­­ Chapter 28

Like Dixie thought he would, Kelly Brackett scheduled a CT scan for John Gage on Thursday afternoon.  It didn’t reveal anything that caused the physician concern, but given that Johnny had thrown up twice in the ambulance, and given the demeanor Dixie described, and then Brackett observed for himself, the doctor concluded the scan was a necessity.

 

Johnny hadn’t rested well throughout the remainder of Thursday. Upon reading the paramedic’s chart Friday morning, Dr. Brackett saw nothing had changed in that regard throughout the night.  Actually, things had gotten worse, because Johnny’d experienced a nightmare. That didn’t necessarily surprise Brackett, but it wasn’t welcome news either.  What Johnny needed the most right now was rest, not a never-ending sequence of upsets.

 

When Brackett tried to talk to Johnny about the nightmare, he found getting answers from the man was an effort in futility. The doctor pulled a stool up beside Johnny’s bed.  He was in ICU for now.  Brackett wasn’t sure yet when he’d move the paramedic chief to the step down unit. 

 

“I heard you didn’t sleep too well last night, Johnny.”

 

Johnny was facing the wall; meaning Brackett was talking to the back of his head.  The paramedic didn’t deem it necessary to change that situation.

 

“Slept okay.”

 

“That’s not what your chart says. The nurse wrote that you had a nightmare.”

 

“Bad dream.”

 

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

 

“No.”

 

“Okay, bad dream then. What was it about?”

 

“Don’t remember.”

 

Brackett waited.  When Johnny didn’t fill the silence like the doctor had hoped he would, he asked, “Was it about John?”

 

“No.”

 

“Johnny--”

 

Johnny turned his head then, wincing at the pain it caused him, although that didn’t keep his voice from rising with anger.

 

“It was about my daughter, okay?  Jessie.  But really, Jessie, John…what difference does it make.  Same thing.”

 

“How is it the same?”

 

“Because they were both children who needed me, and I didn’t come through for them.  They’re both dead because of--”

 

“You don’t know that John’s dead.”

 

“Don’t patronize me.  He’s dead.  You know it, and I know it. He’s been missing since Tuesday.  Those punks killed him.  They killed him and dumped his body somewhere out in the desert.”

 

“Johnny--”

 

The paramedic looked up at the ceiling as though he’d find some answers there.

 

“What the hell was I doing out there anyway?  I don’t remember.  Why would I have left the freeway?  It’s driving me nuts trying to figure out why I left the freeway, and what happened to John after that.  Hell, I can’t remember anything past eating goddamn marshmallows on Monday night.”  Johnny’s eyes shifted to Brackett. “Do you hear me?  All I remember is eating marshmallows! How the hell is that gonna help Roy and Joanne find their son?”

 

The doctor thought he might have had a chance at calming Johnny down and making him understand that trying to force a memory wasn’t going to work, had a woman’s gasp not come from the doorway.  Both Johnny and Dr. Brackett looked up to see Joanne turn and run down the hall.  Roy’s attention shifted from the men to his wife, momentarily uncertain as to what to do. Then without giving Johnny a second glance, he took off after Joanne.

 

Johnny stared at the doorway as if he were willing Roy and Joanne to come back.  When several minutes passed and they didn’t, he turned to face the wall again, this time refusing to carry on any further conversation with Dr. Brackett.

 

It was early on Friday evening now.  To the best of Brackett’s knowledge, Joanne and Roy hadn’t returned.  He assumed the finality of what Joanne overheard had been too much for her.  She and Roy had probably come to Rampart hoping Johnny’s memory had improved since Roy had seen him at Loma Linda on Wednesday.  When they discovered it hadn’t…well, Brackett couldn’t blame them for sequestering themselves in their home.  Their child was missing.  Who would be in the mood to talk to anyone, even your best friend, when your five year old is the victim of an apparent kidnapping, and quite likely had been murdered, too.

 

Kelly Brackett had two friends that were in dire need of help, which was why he’d made a phone call thirty minutes ago.  He glanced at his watch when he heard the knock on his office door. As usual, she was on time.

 

Brackett stood. “Come in!”

 

His eyes were forced to adjust to the bright purple dress with the equally bright pink elephants decorating it.  He resisted the urge to smile at the clothing, and instead, focused on her round face.

 

“Dr. Edwards.  Nice to see you again.”

 

“Dr. Brackett.  It is always nice to see you, too.”

 

Brackett stepped out from behind the desk and shook her small hand, even giving the top of it a gentle pat. 

 

“Hepzibah.  Thanks for coming by so quickly.  Have a seat, please.”

 

“For you, Kelly Brackett, I shall always come jogging at an hour’s notice.”

 

“You mean come running at a moment’s notice?”

 

“That too.”

 

The portly Doctor Edwards sat down in a chair across from Brackett’s desk.  He didn’t think it was possible for her to get any shorter than she already was, but he felt like he towered over her even more than usual.  She was in her early seventies now, yet still kept long hours that would put even an intern to shame.

 

Brackett moved behind his desk and sat down too. This was the only way he could look Hepzibah in the eye.

 

“So, Kelly, you have something on your mind today other than my good looks, no?”

 

“Quite frankly, yes I do.”

 

“Ah, that is the kind of smelly luck I have.  Sitting across from a handsome man who is too busy to appreciate a beautiful woman.”

 

“Rotten luck.”

 

“I have my fair share of that too, but I can tell by looking at you, that you are not in the mood for my silly way with words.  For I have been to shrimp’s school, and I can tell you are a man with many worries on your mind.”

 

“I have a few of those,” Brackett admitted.

 

“About Just John and Roy Rogers?”

 

“How’d you know?”

 

“What?  You think a quirky old woman who likes flashy colors doesn’t have a television set?  Only truly crazy people don’t have televisions, Kelly.  What wonderful programs they are missing.  The Jeffersons, Quincy, Hill Street Blues, Magnum P.I., Cagney and Lacey, St. Elsewhere, and my favorite, Monday Night Football.”

 

“I didn’t know you enjoyed TV quite that much.”

 

“It is my one vice. Well, aside from food that is.  There is nothing like putting your feet up after a hard day at the office and watching a little TV while eating a nice big piece of warm apple strudel. You should try it sometime. You will be surprised to find how soothing it is.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“Do.  And now, because I have an addiction to my color TV set, I know that Roy Rogers’ little boy is missing, and that Just John was hurt by those thugs who should spend the rest of their lives in the slammer.”

 

“Uh…we do have a system of justice here that means they’re innocent until proven guilty.”

 

“I know all about that, but if they have hurt my Just John, and taken Roy Rogers’ little boy, then they are guilty as sin and should be strung up by their necks in the middle of the town square.”

 

“I’d say you’ve watched a few episodes of Gunsmoke in the past, too.”

 

“And Bonanza as well. It was one of my favorites. Praise be to God that it is now rerun on Sunday afternoons. My week would not start off on the right hand without Ben, Adam, Hoss and Little Joe.  It would be better if their housekeeper was Jewish, of course, instead of Chinese – not that I have anything against the Chinese - but such is life.  A little old Jewish woman to dispense some wisdom to those stubborn men, now that’s what the Cartwrights needed, but I still watch them despite their long comings.”

 

Brackett smiled at the thought of this Holocaust survivor and highly educated woman, being hooked on an old western TV show.  He sobered a bit when he asked, “Did you know Johnny was here?”

 

“Here? At our fine hospital Rampart General?”

 

“Yes. I had him transferred from Loma Linda yesterday.”

