Chapter 25

 

     Hank Stanley hadn’t slept well the night before, and it had nothing to do with the two runs the station had been toned out on during the early morning hours.  It wasn’t very often that Chief Robert Marcuson paid a visit to the stations under his command.  Generally he was holed up in his office at headquarters, and though not inaccessible, definitely a busy man.  Hank knew something was wrong the minute he saw the chief’s car pull up.  The man entered Station 51 through the front door, which meant he walked directly into Hank’s office.  In doing so, he bypassed the dayroom and apparatus bay where he was most likely to encounter the men of the A-shift. Hank stood to greet the tall, broad shouldered man with the short cropped salt and pepper hair. 

 

     “Chief,” Captain Stanley nodded. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

 

     The chief had indicated toward the other door in Captain Stanley’s office that opened into the apparatus bay.  “Shut the door please, Captain.”

 

     Hank did as the man requested.  As soon as the door was shut the formalities of ‘chief’ and ‘captain’ were dropped, to instead be replaced with the men referring to one another as “Bob,” and “Hank.”  Bob Marcuson was thirteen years Hank Stanley’s senior, and was the engineer at the first station Hank had been assigned to upon joining the fire department.  They hadn’t worked together for very long before Bob was promoted to captain and given command of

Station 65.  From there, he’d steadily advanced until reaching his current rank. 

 

     The expression, ‘it’s lonely at the top,’ not only applied to fire chiefs, but to station captains as well.  Bob Marcuson had not enjoyed relaying the reason of his visit to Hank Stanley, anymore than Hank was going to enjoy relaying the news to Johnny that the chief had brought.

 

     Hank, still dressed in his uniform, hovered in the doorway between his office and the apparatus bay.  B-shift had just come on duty and roll call was underway.  Hank was grateful when both the squad and engine were toned out a few seconds later.  With all the activity going on the men from the A-shift, who were exiting the locker room, didn’t see their captain.   As the vehicles rolled out of the bay with their sirens blaring Hank caught Roy’s eye and waved him over.  Roy gave a quick, “See you Friday,” to Paul, then walked toward his captain.   

 

     “Yeah, Cap?”

 

     “You got a couple minutes?”

    

     Roy glanced at his watch.  “Sure.  Just need to be home soon enough to get the lawn mowed before the kids are hanging on me with a baseball bat in one hand and a Frisbee in the other.”

    

     Hank smiled as he recalled when his own two daughters, now teenagers, were little girls who anxiously awaited his arrival after being away for twenty-four hours.  “The kids have something planned for this afternoon?”

     “A picnic in that little park a few miles from us. The one by the reservoir.”

 

     “Oh, yeah,” Hank nodded. “Nice place.  Well, I won’t keep you long then.  Let’s go in my office.”

 

     Roy wasn’t sure why they needed to go in the captain’s office considering there was no one else in the station, but he did as Hank requested.  When the man indicated to a chair across from his desk Roy sat down.  Hank perched on a corner of the desk while reaching behind him.

 

     “Chief Marcuson was here yesterday while you and Paul were out on a run.”

 

     Roy wasn’t sure what his response was supposed to be.  The paramedic couldn’t think of any reason why the chief would pay a visit to Station 51 as a result of anything he had done.

 

     “Um. . .yeah?”

 

     Hank smiled.  “Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

     Roy smiled in return.  “I sure couldn’t think of anything, but you had me worried there for a second.”

 

     “A surprise visit from the chief will do that to a guy.”

 

     “That’s for sure.”

 

     “Actually, he brought me these.”

 

     Hank handed Roy photocopies of legal documents.  The paramedic spent the next few minutes reading.  The only sound in the room came whenever Roy would shuffle one paper from the top of the stack to the bottom, before continuing to read.  When he was finished Roy leaned back in his chair.  It took him a moment to form his question. 

 

     “Can they do this?”

 

     “According to the chief they can.”

 

     “But it wasn’t Johnny’s--”

 

     “I know, Roy.  I know.  And believe me, no one in this department thinks it was.”  Hank stood.  “Regardless of that, I need to take these papers to John.  I need. . .someone has to talk to him about this.  The chief would have, but I told him I thought it would be better if the news came from me.”

