how he’d gotten to the old fort he responded with more confidence, “Another person helped me.  A teenager. . .well, I’m not sure if he was a teenager or not.  He could have been in his early twenties.  I think. . .I think there was something wrong with him.  He might have been mentally handicapped.”

 

The next confident memories Johnny had was of Roy and Dixie arriving in the fort, and then of himself and Dixie being accosted by a teenager with a gun.  Johnny recounted his struggle with the teen, and even recalled Dixie shouting, “Hold it right there, kid, or I’ll shoot!”  After that his memory faded once again until the next thing he could recall was having his dislocated shoulder put back in place. Neither through facial expression nor words did the detective reveal how much of what the paramedic remembered was accurate or not.  Using a small notebook he recorded everything Johnny said, then thanked him for his time when Johnny’s story came to an end.

 

When Dixie got off duty on Sunday afternoon she rode the elevator to Rampart’s third floor and paid a visit to the dark headed half of her favorite paramedic team.  Kelly Brackett had given her permission to fill Johnny in on the events he couldn’t recall.  She brought several newspapers with her so he could read the accounts of his disappearance and eventual rescue.  Dixie sat in a chair next to Johnny’s bed, waiting patiently while he read the articles.  When he was finished he folded the papers and set them on the nightstand.  His only comment was an understated, “Wow.”

 

Dixie smiled.  “I’d say ‘wow,’ about sums it up.  We were really worried about you, Johnny.  Your partner. . .well, let’s just say it’s a given Roy barely ate or slept from the time he knew you were missing, until after Kel was able to assure him you were going to be all right.”

 

Johnny gave a thoughtful nod.  If their positions had been reversed, and it was Roy who had been missing, Johnny’s own upset would have been just as great as Dixie was telling him Roy’s was.

 

The nurse spent the next few minutes answering all the questions Johnny threw at her.  He found it hard to believe that a sixteen-year-old boy would go to such lengths to cover up his transgressions of stealing a car, drinking, and then getting in an accident, but unfortunately he knew that in the cases of some kids, such actions were a possibility. 

 

“What’s going to happen to the kid?  Mark did you say his name was?”

 

“Yes. Mark LaBlond.  As far as what will happen, I don’t know.  Once the police got all the kids rounded up who were in that stolen car with Mark the truth came out very quickly.  My understanding it that the lawyer Mark’s parents have hired advised that the boy plead guilty to all counts of criminal activity brought against him when he goes before a judge tomorrow.   I imagine he’ll spend time in a juvenile facility.  Maybe even go on to prison eventually.”

 

“He seems awfully young for prison.”

 

“Johnny, he was going to kill you.  He’d have killed both of us if he’d gotten the chance.”

 

“I know but. . .” 

 

Johnny let his sentence trail off because Dixie was right.  Regardless of the boy’s youth, he’d been intent on killing Johnny.  The paramedic knew the kid had to punished for that, not to mention punished for stealing an old man’s car and driving while under the influence of alcohol. 

 

“I hope that whatever the kid is sentenced to. . .a juvenile facility, prison. . .whatever, I hope it does him some good.  Helps him get his head on straight, you know?”

 

Dixie patted the man’s left hand.  “I know.  I hope so, too.”

 

Johnny pointed to the stack of newspapers.  “What about the guy who helped me the articles mention.  Ricky Mason?”

 

“Ricky’s fine.”

 

“I’d like to meet him sometime.  To thank him and all.”

 

“I think that can be arranged.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Sure.  Not only is Ricky a personal friend of mine and Kel’s, but it just so happens that he’s sitting in the waiting area right now with his mother.  He’d really like to meet you as well.”

 

“Then bring him in.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Sure I’m sure.  Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

“Johnny, are you aware that Ricky delayed in getting help to you?”

“The memories are kind of foggy in that regard, but yeah, I guess I’m aware of that.  But he’s mentally handicapped, right?”

 

Since the papers hadn’t mentioned that, Dixie knew Johnny must have some solid memories of his time spent with Ricky.