 

“Then I must visit him.”

 

“I want you to.”  Brackett pushed Johnny’s chart across his desk. “But not as a friend.  In a professional capacity, Hepzibah.”

 

The woman picked up the chart.  Brackett kept quiet while she read all that it contained, including the photocopies of nurses’ and doctors’ notations sent with Dixie from Loma Linda. When she was finished, she handed the chart back to the man.

 

“So, it is like they say on the news.  Just John cannot remember what happened.”

 

“Yes. That’s the way it is.”

 

“You look at me like you have high expectations, Kelly.”

 

“High expectations?”

 

“Yes.  As though you think I can make him remember.”

 

“I don’t think that.  But I do think if you talk to him, it might help him relax enough that over time, the memories will start to come back on their own.”

 

“Kelly, I am not a hypocrite, you know.”

 

Brackett’s brows drew together with confusion.  “I know. I didn’t mean to imply you are.”

 

“I cannot dangle a pocket watch in front of Just John and say, “You are getting very sleepy,” and then tell him that when I snap my fingers he’ll wake up and – boom! – he’ll remember everything about the attack.”

 

“Oh…you mean a hypnotist.”

 

“I am not one of those, either.  I am just who I am.  A fat old Jewish psychologist.”  The woman shook an index finger at the man. “And do not try and jelly me up by saying I am not old and fat, for the mirror tells me I am both of those things, but that is okay.  I cannot help being old, and as for fat, I am used to it by now and kind of like it. Besides, could a skinny woman pull off wearing a dress like this one?”

 

“Well…uh…”

 

The psychologist laughed.   “I enjoy putting you on the spot, Kelly Brackett.  It makes my day.”

 

“I’m glad to hear that.”

 

“No you are not, because you are not a man who likes to be embarrassed, but you are forced to put up with me because I am old and may die soon.”

 

“Hepzibah!”

 

The woman laughed again.  “Got you again. This is enjoyable. Shall we keep playing?”

 

“Let’s not.”

 

“Oh all right. Have it your way. Ruin an old lady’s fun, why don’t you.” The woman looked at her watch. “May I see Just John for a few minutes now?”

 

“Be my guest.”

 

“I must warn you though, no miracles.  This first visit is just for old friends to say hi and get reacquainted.”

 

“I understand.”

 

“And would you like me to talk to Roy Rogers, and Mrs. Rogers, too?”

 

“I would, if they’ll agree to it.”

 

“Please call them and see when I can visit their home.  I will need directions.  I remember little Jennifer from years ago.  She must be almost a woman by now.”

 

“I think about fifteen.” 

 

“And there was another boy.  Older than Jennifer.”

 

“Chris.”

 

“That’s right. Christopher.”

 

“He graduated from high school in early June.  Dixie and I were at the party Roy and Joanne hosted for him.”

 

“Children grow up so fast. And now this little one, named for my Just John, is missing.  So very heartbreaking.  Do you think he is alive?”

 

“I’m a doctor, Hepzibah, not a detective.”

 

“Now you sound like Bones on Star Trek.”

 

“Like who?”

 

“Kelly, if you are not familiar with Star Trek, I really must encourage you to watch more TV.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“Now to my question.”

 

“Do I think John DeSoto is alive?”

 

“That was the question, yes.”

 

“No. As much as I hate to say it, no, I don’t. These types of cases rarely have a happy ending.”

 

“That is true. But I disagree with you this time, Kelly.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Yes. I think there is a chance, as slight as it might be, but a chance nonetheless that Little Just John is alive.”

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“Because he was with John Gage, and I know John Gage would have done everything in his power to protect the child.”

 

“I know he would have too, but that may not have been enough.”

 

“No, it may not have been. But then again, it just might have been, kapeesh?”

 

The woman didn’t give Brackett a chance to answer her.  She waddled out the door, headed for a visit with her friend on the intensive care floor.

 

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

 

A pretty young nurse had brought the dinner tray to Johnny's room in ICU nearly twenty minutes ago, lifting the plastic dome and revealing a baked chicken breast, mashed potatoes and something green that might have been broccoli. She'd offered to stay and help Johnny eat since he had one arm in a cast and an IV in the other. But the paramedic chief had declined with a slight shake of his head and a mumbled response that he could handle it. She left with a disappointed frown on her face. Under normal circumstances, Johnny would have been pleased to note that the "Gage Charm" was still as effective as ever on the nursing staff at Rampart. But as it was, he hardly even noticed the young woman, and was only glad that she left.

He didn't feel like eating and had ignored the food before him. As a result, what had smelled mildly appetizing before now only made the injured man slightly nauseous, and he wished the tray hadn't been rolled up practically under his nose.

He knew Brackett would be upset with him for not eating, but that wouldn't be anything new. It seemed all the doctor ever did when he came into Johnny's room was frown at him while he jotted down notes on his chart. But the thought of having Kelly Brackett mad at him wasn't enough of a motivator to help him find his appetite; or to make him stop his constant efforts to try and remember what had happened to John; something else that never failed to make Brackett frown.

"You have to give yourself a chance to heal, Johnny," was Brackett's irritating refrain. "You're rushing something that can't be rushed. And you're doing yourself more harm than good."

Johnny sighed and winced at the stab in his side that action caused. He was so tired of hurting everywhere every time he moved the littlest bit or breathed too hard or thought too long.

Give himself a chance to heal? Didn't Brackett understand that it was taking too damn long? If by some miracle John was still alive, then he needed Johnny to remember... now. He didn't have the luxury of time.

"Even hospital food is better eaten hot than cold."

Johnny hadn't even realized he'd closed his eyes, but he opened them at the sound of the vaguely familiar voice. He opened them even wider when he saw the short, gray haired woman standing beside his bed, a smile lighting her round face.

"Ah, you remember me. It always makes a person feel better to know they are memorable." The woman moved her ample frame to the chair and sat down, scooting it closer to Johnny's side. In range of Johnny's forgotten dinner, she wrinkled her nose and leaned forward to move the tray out from between them. "Such disgusting things to make sick people eat."

"I'm not sick," Johnny said in a surly tone, eyeing her warily. "I just got the shit beat outta me."

Her smile didn't dim at the less than warm reception. But she did shake her head a bit. "This kind of language in front of an old woman... and your old friend. But I suppose I can forgive you given the circumstances."

Johnny didn't respond. Dr. Edwards hadn't changed much in the years since he'd seen her. She was still plump as ever, still wore a brightly patterned dress and still seemed to exude cheerfulness from her very soul. Not that Johnny was in the mood for cheer. He had a good idea why she was here and who sent her.

"I'm not crazy this time," he stated sourly. "So you can just go home."

"And who said you were crazy before?" she clucked at him. "I do not come and visit with crazy people. Can't I see with my friend, Just John, without having upholstery motives?"

Johnny raised an eyebrow at her phrasing, finally realized what she meant to say and couldn't help the slight grin that lifted one corner of his mouth.

"Ah…there is my old friend under all that crankiness," she stated warmly. She reached over and gave his fingers that stuck out of the cast a light squeeze. "They were not right to do this to you, those hoodwinks who hurt you. But you should not keep doing what they stopped."

Johnny didn't have the energy to correct her terminology. He was well acquainted with the elderly psychologist's way of speaking, so he knew she was trying to tell him to stop beating himself up. To stop feeling sorry for himself; that he shouldn't blame himself for what happened. It was the same thing Brackett kept trying to get through Johnny's "thick, hose jockey head," as he so exasperatedly put it. But the paramedic chief wasn't so sure his head was as thick as Brackett thought. Not with how badly it still hurt most of the time.