 

     Roy slowly nodded.  “When are you going to see him?”

 

     “As soon as I leave here.”

 

     “Mind if I tag along?”

 

     “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

     Roy shared a weak smile with his captain.  He knew Hank wasn’t looking forward to the conversation he would soon have with Johnny, anymore than Roy was looking forward to being there when that conversation occurred.  But, he was Johnny’s best friend and Roy knew, if their circumstances were reversed, Johnny would be there for him when their captain brought information that was going to make a disheartening situation even worse.

 

_______________________________

 

     Johnny kept the draperies drawn at the patio doors of his second floor apartment.  He told himself the closed drapes assisted in savings with regards to his electric bill.  It didn’t cost him as much to air condition the apartment because the heavy drapes kept the hot sun from heating up his living space.  The paramedic hadn’t opened the curtains in his bedroom either, nor the ones in the kitchen or dining area.  Johnny convinced himself he kept those window treatments drawn for the same reason he didn’t allow any light to come in through the patio doors, because of the savings he was reaping.  In truth; however, Johnny had never been concerned about shutting out the sunshine during past summers no matter how high the mercury climbed.  He loved the outdoors and the natural light from the sun that came with it.  That was one reason he’d rented this apartment with its southern and western exposures and abundance of windows.  He wanted to rejoice in the sunshine as much as possible. Or at least he used to rejoice in the sunshine.  Now his gloomy home clearly broadcast that its occupant no longer rejoiced in anything.

 

 

     Johnny’s apartment was so quiet he could hear the TV set blaring from next door.  Mrs. Iverson was elderly and hard of hearing.  Until recently John hadn’t noticed how loud the old woman kept the volume on her set, or that she evidently did little else but watch television from eight in the morning until ten at night.  Prior to his recent injuries Johnny supposed he’d never been home enough to really notice.  Or when he was in the apartment he was sleeping, or had the vacuum cleaner running, or the stereo playing, or had his own TV set turned on.      

 

     The paramedic glanced at the closed door when the bell chimed.  He was leaning against two throw pillows on one corner of the couch with his left leg resting on the coffee table, the heel of his foot propped on a firm pillow.  The muscles in his thigh felt like they were bound in knots and still ached after just small amounts of activity.  All he’d done this morning besides take a shower and get dressed was make his bed, eat a bowl of Wheaties, and unload the dishwasher.  Just that little bit of exercise had the leg throbbing in protest.  Of course, he knew what Brackett would say. 

 

     “If you hadn’t stopped coming to physical therapy this leg would be in far better shape by now.  You’re delaying your recovery process, Johnny.  As a matter of fact, you’re running the risk of never getting full function back in your leg.  Of putting your entire future in jeopardy. Is that what you want?  Aren’t you about ready to return to doing what it is you do best? Being amongst the small group of men whom I consider to be my top-notch paramedics?”

 

     Johnny refused to answer Kelly Brackett when the man had posed those questions to him last week, and the prior week as well.  John was full of doubts in both himself and his abilities.  Maybe he’d erred in judgment the day of the train wreck.  Maybe he should have gotten all the men off the bus before attempting to treat any of them.  If only he’d evacuated the last ten.  The last ten who, for the most part, weren’t critically injured.  He couldn’t even recall now why he’d waited or what he’d been waiting for.  Help he supposed.  More people.  More gurneys.  More hands to assist in getting the men to the triage area.  If he’d only gotten James Seavers, and the blond headed kid named Rich, and Shannon Ten Clouds, and all the others out two minutes sooner.  Just two minutes sooner.  They would have been far enough from the bus in that amount of time to escape further injury when the second train hit it.  But instead, because of him, they were all dead.

 

     The bell chimed again, bringing Johnny out of his dark thoughts.  When he didn’t move to answer the summons there was a sharp knock.

 

     “Johnny?  Johnny, are you home?”

