­­­­­­ Chapter 42

Roy pulled into the driveway, turned off the Porsche's engine, but didn't get out of the car right away. It wasn't a physical weariness that made the short distance between the garage and the front door seem so far. Last night had been a quiet one for the station, with only one call that had turned out to be nothing more than a faulty smoke detector at a senior citizens’ home. After making sure that all the residents were okay and that there really was no cause for concern, Roy's crew had been back at the barn before midnight, and had been able to sleep until the wake up tones sounded at 7:00 a.m. Even Roy had managed to get several hours straight, though certainly not as much as the rest of his men. But then, he hadn't been sleeping well since John disappeared, even when he was at home.

At last he slowly opened the car door and climbed out; shutting it behind him, then leaning up against it. The neighborhood was quiet. In a few weeks, with school starting, the streets would be busy at this hour; full of happy, noisy children. But for now everything was still. It seemed almost unnatural, especially since there had been so much going on out here the first few days after they'd come home from their camping trip.

When news of John's disappearance first became public, their calm, quiet neighborhood had been transformed into a haven of news crews, and the crowds they drew. You could barely drive down the street with all the media vans clogging the way. Any time he walked out of his house there was someone sticking a microphone in his face, intruding on his private fears and grief. He'd hated the intrusion and wished they would all go away and leave his family in peace.

Now, however, he almost wished they were back. Not that he wanted a bunch of strangers hanging around his family, but their absence only emphasized the fact that the world had moved on, and the fate of a five year old little boy was no longer newsworthy.

Roy turned his gaze from the street to his house. That's where the emptiness was most profound. The drapes were still drawn across the windows instead of being opened to let in the new day. There was no excited little boy grinning at him from behind the glass, jumping up and down and waiting to launch himself into Roy's arms as soon as he came through the door. He knew when he walked inside he wouldn't hear the sound of cartoons in the living room or catch the smells of coffee or bacon that told him Joanne was busy in the kitchen.

Roy closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them again and pushed himself up straight, knowing his place was inside this lonely shell of what used to be a warm and happy home. He made his way slowly up the walkway and opened the front door.

That something was different was obvious the moment he walked in, but it took him a moment to figure out what it was. As he moved into the living room, he realized he could smell breakfast cooking. His first thought was that his mother had stayed the night.

"Mom." He headed for the kitchen, his stomach rumbling in response to the aroma of brewing coffee and fresh baked biscuits. "Mom, are you here?"

To his surprise, it was Joanne he found pouring orange juice into glasses and setting them at the table. She glanced up when she saw him standing in the doorway.

"Hi, hon," she greeted almost shyly. She set the last glass down and wiped her hands on a towel in what Roy knew was a nervous gesture.

He wasn't sure what had prompted her to make this effort, but he didn't question it. He wanted to encourage any attempt she made to resume a normal life; well, as normal as any of them could have at this time. He moved over and took her into his arms for a long moment, then pulled back and gave her a quick kiss.

"Morning. It smells great. I'm starved."

"Well, sit down then. It's all ready. Jen should be here in a minute."

He took his seat and began eating. Joanne joined him at the table, but only used her fork to toy with her food. Roy had first assumed her demeanor still had to do with John's disappearance, but when he glanced at the table and saw there was only one other place setting, it dawned on him what was making Joanne so anxious. Johnny wasn't here and she didn't know he was aware of it.

Rather than make her suffer any more anxiety, Roy reached out and placed his hand over hers. She looked up and met his eyes and he gave her an understanding smile.

"It's okay, Jo. Mom called me yesterday and told me Johnny went home."

The relief that washed over Joanne's face was so clear that Roy knew she must have been agonizing over this all night, worried he would be mad at her; thinking she'd thrown Johnny out. And she would have been right if he'd come home and gotten the news unexpectedly. But he'd had a chance to think about the situation quite a bit since he'd gotten the phone call from his mother yesterday, and he'd come to the conclusion that he'd put too much pressure on Joanne, not to mention putting Johnny in an uncomfortable position. Joanne's reaction only confirmed what Roy had already figured out and he was more than grateful for his mother's foresight. He squeezed Joanne's hand reassuringly.

"It's probably for the best," he told her, making sure his tone was light and unconcerned. "You know how much Johnny hates being away from the ranch. He would've been whining to go home the whole time he was here." His beamed when his words brought a slight smile to his wife's face. "I'm glad you sent Chris with him, though," he concluded. "Johnny's too stubborn to admit when he needs help."