"Did Brackett call you?" he asked, avoiding her comment and trying to switch subjects.

"Of course he did," was her ready answer. "He is your friend and worries about you. But I saw this thing that happened to you on the news. So perhaps I would have come anyway. Old ladies can do that... barge in without waiting to be invited. Most people are too polite to tell us to go away and mind our own beestings."

"Beeswax," Johnny murmured automatically, falling into the old pattern without even realizing it.

"I should mind some of that too," Dr. Edwards replied with a smile. "But I have tired you out enough for tonight. I will leave and let you get your sleep." She scooted to the edge of her chair, then pushed her way out of it and onto her feet with a goodly amount of huffing. "Oy, they should make chairs as easy to get out of as they are to get into. Perhaps they want to make it hard for people to say goodbye."

She started to make her way down toward the foot of Johnny's bed, then stopped and made another face at his dinner tray.

"Next time I visit you, I will bring you something better to eat than this scrawny chicken."

She gave his uninjured leg a comforting pat and headed for the door. Before she left, however, she turned and gave him a stern look.

"With all this trying to remember, Just John, be sure and remember this... it was not your fault, what those bad boys did, kapeesh?"

Johnny knew she wouldn't leave without a response of some kind from him. He wasn't sure if his lackluster, "Yeah, sure, Doc," would be enough, but apparently it satisfied her for now. She left his room without saying anything else.

Johnny stared at the empty doorway for a long moment, unsure how he felt about Dr. Edwards' sudden appearance in his life again. Part of him was pissed off at Brackett for butting in and calling her. What did the man think anyway, that Johnny was nuts and was somehow not remembering on purpose? That a few sessions with a shrink would shake him out of whatever trance he was in that was keeping the memories locked up? Johnny only wished it was that easy. That somebody could snap their fingers and it would all fall into place.

But there was another part of him that was glad to see the eccentric psychologist. A part of him that wanted to grasp at whatever straws he could cling to if it meant there was a chance of regaining his memories; a chance at finding John and restoring him to his family; a chance to make it right again with Roy and Joanne.

He closed his eyes. Joanne's horrified gasp, and the brief image of her anguished face before she turned and ran from his room, was one memory he had no trouble calling up. It would be etched in his mind forever, and no amount of Dr. Edwards' chicken soup or apple strudel would ever be able to erase that, or take away the pain of knowing he was the cause of it.

­­­­­­ Chapter 29

Rudy hurried to his mailbox like he’d done every day since Katori arrived.  He didn’t like to leave the boy alone too long.  He didn’t trust the kid to stay occupied and out of sight. 

 The buzz of a low flying plane’s engine caught the old man’s attention.  He looked up and toward the north.  He was able to make out the logo of the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s office that was painted on the plane’s body.  It wasn’t the first time Rudy had spotted planes passing low throughout this area.  He knew without seeing it on a TV set, or reading it in a newspaper, or hearing it on the radio, that the men in those planes were looking for Katori.  Fortunately, because of the low altitude the planes flew, their engines announced their arrival before they got too close. So far it had been easy for Rudy to get Katori in the shed or house whenever the boy had been outside with him and one of the planes flew too near.

Rudy grabbed his mail out of the box at the end of his driveway. He’d just turned to head back to the house when a patrol car owned by the Nipton Police Department churned up dust as it barreled down the road toward him. Rudy swallowed hard, glancing at the house.  He’d left Katori in the kitchen, making a house of cards on the table.  The boy was excited about this new game Rudy had introduced him to after lunch.  Hopefully he was excited enough to remain in the house until Rudy got rid of the cop.

The car eased to a stop beside Rudy.  The burly man with the dirty blond crew cut who sat behind the wheel rolled his window down and stuck out an elbow.

“Afternoon, Mr. Whitmore.”

“Afternoon.”

Rudy forced himself not to glance at the house. He kept his eye on Paul Simmons, who was one of only two full time police officers Nipton employed.  The remaining officer worked part time, generally taking the weekend third shift patrols because during the week he worked for a construction firm in Las Vegas. 

Rudy didn’t know Paul well, but he’d known his old man, Art. It had been Art Simmons who’d questioned Rudy after the mine accident, before turning him over to a San Bernardino County Sheriff’s deputy who questioned him further.  Therefore, Rudy had no use for anyone by the last name of Simmons, but he’d always kept that well hidden whenever he encountered Paul around town.

“I’ve been working my way toward your place since Wednesday.  Took me this long to finally get here.”

Rudy smiled slightly when Paul chuckled, not because he felt like smiling, but because he thought it was best to play along with whatever was going on.

“That so?”

“Yeah.  Been checking with everyone in the area about the lost boy.”

“Lost boy?”

“The boy that went missing after the carjacking.  John DeSoto.”

“Oh.  Oh yeah.  I heard about him when I was in town on Thursday. Don’t have a TV or radio, and don’t take a newspaper, so I’m always the last to know what’s goin’ on.”

“So you haven’t seen a kid wandering around out here?  Or seen anything strange, like a kid who seems out of place with someone?”

“No. Ain’t seen any signs of a kid. I rockhound just about every morning, and work out in my shed most evenings.  Haven’t seen hide nor hair of anything or anyone other than a few snakes and lizards.”

“That’s what I figured, but I gotta be able to tell the sheriff’s department that I’ve spoken to everyone in the area.” 

Rudy watched as Paul picked up a clipboard from the passenger seat.  The man rested it against the steering wheel. It was then that Rudy saw a list of names attached to the clipboard and caught a glimpse of enough of them to know the names identified the citizens of Nipton and her surrounding area.  Rudy saw Paul put a check beside his name before laying the clipboard on the seat again.

“Thanks, Mr. Whitmore.  If you see the boy, or see anything suspicious, give the police department a call, all right?”

Rudy didn’t bother to tell the man he didn’t have a phone.  He just wanted to get rid of Paul before Katori grew bored and came out of the house.

“Sure will.”

Paul gave Rudy a wave as he drove off that Rudy returned for no other reason than to stay on the cop’s good side.  He was lucky Paul didn’t ask to search his place.  But then, it made sense that Paul hadn’t made that request.  He probably hadn’t made that request of anyone in the area, other than maybe the Harpers over on Ten Mile Road.  Everyone knew they were nothing but trouble.  However, everyone else around Nipton were pretty much law abiding citizens.  Unless someone was acting out of the ordinary, Paul would have no reason to want to search a house, or garage, or storage shed, provided the owner of those things was home regularly, and would know if a small child had taken up refuge in one of his buildings.

Rudy glanced over his shoulder.  Dust obscured most of the patrol car from his view, but he could tell Paul was already a mile away if not more.  The old man clutched his mail to his side and scampered for the house.  To be on the safe side, he’d keep Katori in the house for the rest of the day.  Given time, things would die down.  Rudy was sure of it.  It cost money to search for someone.  If Rudy could keep Katori’s presence a secret long enough, the county cops would eventually return to their normal routines, as would the Nipton cops, which meant they’d spend most of their day at a table drinking Cokes in Gwen and Dale’s place.  When that happened, when it was safer to travel with the boy, Rudy would figure out a way to get Katori back to his parents.