 

     The paramedic rolled his eyes.  Because of his leg Brackett had yet to release him to drive.  The stiff muscles made it difficult for him to work the clutch.   Roy was well aware of this, and also well aware that the Land Rover was in its usual spot in the parking lot.  

 

     By now, Johnny knew the routine.  If he didn’t respond to the next knock Roy would use the key John had long ago given him to gain entrance.

 

     I should ask for that damn key back.

 

     There it came.  Another series of knocks, though these sounded different than Roy’s.  Not quite so polite, more insistent, and a new voice accompanied them.

 

     “John?  John, are you in there?”

 

     “Oh, for crying out. . .”  Johnny muttered as he started to swing his left leg to the floor.  Before he was able to grab his cane the key was turning in the lock.  Johnny sighed and sank back to the sofa.

 

     The first thing Hank Stanley noticed was the dark and dreary state of the apartment.  The second thing he noticed was the lack of expression on Johnny’s face, as though he couldn’t care less if he had visitors or not.

 

     Hank glanced at Roy, then crossed to a chair that flanked the sofa.

 

     “Kinda gloomy in here, isn’t it, pal?” 

     “Keeps the heat out.  Doesn’t cost me as much to run the air conditioning.”

 

     “I see,” Hank nodded as Roy shut the door, then took a seat in the remaining chair.  “Good idea I suppose.”

 

     Roy could tell Hank didn’t think this dark, closed up space was a good place for Johnny to be dwelling anymore than Roy himself thought that.  Between Roy and Joanne, one of them came over every couple days to check on Johnny, take him on any errands he needed to run, or to any medical appointments he was scheduled for, and just in general assist him with keeping the apartment cleaned.  Each time either of the DeSotos was present they opened all the draperies, only to have Johnny pull them again as soon as he was alone.  

    

     “The guys miss you at the station, pal.  When do you think you’ll be back?”

 

     Johnny shrugged.  “Don’t know, Cap.  Not for a while I guess.”

    

     “You’re doing all you can to get that leg back in shape, right?”

 

     John’s eyes flicked from his captain to Roy and then back again.  Both the men maintained neutral expressions, as though Hank’s question was nothing more than an innocent inquiry.  Johnny knew better.  He had no doubt his captain had been made aware that he wasn’t attending the needed physical therapy sessions.  Whether Roy had told him, or whether that news had come to Hank by way of Kelly Brackett, Johnny didn’t know nor did he care.  He could play this game, too.

 

     “Yes.”

 

     Hank cocked a disbelieving eyebrow.  “Yes?”

 

     “That’s what I said.”

 

     “I see.”

 

     The captain glanced at Roy then cleared his throat. He knew Johnny was lying to him, but what could say to the man?  Yes, technically speaking John Gage was still his employee, but at the moment he was on medical leave.  Other than offering Johnny advice in regards to resuming therapy, there wasn’t anything else Hank could do.  As much as he wanted to order Johnny to return to the therapy sessions, Hank didn’t.  The captain was well aware that decision would have to be Johnny’s, and that no amount of pulling rank on the paramedic was going to motivate him to do what his heart wasn’t into at the moment.

 

     Johnny didn’t offer his visitors something to drink or snack on like he normally would have.  Instead, he patiently waited them out.  He had already guessed they were here to gang up on him.  He was forming the words in his head that he expected to come out their mouths.  Similar things to what Brackett had told him about delaying his recovery process.  Putting his future in jeopardy by not doing all he possibly could for himself.  Then the trump card  ould be played.  The one about him being amongst the finest and most qualified paramedics in the county.  The one about the need for him and Roy to be reunited as a working team as soon as possible.

 

     But none of those words were said by either Roy or Hank.  Instead, Captain Stanley reached into the pocket of his uniform shirt.  

 

     “I was asked by Chief Marcuson to deliver these to you.  They’re copies of the original documents he was given.  He. .he wanted me to let you know that the department will stand behind you in this one hundred percent, John.”

 

     Despite his efforts to keep any expression from touching his face, Johnny’s brows knit with puzzlement as he reached for the papers Hank held out to him.  John clasped the thick sheaf of folded papers between the ring and middle fingers of his right hand.  He settled back into the couch and unfolded them. 