Roy gave Joanne's hand a final squeeze, then let go and returned to his breakfast. He was heartened to see her actually begin to eat as well. When Jennifer came in to join them, it was almost like they were having a nice, normal breakfast.

The good feeling lasted for all of fifteen minutes. When they finished eating, Roy got up and started helping Joanne clear the table. Jenny offered to start the laundry and went to gather up the wet towels from the bathrooms. As Joanne set about rinsing off the dirty dishes, Roy unloaded the clean ones from the dishwasher. They worked together in silence, but it didn't seem strained, something which gave Roy even more hope that their life still had a chance of getting back on track at some point in the future, even if the worst happened.

The telephone rang and interrupted the moment. Roy moved to pick it up without even waiting for Joanne. She hadn't been answering lately anyway, and besides, her hands were wet.

"Hello, DeSotos."

"Roy? This is Detective Salazar."

Hope flared in Roy's chest, only to die just as quickly at the man's next words.

"I'm calling about Chief Gage's vehicle. Forensics has released it. They don't think there's anything else they can get from it. Someone will need to come pick it up from impound."

It took Roy a moment to find his voice and he had to work to keep the disappointment out of it. "Uh... yeah, okay, Detective. I'll see what I can do at this end."

"There's no rush," the man assured him kindly. "Just when you get the chance. You can have your gear back too."

Camping equipment wasn't exactly what Roy had hoped to be going out to San Bernardino to retrieve, but he did his best to sound positive; not only for the man on the other end of the line who was doing his best to try and find John, but for the sake of Joanne, who was more than likely listening to Roy's conversation and had to know who he was talking to.

"That's fine. I'll see if I can get somebody to ride out with me today." He glanced over at Joanne, but she seemed busy with the dishes. Nevertheless, he lowered his voice a fraction. "Uh... I don't suppose there's anything..."

"Nothing new. I'm sorry."

It had been a stupid question; one with no other answer than what he got. Roy knew that if there had been any word of John the detective would have told him right away. But he had to ask. He couldn't keep himself from asking.

"Yeah, okay. I know." He found it difficult to talk around the sudden lump in his throat. He tried to clear it away and only marginally succeeded. "I might see you later today."

The detective apologized again for the lack of news, then said goodbye. Roy hung up the phone, staring at it for a long moment before he turned to see Joanne watching him, her expression wary.

"What did they say?" she finally asked, her voice betraying her fear for the worst.

Roy took a deep breath and tried to put on a casual air. "It was just about the Rover," he said lightly. "They're done with it."

"The Rover?" Joanne's face grew angry. "They called about a stupid truck when our son is still missing?"

Roy knew she was only venting her frustration, but he didn't want her to get wound up after the day had started so well. He reached out and touched her arm in a placating gesture.

"They're just doing their job, Jo," he said soothingly. "They have to wrap up all the loose ends."

"Loose ends? Loose ends! Is that what they think John is? A loose end? Well they sure haven't wrapped that one up, have they?"

She pulled away from him and turned back to the sink, working at the dishes with nervous movements. Roy bit back a sigh. He didn't see any sense in arguing with her about it. It would only upset her more.

"I'm going to call Chet... see if he can drive me out there."

Joanne's hands froze in the middle of rinsing a dish. When she turned to look at him, Roy could see anger and disbelief blazing in her eyes.

"You're going out there today? Now? After all this time, you're going out there for a car?"

"Jo..." Roy began, but she cut him off.

"Fine," she stated coldly, returning to her chore. "Go do what you have to do. Only don't bring that truck here. I don't want it at my house."

Roy watched her in silence. He could understand her not wanting to see the Rover. It would be a constant reminder of what had happened. But it was her other words that stung. Their meaning was clear. He'd failed her. Joanne had expected him to be able to find John and he hadn't even tried. He'd never gone back out to the desert even once to try and look for their son, and yet he was rushing off to go get Johnny's car. Roy's shoulders slumped in defeat. No wonder she was disappointed in him. No wonder she didn't want to be with him. No wonder she slept in John's room now.