­­­­­­ Chapter 30

Roy hung up the phone, but didn't move from the couch for some time. It was quiet in the house. Far too quiet for dinner time in a home that was usually filled with the chaos generated by two busy teenagers and one rambunctious little boy. But it hadn't been noisy here for the last three days. It was funny, but Roy had always loved the rare moments of peace and quiet he got while the kids were out of the house; either at school, or their part time jobs, or just at a friend's visiting, or playing in John's case. But he wasn't enjoying this quiet. He was growing to hate it.

It was early evening. The late sun of summer was just starting to disappear, casting shadows in the living room where Roy had yet to turn on the lights. On a normal day Joanne would be in the kitchen making dinner, but there was only silence from that room. His head turned in the direction of the hallway that led to John's room. That's where his wife would most likely be; where she'd spent most of her time since yesterday afternoon after their aborted visit with Johnny at Rampart.

Roy closed his eyes and tried not to remember the anguish in Joanne's eyes when they overheard Johnny's frustrated words to Dr. Brackett. He didn't suppose he'd really understood until that moment, when he'd followed after her down the hallway and finally caught up with her near the elevators. He hadn't understood how desperately she'd been clinging to a slender thread of hope; that she had never fully believed Johnny wouldn't be able to remember and lead them to their son. Never until now.

When Roy had found her; when she whirled and flung herself into his arms, and he held her as tortured sobs racked her body, it was only then that he realized the one thing that had been holding her together was her fragile belief in John Gage and his ability to bring her children home to her safely. And after all, wasn't it logical for her to think that way? Hadn't Johnny done just that when he'd managed to save Jennifer from that madman six years ago? Hadn't he already saved John's life once before when their then three year old son had wandered away and gotten too close to the swollen flood control channel? Why should this time be any different? But hearing from Johnny's own mouth that he hadn't been able to remember the assault or what had happened to John was all it had taken to send Joanne's feeble control crumbling.

It had taken all Roy's own control not to break down and weep with her. But Joanne needed him to be strong; his family needed him to be strong and in control. So he'd held her until she spent herself, then led her out of Rampart and to the car, ignoring the stares of both sympathetic friends and curious strangers. Joanne hadn't said a word the rest of that night, and very little since.

Roy sighed, wishing he knew the words to say that would help her, but in his heart he knew the only thing that would make life right again would be for John to walk through their door, safe and whole. But so far that didn't seem like it was going to happen.

The police phoned them often, keeping them updated. There had been calls, especially after Roy and Joanne had made their appeal on the news. The captain grimaced. John had been spotted as far north as Portland and as far south as Tijuana; from Salt Lake City to Dallas. He supposed most of the people who called in had good intentions, but there seemed to be little hope in such a mass of useless "tips."

Roy had reached the point where he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't just sit at home and wait for the calls that brought nothing but more despair. He couldn't sit here and listen to silence. Chris and Jenny had both returned to their jobs, and when they weren't working seemed to find reasons to stay away, taking refuge at friends' homes where they could find sympathy for their grief and fears and not have to face the horrible emptiness of this house.

Without his children here, and with Joanne isolated behind a wall of sorrow, Roy felt utterly useless. He couldn't help John; he couldn't help Joanne. Chris and Jenny had reached out to others. But Roy was not the kind of man who could sit at home and do nothing. So he had called work. Though his battalion chief had tried to talk him out of it, telling him his shifts were covered and not to worry about how long he was off, Roy had insisted that he wanted to come back to work. The truth was he needed to go to work. He needed to be doing something, helping someone, even if that someone was a stranger.

Roy let out a long sigh and rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He hadn't come to this decision lightly, but he was convinced that it was what he had to do. His only concern now was Joanne. Just as surely as he knew going back to work was the best thing for him, he knew his wife was never going to understand his reasons. And aside from the tension it was going to cause between them, Roy was also concerned about leaving Joanne home alone during his twenty-four hour shifts. Which was why he'd just hung up the phone with his sister-in-law Eileen.

When they'd first come home on Wednesday, they'd busied themselves with the routine tasks necessary after a long trip, unpacking, laundry, cleaning out the camper and turning it in. But when those chores were done the DeSoto family could no longer put off facing the fact that they'd come home without John, and that soon his disappearance would be common knowledge. They spent the hour or so calling Roy's mother and sisters, Joanne's parents and her sister.

Of course everyone had wanted to come to the house, but Roy managed to stall them. His family was exhausted, physically and emotionally. He didn't think a houseful of well meaning relatives would be any help at all. But now he felt a visit from Eileen might be a good thing for Joanne. To have another woman here, and one she was close to, might help Joanne open up a little. It would also ease Roy's mind about his wife being alone while he was at the station.

Eileen had readily agreed to come and stay for a while. She'd told Roy she had at least a week's worth of vacation left to her, and if they needed her to stay longer she would see what she could work out. They'd ended their conversation with Eileen promising to be here first thing in the morning before Roy had to leave for work. Now the only thing he had to do was to tell Joanne.

Reluctant to begin what he knew was going to be a confrontation with his wife, Roy got up slowly from the couch and headed, not to the bedroom, but to the kitchen. He flipped on the light and stood for a moment, wondering what he could fix for a simple dinner. Neither he nor Joanne had felt like a trip to the grocery store since they got back, but Chris had taken it upon himself to make a run for some of the basic supplies they would need after being gone for two weeks. As a result, Roy knew he could throw something together. It didn't have to be much. It wasn't like any of them had felt like eating much the last few days.

He opened the fridge, stared at the contents for a moment, then pulled out some lunch meat and the mayonnaise. He made a second trip for the lettuce and a tomato to slice. With everything he needed on the counter, he set about making some sandwiches. Ordinarily he would have added some soup to go with them, but the August evenings were still too warm to make anything hot tempting to eat.

While he was fixing this light meal, he heard the front door open. Chris was at work so he knew it must be Jennifer. In a moment his guess was proven right. He heard his daughter call to him just before she entered the kitchen.

"Hi, Dad." She walked up and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Hi, Princess," he replied without stopping his sandwich making. "You hungry?"

Jennifer shook her head. "No. I ate at Linda's house. Hope you don't mind."

Roy gave her a weak smile. "No. I'm just glad you ate something. We haven't exactly been having regular meals around here."

Jennifer shrugged a little uneasily. "I know." She was quiet for a time as Roy put the sandwiches on a couple of plates and then poured two glasses of lemonade. "Dad?" she began again as Roy was putting ice cubes into the drinks. "Dad, is Mom gonna be okay... I mean, if... well, what I mean is, are we gonna be okay? Our family?"

Roy stopped what he was doing. Jennifer's fair face was flushed and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Roy set down the ice cube tray and opened up his arms to take his daughter into them. She hugged him tightly around the waist, her face pressed against his chest.

"Whatever happens, Jen... we'll be okay. You got that?" He lifted her chin so she could look at him and he smiled. "We'll get through this, I promise. That's what families do... they pull together to help each other through the tough times."

Roy released his hold on her and moved back to arranging the small dinner onto a tray. He didn't look at his daughter when he spoke again.

"That's why Aunt Eileen is coming in the morning," he said, trying to sound casual.

"Oh yeah?" Jennifer reached out to snag a chip from the bag Roy had open on the counter. "I thought you and Mom told the families not to come."

"Well, Aunt Eileen's not that far away and she might be good for your mom to have around... you know, somebody to talk to."

"Mom's not talking all that much," Jennifer pointed out with typical teenage logic.

Roy nodded as if that was exactly his point. "So maybe she needs her sister to be here with her. Maybe it'll be easier for her to talk to Eileen."