 

     The only sound in the apartment was the muted drone of the TV set next door and the quiet hum of Johnny’s refrigerator motor.  He read through the papers twice, then folded them into thirds once again and set them on a sofa cushion.

 

     When the paramedic did nothing more than stare at the far wall Roy inquired, “Johnny?  You okay?”

 

     Johnny’s answer was so soft Hank and Roy had to strain to hear him.

 

     “It’s true, you know.”

 

     “Pardon?”

    

     “What those papers say.  It’s true.”

 

     “Johnny--”

 

     “John--”

 

     “It’s true.  Tell Chief Marcuson thanks for me, Cap, but there’s no need for the department to worry about standing behind me.  What these papers say is right.  I was negligent.  I should have gotten those men out sooner.”

    

     “Johnny, come on now,” Roy scolded.  “That is not true.  I know this is a big blow, but once everything is sorted out. . .once testimony is given by those of us who were there, they’ll see they don’t have grounds for any of this.”

 

     “You’re not giving testimony.”

    

     “What?”

 

     “I said you’re not giving a testimony, Roy.  You either, Cap.”

 

     “But, John--”

 

     “There’s no point.”

 

     “What do you mean there’s no point?”

 

     “I’m going to tell them...” Johnny broke off eye contact with his visitors.  Once again he saw the decapitated head of Shannon Ten Clouds staring back at him.  With firm conviction John Gage stated,  “I’m going to tell them it’s my fault those boys are dead.  I’m going to tell them they’re right when they say I was negligent and those deaths could have been prevented.”

 

     No amount of pleading on the part of Roy or Hank could make Johnny listen to reason that morning.  They reluctantly left his apartment twenty minutes later. Both men were fully aware Johnny couldn’t shoulder this new burden alone, despite his insistence to the contrary.  The trouble was, until he asked for their help, there wasn’t much Johnny’s captain, or his best friend, could do.

 

Chapter 26

      

     John Gage sat on the cool ground, a newspaper folded in half on his lap.  The paramedic’s cane was laying off to his left as though casually tossed there with no thought given as to how he’d retrieve it, while both his legs were sprawled on the grassy slope in front of him.  The sun had set hours earlier.  With the absence of the sun, a portion of the day’s heat had abated. Johnny guessed the temperature to be around eighty-two. It was one o’clock on Thursday morning.  Other than the occasional passing car, all was quiet at this spot where Johnny had chosen to sit.  Most area residents were probably in bed.  If the paramedic were going to work in a few short hours he’d be in bed by this time, too.  But he wasn’t going to work, so his life was no longer ruled by the clock.

 

     The man didn’t need to slant the paper so the streetlight would shine on it in order to know what the headline said. 

 

     L.A. COUNTY FIREFIGHTER/PARAMEDIC ONLY SURVIVOR OF FREAK ACCIDENT

 

     The headline on that two-month old newspaper pretty well summed it up in Johnny’s opinion.  The accident had been freaky all right, and he was the only survivor.  He’d promised ten men he’d get them out alive, and he’d let every one of them down.  Their faces flashed in his mind.  First the ones he had treated who were waiting to be taken off the bus.  Then the three he’d been working on when the second train hit the bus.  The black kid with the good sense of humor, James Seavers.  The Indian kid who was impressed by Johnny’s skills and position in the fire department, Shannon Ten Clouds.  And then Rich, the blond kid with the crew cut whose last name Johnny never learned, or at least couldn’t recall now if he had at one time known it.  He remembered the boys teasing one another, giving each other a good natured hard time, just like the teasing Johnny and the guys he worked with engaged in.   Then he remembered the shouts as what was left of the bus floor began to vibrate.

 

     “What the hell is going on?”

 

     “It’s a train! A train is coming!”

 

     Johnny heard his own,  “Run, dammit!  Run!” as though he was screaming it now.  He closed his eyes, but that made things worse.  Instead of blocking out the phantom cries of terror, the act of closing his eyes intensified them.  And then there was the head.  Each time the screams echoing in his mind finally died away, the head would appear.  The head that was no longer attached to a body.  The head of Shannon Ten Clouds stared at him from underneath the bus seat, as though pleading with Johnny to somehow make things right again.  To somehow bring him back to life.  