 

“Yes, he is.  Before I get him I want you to know that he realizes he did wrong by not getting help for you immediately, and that he feels very bad about that fact.”  Dixie chuckled.  “Probably feels even worse than he originally did now that Kel has finished lecturing him.”

 

“Doc Brackett let him have it, huh?”

“To some extent he did.”  Dixie then took the time to briefly explain Ricky’s situation, and what made him think Johnny was his deceased brother Billy.  “I believe Kel made it clear to Ricky as to what he needs to do if he ever runs across another person who’s in need of medical help.  Between Kel and Ricky’s mother Ellen, I don’t think Ricky will ever hesitate to do the right thing in the future.”

 

Having been on the receiving end himself of a couple of Brackett’s lectures in the past, Johnny doubted that as well.

 

“Go ahead, Dix,” the paramedic said.  “Bring Ricky in here.  Like I said, I wanna meet him.”

 

Ricky Mason was certain that the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his entire life was face Mr. Gage.  It was even harder than facing his mother on Tuesday afternoon when a police officer took him to her place of work, and even harder than facing Doctor Brackett an hour earlier. 

 

Ricky had sandwiched himself in-between Nurse Dixie and his mother as he was led into Johnny’s room.  He kept his eyes glued to the floor tiles.  He knew Mr. Gage was going to yell at him, and he knew he deserved to be yelled at, but he sure didn’t like it when he got himself into the kind of trouble that meant people were really mad at you.  Nurse Dixie stepped to the side so that Mr. Gage could see him.  The young man was surprised at the gentle tone that greeted him.

 

“Hi, Ricky.”

 

Ricky wouldn’t have found his voice to respond if his mother hadn’t poked him in the back.

 

“Hi. . .hello.”

 

“Sorry, but I can’t shake with my right hand at the moment.”

 

Ricky raised his eyes from the floor to see Mr. Gage extending his left hand to him.  He hesitated before taking the necessary steps forward that would bring him to the side of the man’s bed.  He gave the offered hand a quick shake. 

 

“Hi.  I’m John Gage.”

 

“I. . .I know. I. . .my name is Ricky.  Richard Edward Francis Mason.  Francis is my confirmation name.”

 

“That’s quite a mouthful.  Is it okay if I just call you Ricky?”

 

“It’s okay,” Ricky agreed.  “Everyone calls me Ricky except my mom when she’s mad at me.”

 

Johnny laughed.  “I know what you mean.  Moms tend to use middle names when they’re mad, don’t they?”

 

“Yes.”

 

When Ricky fell silent again Ellen Mason prompted.  “Ricky, didn’t you come here to say something to Mr. Gage?”

 

The young man’s eyes darted from his mother to Johnny.  A long pause followed. He swallowed hard, then began with the words he’d been rehearsing for three days.

 

“I. . .I’m really sorry that I didn’t get help for you, Mr. Gage.”

 

“Call me Johnny, please.”

 

“John. . .Johnny.  I’m really sorry.  I did wrong.  I lied to lots of people.  I shouldn’t have lied.  My mom told me why my lies only made things worse.  And Doctor Brackett. . .he told me that you only got sicker because of my lies.  I wanted you to be Billy.  I made a wish to God asking him to give Billy back to me, and for a little while I really thought that’s who were you.  Honest I did.  Cross my heart and hope to die honest I did.   But then. . .”  Ricky ran a hand over the bed railing while shuffling his feet back and forth.  “Then I knew you really weren’t Billy, and that’s when I should have told someone.”

 

“But you did tell someone.”

 

Ricky looked up and met Johnny’s gaze.  “Huh?”

 

“You told Dixie.  You came and got her, right?”

 

“Yeah.  But only after. . .”

 

“You came and got her, Ricky.  That’s what counts.  And now, because of what your mom and Doctor Brackett told you, you understand why not coming to get her sooner was wrong.  So, as far as I’m concerned, all is well that ends well.”

 

Ricky grinned.  “Does that mean you’re not mad at me, Johnny?”

 

“Nope.  I’m not mad.”

 

“And you’re not going to talk a long time at me with a frown on your face and in a loud voice like Doctor Brackett just did?”