Jennifer didn't look like she followed that reasoning, and Roy knew she was going to find out anyway. He might as well tell her now. He left off his fussing with the tray and turned to face his daughter.

"And she'll be company for your mom when I'm at work."

Jennifer's eyebrows lifted, but that was her only indication that she was surprised by his announcement.

"Have you told Mom yet?" she asked quietly.

Roy shook his head. "Not yet. I was going to after we ate."

"She's not gonna be real happy with you," was the fifteen year old's sage observation.

Roy sighed wearily. "I know." He picked up the tray, glad that Jenny at least wasn't demanding to know his reasons for his decision. He started for the doorway, hoping that Joanne would at least eat a little before he had to tell her. Jenny's voice stopped him again before he got that far.

"Dad?"

He paused and half turned. "Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Dad... Dad, do you..."

Roy heard the quaver in her voice and turned all the way around to give her his complete attention.

"What is it, Jen?" he asked softly.

"Do you think John's dead?" she blurted out, sounding more like a little girl than she had in a long time.

Roy opened his mouth to assure her he didn't, but found no glib words there. As much as he wanted to say without a doubt that he knew his son was still alive, his voice wouldn't cooperate. It took him a moment to work the hard lump out of his throat in order to answer Jennifer's question.

"I... I wish I knew, Jenny," he said in a harsh whisper. "I wish to God I knew."

­­­­­­ Chapter 31

The San Bernardino County Detention facility was clean and modern and meant to provide a place to hold criminals awaiting arraignment. You had a bunk to sleep on, an open shower and toilet area and in some cases, didn't have to share your space with anyone else. By a stretch you could call it comfortable, but it wasn't much more than that. And it wasn't home.

Danny Wyatt wanted nothing more than to go home and pretend that none of this was happening to him. His mother had just left after her one allowed visit for the day. She was in tears as usual, and it tore Danny up to see her that way.

He lay on the bunk in his holding cell and wondered how he'd ended up here. He knew he hadn't been a perfect son. After his dad had split when he was eleven years old, he'd promised himself he'd be the man of the house; be someone his mom could depend on. But things hadn't worked out that way. He tried, but never seemed to be able to get very good grades. Sure, he'd skipped school a few times, got in a few fights, and by junior high school had been suspended once for smoking in the boys' bathroom. But it had all seemed pretty tame to Danny's way of thinking. Nothing major. He'd never ended up in Juvie like some of the guys he knew. He usually went home at night. He didn't hang out under the freeway smoking grass - well, once or twice. But he didn't do it all the time like Greg Hanson and Ted Lawson and the dudes they hung out with.

It wasn't until ninth grade that he and Shawn had started spending all their free time at the beach. Like most kids in the Orange County beach communities, they'd been riding boards for years. But now surfing became their all-consuming passion. They got up early to catch waves before school and headed there as soon as the last bell rang. Everything took a back seat to the beach. That's where Danny drank his first beer, had his first hangover, laid his first girl. And that's where Shawn first talked him into doing cocaine.

Danny sighed, trying to ignore the shakiness in that sound, and turned over onto his stomach, his cheek resting on his forearms. It would be easy to blame everything on Shawn, but Danny knew he had been eager to do anything his friend did. From the moment they'd met when they were eight years old, Danny had been Shawn's shadow. Even when six years ago Shawn's parents had moved to the much more upscale neighborhood that they lived in now, the boys had continued to be inseparable.

It was a friendship that neither sets of parents encouraged. Shawn's mom and dad because they'd wanted to shed themselves of any reminders of their leaner days, including the people who still lived in the old track. Danny's mom because she just plain didn't like Shawn or the influence he had over her son. She'd nagged Danny constantly about his friend being a bad influence. Danny had merely tuned her out. Shawn was his buddy; his main dude. There wasn't anything Shawn did that Danny didn't try and copy.

Now her wished with all his heart that he'd listened to his mom. He didn't blame Shawn for the things he'd chosen to do as a kid. But he sure as hell blamed Shawn for the trouble he was in now. If Shawn had only been smarter about getting dope from dudes he didn't know. If he'd only waited to smoke the damn joints ‘til they got home. If he'd just waited to change cars until they got to San Bernardino. If he hadn't fuckin' tried to beat that paramedic guy to death.

Danny squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn't block out the vivid images of Shawn hitting that poor dude over and over again. He couldn't stop seeing the blood on the guy’s face and hearing the dull thud of the tire iron as it connected with the man's skull. But worse than all of that was the look of pure pleasure he'd seen on Shawn's face as he was doing it. That alone would haunt Danny's dreams for years to come - if he had any years to come.

He swallowed hard against the fear that tied his belly into knots and kept him close to the toilet, even though he was highly embarrassed that he had to do that out in the open where everyone could see him. But he supposed that should be the least of his worries.

They'd been charged with assault and battery, and with grand theft auto. But they were still being questioned about the missing kid. The cops still thought he and Shawn had kidnapped and probably killed that little boy. No matter how many times Danny told them that he'd never seen any kid, the cops just sat there and looked at him like he was the worst pervert under the sun; like they wished they could beat the hell out of him until he told them what they wanted to know. Danny had talked to them 'til he'd run out of words. He'd cried in front of them and he'd even thrown up in front of them once. Still they kept asking him the same goddamn questions.

Where's John DeSoto?

What did you do with him?

Where did you dump his body?

Danny felt his shoulders jerk as a sob rose up out of his chest. Tears once more leaked out of the corners of his tightly shut eyes.

"Are you cryin' again, you jerkwad? I swear, you're worse than a little girl."

Danny's tears dried up at the sound of Shawn's sneering voice. Though they weren't in the same cell, they were next to each other. Out of sight, but not sound, and Danny had been forced to listen to Shawn's smart mouth the whole time they'd been here. What he had learned quickly over the last few days was what an asshole Shawn really was. He only wished he'd figured that out sooner.

"Shut up," Danny shot back, swiping a hand over his eyes. "This is all your fault anyway, you dumb ass."

Shawn just laughed. "Yeah, but I'm not the one who's gonna hafta spend time dancing with the big boys."

Danny shuddered at Shawn's inference. Everybody knew what went on inside prison and it scared Danny shitless to even think about it. But after a moment he frowned as he registered what Shawn had said.

"Whaddya mean, you're not the one? You're the one who beat that guy up."

Shawn laughed again, and Danny's jaw clenched at the sound. He was beginning to hate it.

"Yeah, but my lawyer's gonna plea that I wasn't responsible for my actions... being under the influence and all... and since I didn't know those guys put the dust in the grass I bought from them, it wasn't my fault."

Even though Danny couldn't see Shawn, he knew from the smugness in his friend's voice that there would be a matching expression on his face.

"And," Shawn continued, "if this dickhead is worth all the dough my mom's paying him, he'll get me off of anything to do with the kid too. Too bad your mom can't afford a decent lawyer, Danny. The dork you got sure looks like he's got his head up his ass."

Danny sat up on his bunk and clutched the stiff pillow to his chest, gritting his teeth to keep from saying anything. It wouldn't help anyway. And what could he say? That Shawn was right? That his mom couldn't afford a high priced Newport Beach lawyer? That Danny was stuck with a court appointed public defender who sure as hell wasn't going to work very hard to strike any bargains for his client? That Danny had been mortified when his mother had begged Shawn's mom to let their attorney handle the cases for both boys and Mrs. Reynolds had outright laughed?

"Hey... hey, Danny." Shawn's voice called after a long moment of silence. "Danny, you still there?"