 

     The paramedic’s right hand groped sideways until he grasped a beer can with clumsy, uncoordinated fingers.  A short ‘phizz’ emanated when he pulled back the aluminum tab.  Whether this was Johnny’s ninth beer or his tenth, he wasn’t certain.  He’d long ago lost count.  He’d picked up three six packs at a liquor store a few blocks from his apartment.  Despite his dark state of mind, Johnny wasn’t dumb enough to drink and drive.  Not that he cared if his own life was taken in an accident, but he wasn’t going to be the cause of another life being taken.   He’d already allowed too many lives to end as it was. 

 

     The Land Rover was parked two hundred feet from Johnny, and pulled over against the curb.  The engine was off, but the keys rested in the ignition.  As he took a long swallow of beer he wondered how he was going to get home.  Nine beers in two hours meant. . . or was it ten?  Well, whatever number it had been, the alcohol consumption meant he was in no condition to get behind the wheel.

 

     The ground shook beneath Johnny’s butt.  Regardless of his muddled senses, he recognized the vibration.  He’d felt it before.  When he was in the bus.  He didn’t flinch when the whistle gave a long blast, even though the sound hurt his ears.  He didn’t move when the earth began to sway and tremble as though a killer quake was about to hit.  Johnny didn’t even bend forward as the train rushed by just eight feet from him.  His hair blew across his face, and turbulence caused by the speeding train glued his shirt to his back.  He kept one hand clamped to the newspaper in order to prevent it from blowing away.

 

       The overhead streetlight allowed John to observe the iron of the railroad track bend beneath the train’s weight.  He’d never been this close to a passing train before.  He didn’t know the iron would give like that.  The power of the metal beast would have been awe-inspiring had Johnny not witnessed first hand what devastation that power could cause.

 

     Hard-packed cinders from the railway bed popped up and pelted Johnny in the face.  When thrown like this they were sharp like little shards of glass.  He ignored the pain of the tiny cuts, to instead be mesmerized by the clack of the wheels.  The rhythmic clack that seemed to taunt, Ten to go.  Ten to go.  Ten to go.  Ten to go. 

 

     Johnny watched as the caboose disappeared down the track, its taillights becoming a distant speck of red until he could no longer see them.  The cooling breeze the train had created was gone.  The muggy night air descended once more.

 

     The paramedic looked down in his lap again.  He shuffled the old newspaper to the bottom of the pile while bringing the latest addition of the L.A. Times into view.  This time the glare from the streetlight caught the headline.

 

     L.A. COUNTY FIREFIGHTER/PARAMEDIC SUED FOR NEGLIGENCE IN BUS ACCIDENT.

 

     Johnny ran his fingers over the words, grabbed the remaining beer, hiked himself onto the tracks, and sat waiting for the next train to come by.   

 

___________________________

 

     “He’s sitting where?”

 

     Roy DeSoto hitched himself up on his right elbow.  The phone had woken him from a sound sleep.  By the way Joanne was stirring beside him, Roy knew it had woken her as well.

 

     “Who is it?”  Joanne mumbled.

    

     Roy placed a hand over the mouthpiece.  “Vince Howard.”  He took his hand off and said, “Yeah, Vince, I’m still here.” 

 

     Joanne turned to face her husband’s back as she listened to the one-sided conversation.

 

     “Yeah.

    

     “Uh huh.

 

     “He’s had how much to drink?”

 

     Roy sighed with Joanne detected to be weariness, frustration, and worry.  “Yeah, I’ll come talk to him.”

    

     “No, no.  It’s okay, Vince.  Don’t apologize.  I’d rather have you call me than anyone else.  I’ll be there within forty-five minutes.  You’ll stay with him?

 

     “Okay.  Thanks. I appreciate you doing that.”

 

     Roy hung up the phone and tossed the covers back all in one motion.  Joanne sat up as he turned his bedside lamp onto the lowest setting.