 

Dixie laughed at that comment.  “Ricky, although I can assure you Johnny can talk a long time if he puts his mind to the task, he’s not one to frown very often.”

 

“Good.  ‘Cause Doctor Brackett was. . .” Ricky paused while he thought of the word he wanted to use.  “Stern.  He was stern like my dad used to be when I was a little kid and had done something wrong.”

 

Johnny grinned.  “Can’t say I’ve ever been accused of being stern, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

 

Ricky grinned in return.  Now he knew why Johnny was such a good friend of Nurse Dixie’s.  Maybe Johnny would be his friend, too.

 

Johnny pointed to the nightstand drawer.  “Open that up.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Just open it.  There’s something in there that belongs to you.”

 

“To me?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Ricky pulled the drawer open.  He reached in and took out the Silver Star, then looked at the injured paramedic.  “This is yours now, Johnny.”

 

“Why is it mine?”

 

“Because I gave it to you.  It used to be Billy’s.  He was a Marine in Vietnam.  He was very brave.  But he died.  I gave this medal to you so that you’d be brave too.  And you were.  You tackled that mean Mark so he wouldn’t shoot Nurse Dixie.”

 

“But from what Dixie tells me, you were the one got the gun.”

 

“Yep,” Ricky gave a satisfied grin.  “I’m just like Little Joe Cartwright.  Only that’s just pretend.  I’m not really brave.  Billy was brave.  You’re brave.  I’m not brave.  Only brave men get medals.”

 

Johnny’s eyebrows knit together as though he was in deep thought.  “You know, I think it takes a very brave man to help another man the way you helped me.”

 

“You do?”

 

“I sure do. You kept me safe from people who wanted to hurt me.  You found a place to hide me so that they couldn’t find me.  When you realized I needed help, you came all the way to Rampart and got Dixie.  And most important, when you saw that gun you didn’t run away, but instead you stayed to help Dixie in whatever way you could.  Not many men would have done for a stranger what you did for me.”

 

“Even if I started out doing wrong ‘cause I wanted you to be Billy?”

 

“Ricky, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to see your brother again.  I’m sure you miss him a lot.”

 

“I do.”

 

“But now you know the next time someone needs help you’re going to get it for them immediately, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“So hey,” Johnny shrugged his left shoulder nonchalantly, “we all make mistakes.  The important thing is that we learn from them.  The mistake you made doesn’t mean you’re not brave.”

 

“You really think I’m brave, Johnny?”

 

“I don’t think it, I know it.”

 

Ricky’s chest puffed out with pride.  He turned to look at his mother and the nurse.

 

“Did you hear that, Mom?  Johnny says I’m brave.”

 

Ellen smiled her thanks at the paramedic while saying, “I heard, Ricky.”

 

“Nurse Dixie, Johnny says I’m brave like Billy.”

 

“Well, if Johnny says it then it must be true.”

 

“I guess so.” 

 

Ricky was still beaming when Johnny instructed, “You take that medal home with you and keep it in a safe place.”

 

“I will.  Before, when I looked at the medal Johnny, I only thought of Billy.  Now I’ll think of you, too.”

 

“No, Ricky.  Think of yourself.  Remember everything you didn’t think you could do, only to find out you could.”

 

“You mean like pretend I was a bear in order to chase Mark away from you even though I was really scared?  And walk from the fort at night after I’d taken care of you even though I don’t like to be out in the dark?  And tell Nurse Dixie that I knew where her friend was, even though she’d be mad at me for not telling the truth when I said you were Billy?”

 

“Yes,” Johnny nodded.  “All those things and more.  Let the medal remind you of them each time you’re afraid to try something new, or afraid to do what you know is right.”

 

“Johnny, you’re the smartest man I’ve ever met. Smarter than Doctor Brackett even.”

 

Johnny laughed.  “Thanks.”  He caught Dixie’s eye. “Make sure you tell Roy what Ricky said.  Better yet, make sure you tell Chet.”

 

“I have a feeling I won’t need to,” the nurse teased.  “You’ll be on the phone to the station as soon as we leave the room.”