"Like where else would I be?" Danny retorted with a snort, wishing they'd move him to another cell, even one with other guys in it, as long as he could get away from Shawn for a little while.

Shawn giggled at Danny's remark. "That's good, Danny boy, keep up your sense of humor. You know, I was just thinking... maybe if your mom played nice with my lawyer, he might take your case. Know what I mean? Some lawyers do that, you know... take cases for free. They call it pro bono." He giggled again. "Get it, Danny? Pro boner? I bet your mom would lay down so you could get outta jail. Don't you think?"

"Shut up!" Danny snarled and leaped off his bunk to slam up against the wall that separated him from Shawn. "Shut your fuckin' mouth!"

"Quiet, Danny, quiet," Shawn snickered, reminding him that if they got too rambunctious a guard would come in and see what was going on.

"You're a fuckin' moron, you know that, Shawn?" Danny spat out in a harsh whisper. "You're not gonna get off one thing. You beat that guy up for no reason and he nearly died. You're the one whose gonna go to fuckin' jail."

"I wouldn't be to sure about that," Shawn taunted in a low voice. "Remember, I was too high to know what was going on. Maybe you did take the kid and I just don't remember. Maybe you're the pervert who gets his kicks with little boys. Maybe I should just tell my lawyer I'm starting to remember a little bit... that I think I saw that kid in the car with us... that when we stopped for gas you took him in the back of the car and..."

"Goddamn you. Shawn!" Danny screamed, beating his fist against the wall, and wishing it was Shawn's face. "You know that's not true, you fuckin' pig."

Shawn just laughed as Danny screamed louder and louder until the hallway door opened and the guard came in to warn him to shut up.

With the man standing there, Danny had no choice but to quiet down and crawl back to his bunk. The guard stayed for some time, and when he finally left, Danny was too exhausted to do much else but cry himself to sleep.

­­­­­­ Chapter 32

“Kelly Brackett tells me you are to be released soon, Bubele.”

 

Even Johnny could hear the subdued and disinterested tone in his voice.

 

“I guess. Probably Thursday.”

 

“Could you not sound even an itsy bitsy spider bit joyful about this?”

 

“Teensy weensy bit,” Johnny corrected automatically in an old game familiar to both of them.

 

“That too.”

 

Johnny gave a slight smile at the way he could have predicted her response, but that action didn’t have much feeling behind it either, and the paramedic chief had no doubt his dinner companion knew it.

 

Johnny sat in a wheelchair at the round table in his room.  He’d been moved from ICU to the step down unit on Sunday morning.  Mid-afternoon on Monday, he was moved to a regular room.  It was now Tuesday evening. A week had passed since the carjacking, and the cops were still without leads as to where John DeSoto might be.  On Sunday, Dr. Brackett had allowed Johnny to be questioned by the police.  The same sergeant who’d attempted to take a statement from him at Loma Linda Hospital, drove down from San Bernardino to talk to him again.  Fortunately, Roy wasn’t present for this round of questioning.  Johnny knew he couldn’t have stood to see the anguish that would have appeared on Roy’s face once he discovered Johnny had no information to offer the sergeant.  Although his headache had eased somewhat over the past couple of days, Johnny’s memory wasn’t bringing forth anything that would help the police find John.

 

This was the second time Dr. Edwards had been in to see Johnny since her brief visit on Friday evening.  At noon on Sunday, she’d brought him beef tips and dumplings with warm apple strudel for dessert.  Her beef was as tender and succulent as he remembered it being, her dumplings as light and flakey.  Then there was the strudel.  The psychologist hadn’t lost her knack for cooking in the years that had passed since Johnny last “broke biscuits” with her, as Dr. Edwards phrased it.  It was still “melt in your mouth” delicious. 

 

Johnny was wary throughout Sunday’s meal, causing his enjoyment of it to be greatly diminished.  Without being told, he knew this second visit was about more than getting him to eat a wholesome meal.  But as often happened with Dr. Edwards, what was to follow wasn’t nearly as bad as Johnny feared.  She didn’t try to make him talk about John.  She didn’t try to make him talk about much of anything.  Instead, she asked, “Do you want me to be here with you when Sergeant Preston of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police arrives to take your statement?”

 

It was hard enough trying to decipher what Dr. Edwards was saying when your head didn’t hurt.  But when it did, then much of what she said was just plain confusing. 

 

“What?”

 

“Sergeant Frank Preston, along with his horse Rex and his dog Yukon King.”

 

It took Johnny a moment to figure out what she was talking about.

 

“You mean Sergeant Preston of the Yukon?”

 

Dr. Edwards’ face had lit with a delighted smile. “You are familiar with Sergeant Preston then, no?”

 

“If you’re talkin’ about the guy on the TV show from when I was a kid, yeah, I’m familiar with him. Though it’s probably been thirty years since I’ve seen an episode.”

 

“Then you should turn on Channel 5 at six o’clock every weekday morning while you get ready for work like I do, and you shall relive some of your childhood, Just John.”

 

“I’m not interested in reliving my childhood.  What I’m interested in doing is helping the cops find John so he can live his childhood.”

 

“I know you are. That is why I asked if you would like me to be here when Sergeant Preston speaks with you.  Only I am a mixed up old woman, as usual. I do not think his first name is Frank.  I believe Dr. Brackett said it is Shmuel.”

 

“Shmuel?”

 

“That is Hebrew.  You would know it as Samuel.  So see, I am sure Sergeant Shmuel Preston is a nice Jewish boy who only wants to find Little Just John.”

 

“Whether he’s nice or not doesn’t make any difference. It’s his job to find John. But none of that matters anyway, ‘cause I can’t tell him any more today than I could on Wednesday.”

 

“Which is why maybe you need a friend here with you when the good sergeant talks to you, no?”

 

“No.”

 

“Does that mean yes?”

 

“Only when you say it. When I say it, it means no.” 

 

“Ah, Just John, you are still as stubborn as a donkey’s front end, but I shall respect your wishes.  If you change your mind, however--”

 

“I won’t change my mind.”

 

The doctor shook her head while making clucking noises with her tongue.

 

“Ack, your are a hard-headed mule, my friend Just John.  You will not even consider changing your mind before you are insisting you will not change your mind.  But so be it.  I shall collect my dishes, go home, and watch some of my favorite shows on the color television set.  This, you see, helps me forget about how frustrated stubborn men make me.”

 

Johnny watched as the chubby little woman bustled around his room packing up their dishes and the leftover food.  She picked up her basket from the table.

 

“I shall see you later, gator.”

 

Johnny didn’t even realize he didn’t argue with her about future visits when he said, “Okay. See ya’ later.”

 

Although he didn’t want her present when Sergeant Preston took his statement, Johnny pushed aside his depression and despair long enough to add, “Thanks for offering to be here when Preston shows up.”

 

“You are very welcome, Bubele.  Sometimes between friends, good intentions are enough, no?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good. Then we are in the same book.”

 

“On the same page?”

 

“That too.  Now I ask that you remember it.”

 

“Remember what?”

 

“Ack, you’ve forgotten already.  That good intentions are sometimes enough, Just John.  It applies to all of us. You as well.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“You did not intend for anything bad to happen to Roy Rogers’ little boy.  You are trying very hard to remember things so you can help the police find Little Just John.  That is what I mean when I say sometimes good intentions are enough.  Sometimes they are all we have.”

 

After the woman left the room, Johnny turned to stare out the window while saying softly, “You try explaining that to the parents of a missing child.” 