 

     “What’s going on?”

 

     “Vince found Johnny sitting by the train tracks at the Garden Street crossing.”

 

     “Where the accident happened?”

 

     “Yes.”

 

     “What’s he doing there?  And how’d he get there?”

 

     “Evidently drove the Land Rover,”  Roy said as he pulled a pair of blue jeans from one dresser drawer and a pair of socks from another. 

 

     “He’s not supposed to be driving.”

 

     “No, he’s not.  And he probably shouldn’t be drinking either if he doesn’t have the good sense to stop before he’s had so much that he doesn’t realize he’s sitting on train tracks.”

 

     “What?”

 

     “Vince said he’s sitting on the train tracks.  He can’t get Johnny to come away from there.”

 

     “What if a train comes by?”

 

     “Vince will pull him off if that happens. In the meantime, he needs me to come down there and talk some sense into Johnny.  It’s either that, or Vince hauls him to the drunk tank for the night.”

 

     “No,” Joanne shook her head.  “He can’t do that.  With everything else Johnny’s been through recently - the accident, the deaths of those boys, and now the lawsuit - he doesn’t need something like this going on his record.”

 

     “No, he doesn’t,” Roy agreed as he pulled a short sleeve brown Oxford shirt from his closet and slipped it on.  He crossed to the phone again as he buttoned the front of the cotton shirt. 

 

     “Who are you calling?”

    

     “Dixie.”

 

     “Dixie?”  Joanne glanced over her shoulder at the alarm clock that resided on her nightstand.  “Roy, it’s one-thirty in the morning.”

    

     “I know, but I’m going to need someone to drive Johnny’s Land Rover home among other things.  If I bring you along we’ll have to bring the kids, too.  There’s no point in getting them out of bed at this hour.  Seeing Johnny like he is will only upset them, plus it’ll only upset him later on, when he sobers up and realizes what they witnessed.  I can’t call any of the guys for fear Cap will find out.  You know Chet, he won’t mean to open his big mouth, but somehow this will come out if he gets wind of it.  Dixie’s been wanting to go over to Johnny’s with me.  As a matter of fact I was going to call her later this morning and set up a time today when we could meet at his apartment.”  As Roy dialed the phone he said, “Maybe. . .maybe she’ll know what to say to him, Jo.  She was with him on that bus for a long time.  She. . .well, she has a pretty good understanding of what he went through, and she wants to help him regain his interest. . .his enthusiasm for life.”  The paramedic gave his wife a smile as he listened to Dixie’s phone ring.  “Besides, if Dix is gonna be mad at anyone for getting her out of bed at one-thirty in the morning, it’ll be Johnny she’s ticked off at.  Not me.”

 

     If Dixie McCall was mad at being awakened in the middle of the night with a request to assist Roy in getting a grown man off a train track, she hid her anger well.  From what Joanne could discern as she listened to Roy talk, and observed his facial expressions, the nurse was more than willing to do whatever she could for Johnny. 

 

     “Thanks, Dix.  Thanks a lot.  I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.  Is that enough time for you to get ready?”  Roy nodded.  “Great.  See you then.”

 

     The paramedic hung up the phone then leaned on the mattress with his fists and gave his wife a kiss.

 

     “I don’t know what time I’ll be back.  Don’t wait up.  And don’t worry.”

 

     “You can bring Johnny back here if you think that would be best.  He can sleep on the hide-a-bed in the playroom.”

 

     “Thanks.  I don’t know if I’ll do that, or if I’ll end up staying with Johnny at his apartment for the rest of the night.  If I do stay at his place, I’ll give you a call.”

    
     “Okay.  Just tell Johnny. . .well tell him I said one way or another everything will turn out all right.”

 

     “I’ll tell him,” Roy promised as he headed for the hallway.  He doubted Johnny would believe Joanne’s words, anymore than Roy himself believed them, but if nothing else they sounded about as good as anything the paramedic could think of to say to his partner.  Hopefully Dixie would know exactly what wisdom to offer in order to convince Johnny he didn’t really want to be sitting on railroad tracks, calmly waiting to be killed by the next locomotive.