Not sure what else to do, Roy fell back on what he'd already decided. He turned back to the phone, pulled out the small address book and looked up Chet's number. As he heard it ringing on the other end, he felt Joanne rush by him. A moment later he heard the door to John's room slam shut. The sound cut him to the core and he rested his forehead against the kitchen wall, the weight of guilty too heavy for him to bear. It was only when he heard Chet's voice on the other end of the line that he was able to move again.

"Chet? Chet, it's Roy. Yeah... yeah, we're hanging in there. Thanks. No... no word yet. Hey, Chet? I need a favor."

­­­­­­ Chapter 43

Stan Beckworth sat tapping a pencil on the tabletop in the small conference room as he watched his young client settle down into the chair across from him. The officer accompanying him took his time unfastening the regulation restraints the youth had worn during his trip from the county detention facility to the police station. During that time, Stan took in the boy's drawn face and wary eyes. The orange jumpsuit didn't fit well; hanging on the lanky frame and giving the kid a waifish appearance that might have given Oliver Twist a run for his money if he'd been a few years younger. As it was, Danny just looked like the frightened teenager he was.

In the fifteen years Stan had been a public defender, he'd seen his share of kids in trouble. Some were just plain no good. He knew the social workers would argue that bad kids weren't born, they were made, but Stan didn't really care to argue the sociology of it. He just knew that by the time they came to him, some of the youths he'd represented were beyond help.

Then there were the others; the kids who just always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; who made poor choices that ended up going horribly wrong; who were still walking that fine line between leading a good, productive life, or following some so-called friend down the path that led to nothing but trouble. These were the kids the legal system could still help if judgments were tempered with mercy and insight.

Stan considered himself a pretty good judge of which kids fell into which category, and he felt strongly that the boy across the table from him was one of the latter. Stan had talked to Danny enough to believe him when he said he'd never seen five-year-old John DeSoto. Of course, as the cops were constantly pointing out, just because Danny hadn't seen the boy didn't mean that he couldn't have been in the car when it was stolen. There were several places where he could have gotten out and wandered off, which could be why the police still hadn't found him. It certainly didn't help Stan's client that the kid was still missing. If he could be found and returned to his family safe and sound, a lot of the heat on the teen in front of him would disappear.

Of course, there were still the other charges, but Stan believed strongly that Danny shouldn't be held accountable for the assault on the paramedic chief. That one needed to get pinned on Shawn Reynolds all the way. But another thing Stan had learned during his years working in the juvenile justice system was that money could talk and it could definitely tip the scales in your favor. Justice wasn't exactly blind when you were a kid from a rich family; something the Reynolds family seemed to be taking for granted.

Stan felt a surge of distaste as he remembered the few encounters he'd had with Shawn's mother. The father had been a silent, sour presence, but Evelyn Reynolds pretentiousness was second only to her officious presumptiveness. Her indignant surprise that "her baby" could possibly be involved in any kind of trouble would have been laughable if it wasn't so sad. And while she thought she was helping her son's situation by her manner, in reality she was only succeeding in killing any sympathetic feelings anyone involved in the case might have had toward Shawn. And of course the boy himself didn't help matters. Not with his smart mouth and smug attitude.

Danny's family had been a different matter entirely. There was no father to sit scowling in the corner, more angry that he was missing his business meeting than the fact that his son was in serious trouble. There was only Shirley Wyatt; forty, going on sixty. Her haggard face spoke of the years she'd struggled to work and raise her children on her own. Her blond hair was clean, if plainly styled. She wore little makeup, and her blue eyes were red rimmed from obvious crying. She sat quietly in the few meetings they'd had in the beginning with both boys' families. Her questions had been mostly concerned with her son's present care and well being, along with frequent expressions of sorrow for "that poor little DeSoto boy."

It hadn't been long before Stan no longer attended any of the briefings with the Reynolds. They had brought in their own attorney from the beginning and it hadn't taken long for the two cases to be handled separately, leaving Stan out of the loop of most of what was going on with Shawn and the D.A.'s office, except where it concerned his case. As a public defender, Stan was left with the client who couldn't afford the big time lawyers, and who needed him desperately.

That didn't bother him. Looking at the boy across from him now only reinforced Stan's confidence that when he'd made the choice to stay with the Public Defender's office, it had been the right decision. Too many people couldn't afford top quality representation, and though there was still the stigma of court appointed attorneys being less than stellar, Stan knew most of the attorneys he worked with were good and dedicated men. Like him, they had passed up the opportunity to go into private practice and earn the big bucks in favor of the more rewarding personal satisfaction of knowing you made the difference in somebody's life.