 

“You can bet on it, Dix.”

 

Ellen took a few moments to extend her own thanks to Johnny.  Aside from offering an apology for her son’s actions, the woman also apologized for thwarting Ricky’s phone call to the fire department on Tuesday morning.

 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gage.  If only I’d taken Ricky more seriously, help would have been on the way much sooner.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Johnny waved the apology aside.  “Dixie explained everything.  Believe me, I understand why you assumed that phone call wasn’t necessary.”

 

Ellen nodded, grateful for Johnny’s perceptiveness regarding her home life, then turned to her son.  “We need to go now, Ricky.  Doctor Brackett said we shouldn’t stay too long.  Mr. Gage needs to rest.  Say goodbye to him.”

 

“Goodbye, Johnny.”

 

Again the two men shook hands.

 

“Bye, Ricky.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome. But what are you thanking me for?”

Ricky held up the Silver Star.  “I made a wish.  I wished that Billy would come back to me, and I wished that I could be brave just like him.  Now I know that God can’t send Billy back, He needs Billy in Heaven to do brave things.  But you said I’m brave, too.  Like Billy.  So maybe I can do more brave things to help other people.”

 

“That’s a great idea, Ricky.  I’m sure your brother would be very proud of you.”

 

“And my dad.”

 

“And your dad, too.  Yes.”

 

Ricky pinned the medal to the pocket of his shirt.  He’d wear it until he got home, then he’d put it in its velvet case.  Only this time it wouldn’t be hidden in a trunk in the fort, but would instead be put on display in the bedroom he and Billy used to share. 

 

Ricky and his mother extended final good-byes and thank you’s, then left the room.  Dixie smiled at Johnny as he settled back against his pillows.

 

“What?” he asked the woman.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“What for?”

 

“For being so generous with Ricky.”

 

“Generous?”

 

“Johnny, not every man would have been so forgiving.  Regardless of the circumstances, Ricky could have gotten you help as long as twenty-fours prior to Roy and I arriving on the scene.”

 

“But that’s just it, Dix. There were circumstances, as you put it.  Ricky did what he thought was right at the time.  When he realized it wasn’t right, he came to get you.  I’m okay.  You’re okay.  So hey, what more can I ask for?”

 

“When you put it that way, not much I guess.”

 

“Nope, not much. Except for a new motorcycle maybe.”

 

“Johnny!”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re not thinking of getting another one, are you?”

“Well, sure.  Why not?”

 

Dixie gestured from the sling, to the ankle swathed in an Ace bandage and propped on two pillows, to bruises, bumps, stitches, and torn skin.  “I can give you several ‘why nots,’ if you really want to know.”

 

“Aw, Dix, come on.  The accident wasn’t my fault. Besides, I’ve been looking through those magazines Chet brought me and I’ve seen some really nice looking cycles.  Even got my eye on one I might take for a test drive after I’ve got use of both arms again.”

 

“Now you’re giving me reason to doubt Ricky’s words.”

 

“What words?”

 

“That you’re the smartest man he ever met.”

 

“That was low, Dix.  Real low.”

 

“Then stay away from motorcycles.”

 

There was no way John Gage would make anyone that kind of promise, not even Dixie McCall.  She shook her head as she walked toward the door.  When the paramedic hailed her with a, “Hey, Dix?” she paused and turned around.

 

Johnny’s eyes lit with mischief, and he didn’t even try to keep the flirtatious note from his tone.  He waggled his eyebrows as he asked,  “If I do get a new cycle, wanna go for a spin?”

 

John was shocked when he got an eyebrow waggle in return, capped by a wink. 

 

“You bet I do, tiger.  Just name the time and place.”

 

As the door closed behind the older woman, Johnny wasn’t certain if he was being teased or not.  But once he got that new Harley, he was sure going to find out.

 

Johnny grinned as he brought his left arm up and gingerly tucked it behind his head.  He thought of Dixie’s departing words, and the wink and throaty chuckle that came with them.

 

Yep, he was sure going to have fun finding out.  And before his fun began, Johnny just might have to make a wish or two of his own.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

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