 

    

Chapter 27

 

    

     Monica sat on the hood of the Land Rover shaking her head.  “I thought he knew better, Tess.  I thought Johnny knew better than to wallow in guilt that’s not rightfully his to bear.  And the drinking.  He’s witnessed first hand so many times the tragedies that result when a person drinks too much alcohol.”   

 

     “That’s right, Angel Girl, he has.  But at the moment Mr. Gage don’t care ‘bout how many beers he’s poured down his throat tonight, or the fact that his skinny butt is sittin’ smack dab in the middle of some railroad tracks.”

 

     “He wants to die then.”

 

     “I reckon so.”

 

     “And we’re going to let him?”

 

     “You know we don’t have control over the choices humans make.  We’re allowed to guide them in the right direction, but we’re not allowed to interfere with their decisions.”

 

     “But he’s so young.  He has so many years ahead of him.  So much left to give to the world.  Why, without Johnny around Station 51, there will be no laughter.  Doesn’t he realize what joy he brings to others simply by being the unique child of God he is?”

 

     “I don’t suppose right now he does, Angel Girl.”

    

     “And his career as a paramedic.  Doesn’t he know how highly the doctors at Rampart think of him?  Doesn’t he realize how much he has to offer this city?  How much he has to offer up and coming paramedics whom he will someday train to do their jobs as well as he does his?”

 

     “Mr. Gage may be aware of those things on some level, Monica, but none of them matter to him anymore.”

 

     “How can we make them matter?”

 

     “We can’t.  But maybe they can.”

 

     Monica turned around, her eyes following Tess’s pointing finger.  A pale green Impala had pulled up behind the Land Rover.  She watched as Roy DeSoto and Dixie McCall climbed out.  At the same time she caught sight of Andrew leaning casually against a lamppost.

 

     “Andrew’s here,” Monica whispered, though she really didn’t know why.  This time the humans couldn’t see or hear them.

 

     “I know.”

 

     “But why?”

 

     “For the same reason he always appears.”

 

     “Johnny is going to die then.”

 

     “Maybe.  Maybe not.  Even Andrew doesn’t know for certain.  I told you, none of us has control over the decisions humans make.  Not even God exercises that kind of control. That’s why He gave them free will.”

 

     “Well, I hope Johnny listens to his friends.”

 

     “I hope so, too, Angel Girl.”  Tess patted Monica’s hand while they waited for the drama before them to unfold.  “I hope so, too.”

 

___________________________

      

     Roy nodded to Vince as he quietly approached the police officer.  The black man was standing on the sloping ground adjacent to the tracks.  Every time he’d attempted to get close to Johnny the paramedic shouted, “Back the hell off!”

 

     Considering Johnny’s leg, and the amount of alcohol he’d consumed, Vince knew he could have overpowered the man, handcuffed him, and dragged him to the squad car.  However; that was the exact scenario Vince hoped to avoid.  He’d known Johnny ever since he’d worked as a rescue man with Station 8.  He had a lot of respect for John, and his skills as a paramedic.  Vince had read the newspaper before he’d gone on duty, therefore could easily guess as to what had brought John Gage to this point.  If Roy and Dixie could get him off these tracks, and get him to leave the area peaceably, then as far as Vince was concerned, this incident never happened.

 

     Vince kept his voice pitched low as he spoke to Roy and the nurse.  “Each time I try to get near him he takes a swing at me.  He’s pretty drunk, and he doesn’t have a weapon, so it’s not like he can do much damage to any of us.  But if you can get him to leave without making a scene. . .well, all for the better.  If anyone witnesses this and calls it into the papers you can image what the next article is going to say.”

 

     “Yes, I can imagine,” Dixie said with dry sarcasm.  She didn’t have much use for the news media when a story that was published only served to hurt the person involved.  She could easily picture the headline.

 

     PARAMEDIC FOUND DRUNK ON RAILROAD TRACKS AT GARDEN STREET CROSSING.  BUS ACCIDENT DEATHS PROMPT JOHN GAGE TO DROWN HIS GUILT IN A BOTTLE.