 

As Johnny had known would happen, his good intentions paved the way to nowhere for Sergeant Preston.  By the time the man left, Johnny’s headache was worse again, and Dr. Brackett was once more telling the paramedic chief that he had to give himself a chance to heal, and that he couldn’t rush what wouldn’t be rushed. In this case, memories of the crime that landed Johnny in the hospital, and landed John DeSoto God only knew where, or in what condition.

 

It had been just twenty minutes ago that Dr. Edwards had shown up in Johnny’s life again.  This time she carried a crock-pot full of chicken noodle soup, while an orderly followed with her basket of dishes and homemade bread, and a pan that held a chocolate cake.

 

“You are a sweet boy for helping an old woman wearing funny clothes,” she’d told the orderly.  “You must have a piece of cake as my thanks to you.”

 

She’d cut the young man a huge slice of chocolate cake with a layer of thick fudge frosting, while Johnny’d wheeled himself to the table.  He hated using the wheelchair, but given the cast on his arm that extended from his hand to his elbow, crutches weren’t an option.  Or so Brackett said.  Johnny was willing to give them a try, but he had yet to be given the chance.

 

The orderly returned form the nurses’ lounge with a paper plate and plastic fork.  He left with his cake, telling Dr. Edwards he’d be happy to help her carry anything at any time, all she had to do was look him up.

 

The woman began setting the table for her and Johnny with a self-satisfied smile. 

 

“Ah, another nice young man who likes my cooking.”

 

It was after they’d begun eating that Dr. Edwards mentioned Johnny’s upcoming release from Rampart.

 

“So, as I said, Bubele, you do not seem too joyful about going home.”

 

Johnny shrugged between swallows of his soup.  “I might be if I was goin’ home.”

 

“But you are.”

 

“Not to my home.”

 

“But of course not. This Kelly Brackett could not allow since you live alone and must use a Ferris wheel for a little while.”

 

“Wheelchair.”

 

“That too.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

“Oh, but you are most disagreeable when you do not get your way.  You have many friends. I am sure you are going someplace nice.”

 

Again, Johnny shrugged.

 

“So, do you intend to keep me suspended?  I am not as young as I used to be.  I could go,” the woman snapped her fingers, “just like that.  And then, ack, I would die wondering where my friend was spending his recovery, and why the thought of that place has put such a look on his face that I think he found a sour ball in my delicious soup.”

 

Johnny knew there was no use in not telling Dr. Edwards.  She’d just keep bugging him about it, and if he still refused to discuss the subject, she’d find out from Brackett.

 

“I’m goin’ to Roy’s.”

 

“But that is good, no?  Roy Rogers is your very best friend.”

 

Johnny hesitated before finally confessing, “I don’t know if it’s good or not.”

 

“Why?  Didn’t Roy Rogers invite you?”

 

“Yeah, he did.  He stopped by here yesterday after he got off work.”

 

“And?”

 

Johnny sighed.  “And Brackett talked to Roy about not wanting me to be at home alone for a while.  I wish he wouldn’t have. I coulda’ made other arrangements.”

 

“Yes, you probably could have.  But the important question here, Just John, is would you have?”

 

When Johnny refused to answer the woman she said, “I thought so.  And see, Kelly Brackett knows this too, because he is a very smart man.”

 

“Smart or not, he shouldn’t have talked to Roy of all people. Not now.  Not with what’s goin’ on.”

 

“You have concerns that Roy’s invitation is not a sincere one?”

 

Johnny thought about the doctor’s question while he took three more spoonfuls of soup.  He set his spoon down and pushed his bowl aside.  He hadn’t eaten all of his meal due to the worries on his mind, as well as the blisters on his lips from his sunburn, but he’d eaten enough to satisfy both the woman and Kelly Brackett.

 

“No…no, actually, I don’t.  I think he was being very sincere.  He said Eileen – his wife’s sister – that Eileen’s been staying with Joanne on the days he’s on-duty. But Eileen has to go back to work because of some project that’s come up, and Roy doesn’t want Jo to be home alone, so he…well, he thinks maybe it’ll be good if she and I keep each other company.”

 

“And you do not believe this is a good idea?”

 

“What do you think?  Her son is missing because of me.  No, I don’t think it’s a good idea.  As a matter of fact, I think it’s a pretty crummy idea if you wanna know the truth.”

 

“I see.  Then I have something to tell you, Just John.”

 

“What?”

 

“I stopped by Roy’s house this afternoon and visited with Mrs. Rogers.”

 

“You did?”

 

“I did. Dr. Brackett suggested to Roy that I might be able to help his family.  After Roy visited with you yesterday, he came to my office.  He is very worried about Joanne.”

 

“She’s…she’s not handlin’ this very well, is she.”

 

“Did Roy say that?”

 

“No. I could just…I could just tell by the way he was acting.  And when Jo wasn’t with him when he came to see me, I…I knew. I just knew.”

 

“She is very frightened for her child, and very sad.”

 

Johnny thought, I know the feeling, but he didn’t voice it.

 

The paramedic accepted the piece of cake Dr. Edwards offered him.  He didn’t have an appetite for anything more, but he knew to turn down her food would only cause him hassles he wasn’t up to dealing with.  The woman forked off a piece of cake from her plate and ate it. She closed her eyes.

 

“Mmmm…excellent if I do say so myself.”

 

“It’s good,” Johnny acknowledged after taking a small bite to appease her. “Thank you.”

 

The doctor opened her eyes and feigned outrage. “Only good? This is the best you can say about a cake that could win first prize if I entered it in the Pillsbury Bake-Off?”

 

“What’s a Pillsbury Bake-Off?”

 

“Some silly contest for women who do not cook as good as me, which is why I do not enter.  It would not be fair to beat them when I can walk squares around them with my culinary skills.”

 

“Run circles.”

 

“Those too, only I’m too fat to run any longer. But when I was a girl, I could run like the rain.  Even faster than the boys, believe it or not.”

 

“I believe it.”

 

“It is good that you do, because I do not lie.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And as you know too, I do not hit around trees.”

 

Johnny smiled. “Or beat around bushes.”

 

“You are correct.  I have no reason to do that, either.  However, you can hit around trees better than anyone I have ever met, Just John, when you dig your heels in and put your mind to it.  But now you are feeling a little better and I will no longer coddle you, so enough stubbornness, no?”

 

Johnny didn’t respond.

 

“Ah, you do not answer me, which is what I expected.  For as you know, I was married once and had a son, so I can often predict what men will do before they do it.  And what I did not learn from being a wife and a mother, I learned in shrimp’s school.”

 

“Shrink’s school.”

 

“There too, but do not try and distract me by playing our word game.  I am concerned, my friend, about the signs of depression you display, and how hard I see you trying to remember things your brain cannot bring forth at this time.”

 

“I’m not depressed.”

 

“Dr. Brackett thinks you are.  He wrote it in your chart.”

 

“Then maybe Brackett should consult with me first before he writes stuff down.”

 

Dr. Edwards laughed.  “Oh, Just John, but you funny my tickle bone.  A big important stuffed shirt of a doctor like Kelly Brackett most certainly does not consult with his patients before he writes down his observations about their physical and emotional health.  So, you are not depressed. That is good. I shall tell Kelly he is wrong, you are fine, and that tomorrow you will be ready to go back to work as though nothing has happened.”

 

“I didn’t say nothing’s happened.”

 

“Then you would be correct, because something has happened, hasn’t it?  Your best friend’s child is missing.  A boy who was named after you.  It is quite an honor to have a child named for you, isn’t it?”

 

Johnny hesitated, then said softly, “Yeah…yeah, it is.”

 

“And it is a large responsibility to have another’s child entrusted to your care, is it not?”

 

Johnny took a deep breath. He didn’t like where this conversation was leading.  He looked out the window while giving a slight nod. 

 

“It must weigh heavily on your shoulders that Little Just John is now missing.”

 

Johnny’s eyes shifted back to the elderly woman. “Of course it does.  He’s my best friend’s son.  I was the last person to see him alive.”

 

“But you do not remember.”

 

“No…no, I don’t.  I keep trying but…”

 

“But what?”

 

“I thought maybe I remembered something, but it…I just don’t.”

 

“What did you think you remembered?”

 

“I already told you, it was nothing.”

 

“Let me be the judge of that.  After all, I am the shrimp here.”

 

When Johnny wasn’t forthcoming with any information, Dr. Edwards reached across the table and patted his hand. 

 

“What are you so afraid of, John?”

 

Johnny swallowed hard.  Moisture came to his eyes as memories almost two decades old surfaced.

 

“I…I’m afraid I failed John like I failed my daughter.”

 

“Your daughter?”

 

“Jessie. She and her mother – my wife Kim – were…they were murdered a long time ago.”

 

Dr. Edwards allowed Johnny to gather his emotions, then said, “Would you like to tell me about it?”

 

“There’s not much to tell, really.  The guy was an old boyfriend of my wife’s who…I guess he was determined that if he couldn’t have her, then I couldn’t either.  I had the chance to save Jessie, but I couldn’t.  I walked in on him right after he’d killed…killed Kim. I had Jessie in my arms. I tried to turn and run when I realized what had happened.  When I realized I needed to get Jessie outta the house and call the cops, but it was too late.  He attacked us with a baseball bat.  Jessie died from her injuries.”

 

“I am so sorry to hear this.”

 

Johnny shrugged.  “Like I said, it happened a long time ago.”

 

“My son died a long time ago, too, but the heart…our hearts do not forget the love they carried for our children, do they, Just John?”

 

As Johnny looked into the woman’s eyes he saw for the first time, not a doctor, but a person he had something in common with. A person who, like himself, had buried her only child.

 

“No.  No, they don’t.”

 

“And now I want you to tell me what you have remembered about Little Just John.”

 

Johnny weighed this decision before finally offering the woman a deal.

 

“Only if you don’t say anything to Roy and Joanne.  I don’t wanna get their hopes up over something that’ll probably turn out to be nothing.”

 

“You have my word that I will not say anything to Roy Rogers, or to Mrs. Rogers.  For you see, what you say to me is confidential.  I shall tell no one, for these are rules I learned in shrimp’s school.”

 

“I…I just don’t think it’s worth anything.”

 

“I may not be,” Doctor Edwards admitted, “but what if it turns out to be worth much, and you keep it locked away inside?”

 

Johnny thought a moment.  “I guess you have a point. It’s just like I said, though.  I don’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up.”

 

“Not even your own, no?”

“No,” Johnny shook his head. “Not even my own.”

 

“Maybe if you tell me, we can sort it out together.”

 

“There’s not much to tell.”

 

“All the better, because then I will have time for a second piece of cake before I have to leave.”

 

Johnny smiled briefly as the woman cut herself another slice of cake.  He sobered as she started to eat while looking at him with an expectant gaze.

 

“I don’t know if I really remember this or not.  It’s not clear.  It’s like a memory from so long ago that I’m not sure if it really happened, or if I dreamed it.  If my mind made it up for some reason.  Ya’ know what I mean?”

 

“I do.”

 

“I…I think I remember tellin’ John to hide.”

 

“To hide where?”

 

“That’s just it.  I don’t know.  And when I try to remember more, John’s face is gone, and it’s Jennifer’s that I see, and I’m tellin’ her to be quiet and stay hidden.”

 

Johnny didn’t offer any more explanation than that.  Although Dr. Edwards had never spoken to the paramedic chief about his experience six years earlier with a still unknown assailant who’d tried to kidnap Jennifer DeSoto while on a weekend camping trip, the psychologist was aware of the event.  It had been well publicized in the newspapers and on TV, and had been the talk of Rampart Hospital for weeks afterward.

 

“So you are afraid this memory is nothing but a combination of an old memory and wishful thinking.”

 

“Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.  That’s why I don’t want Roy and Jo to know.”

 

“Did you tell this to Sergeant Preston?”

 

“No.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because it wasn’t until yesterday afternoon that it first came to me.  After I’d been moved to this room and was in the bathroom brushing my teeth and shaving.”  Johnny shook his head with exasperation. “Stupid way to start remembering things, huh?”

 

“It is not stupid at all.  You began to remember because you were not thinking so hard about it, Bubele.  That is how the mind often works.  We try and try to recall someone’s name, and then as soon as we quit thinking about it and are engaged in another activity, it comes to us.”

 

“So what you’re saying is that I should shave and brush my teeth more often?”

 

“Who knows? It might help.  What I do know is that you must listen to Kelly Brackett when he tells you not to try and force the memories.  You have now seen second hand that does not work.”

 

“First hand.”

 

“That too.”  The woman began gathering their dishes.  “So, what are you going to do?”

 

“What am I gonna do?”

 

“I believe that’s what I just asked.”

 

“About what?”

 

“About this memory.  About staying at Roy Rogers’ house.”

 

“I don’t know.  The memory…it won’t give the cops anything to go on.  If it really is a memory, it’s just a flash of me bending over John and telling him he has to hide.  That’s it. I don’t know where we are, or if I told him to hide in my truck, or if I told him to hide somewhere else, or if I took him somewhere myself and hid him.”

 

“You do not have much faith in it, is that it?”

 

“I pretty much don’t have any faith in it.”

 

“Then what about my second question.”

 

“About me stayin’ at Roy’s house?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I don’t know.  Roy wants me to, and maybe he’s right when he says it’ll be good for Joanne to have company while he’s at work.  I’m just not sure that company should be me.”

 

“You have been friends with both Roy Rogers and his wife for many years now, haven’t you.”

 

“Yeah I have.  So?”

 

“So, friends talk things out during dark times.  Kelly Brackett is correct when he says you cannot be home by yourself until you are able to use crutches.  You must have some help.  Roy has offered you that help.  If you go to Roy’s house and it does not prove to be the right decision, then you will make other arrangements and explain to Roy why.  This does not mean your friendship is over.”

 

Johnny dropped his eyes to his lap.  “It might,” he said quietly.  He didn’t know if she understood that he meant the friendship could be over if John wasn’t found, as opposed to him referring to whether or not he stayed at Roy’s house while he recovered, but either way, Johnny didn’t give further explanation.

 

He felt a soft wrinkled hand that smelled of lavender scented hand lotion pat his cheek.

 

“Only you can decide when a memory is really a memory, and worth telling the police about.  And only you can decide where you will go when Dr. Brackett releases you.  But do not bear the burdens by yourself, Bubele.  You have many friends who will help you if only you ask.  You do not have to go through this alone.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I hope you do, and that you are not just saying that to pacify an old lady to get her to go home.”

 

Johnny lifted his head. He grasped her hand and gave it a light squeeze, but kept his thoughts to himself.

 

The doctor took the leftover cake, bread, and soup to the nurses’ lounge.  She came back to Johnny’s room long enough to retrieve her basket of dirty dishes.