Stan worked to keep a smile off his face as he realized he was making himself sound like Atticus Finch. But as the officer took the chains and stepped back, leaving Stan to face the frightened teenager, he let the smile come. This kid badly needed some reassurance.

"They treating you okay, Danny?"

"Yeah."

The boy's eyes, blue when they showed from under his blond bangs, told Stan that wasn't completely true, and he thought he had a good idea what the problem was.

"Shawn giving you a hard time?" The guards had reported some of the shit the other boy was trying to feed his friend. Stan wished there was a way the two teens could be housed in different areas, but so far his requests for that had been turned down.

Danny shrugged, predictably hesitant to turn on someone he'd called friend for many years, even though Shawn seemed to have no qualms about doing it. The unfortunate code of teenage loyalty made Stan the enemy simply because he was an adult. He was going to have to take another tact if he wanted the boy to trust him. That was a big part of the reason he'd had Danny brought here to the station to talk to him. He wanted to get the boy as far away from the jail and Shawn as he feasibly could. Maybe if he felt a little less stressed and was out from under the pressure of Shawn's presence, the kid would loosen up a little.

"I'm going to lay it on the line for you, Danny." Stan leaned forward, his hands clasped and resting on the table in an effort to demonstrate his earnestness. "Things look pretty bad here. With the DeSoto boy still missing, the chances of a jury being sympathetic with you are pretty slim."

Danny's thin shoulders slumped. "How many times do I gotta tell ya’... I didn't see that kid."

"I believe you," Stan said evenly. "I sincerely believe you never saw him. But that doesn't help right now. If the police could only find him, then you're only dealing with the grand theft auto."

"What about the assault charges?" the teen asked warily.

"That was Shawn, not you," Stan assured him with more conviction than he really felt. But that was something they could deal with later.

"Yeah, but Shawn says..." Danny paused and chewed on his lower lip a moment.

"What does Shawn say?" Stan asked gently, willing the boy to open up.

After a long moment, during which Danny's long fingers clenched and unclenched around the arms of his chair, he finally began to speak, his voice hesitant.

"Shawn... Shawn says he's... that he's gonna get off cuz..." The blue eyes looked up through the fringe of bangs. "Cuz his lawyer's smarter than you and he'll say that Shawn was under the influence."

Stan allowed a smile to spread over his face, and hoped it would ease some of his client's fears. "He may very well be smarter than me," he chuckled, "but that still doesn't change the law. Drunk drivers don't get off because they were drunk... do they?" He got no response, but he continued determinedly. "Shawn was stoned, but that doesn't excuse his actions. He'll have to pay for what he did to Mr. Gage."

Danny lifted his head and brushed his hair out of his face. "You're not shitting me?"

"No, I'm not." Stan's smile grew a little wider. "In fact, we may be able to use that to help get you off of any accessory charges... seeing as how you were too afraid of Shawn's violent behavior to try to stop him. PCP is potent stuff and the user is very unpredictable."

There was another long quiet moment as Stan let Danny figure that one out. He eventually did and for the first time since he'd been assigned this case, Stan saw a smile play on the boy's face.

"Well, he did act like he was gonna come after me a couple of times," the teen admitted slowly, his mouth turned up into a full fledged grin as he realized the card they were going to play.

Stan smiled back, confident he'd shown the boy he was on his side, then let his face grow serious again.

"It still comes back to the kid, Danny. If he doesn't turn up, it's not going to go good for either of you." He was sorry to see the grin disappear from his client's face, but he knew they had to face this issue. "I want to go back over that day with you... see if you can remember even one little thing that might help the police narrow their search... give them a better shot at finding him."

"But I've already told you... I never saw him." Danny's elbows were propped on the table and he let his head fall into his hands.

"I know, Danny," Stan soothed. "But maybe if we go back over it... maybe there's some little detail you overlooked."

Danny sighed heavily, but nodded his willingness to give it a try.

"Okay... let's start when you turned off onto Nipton Road. Tell me about that."

Danny sighed again, but sat up a little straighter as he began to retell his story.

"Like I told you before... I wanted to get away from the cops. Shawn was being crazy and I was afraid that Chippie would pull us over. Then we'd be screwed. So I just took the first off-ramp I saw."

"You've never been on that road before?"

The blond head shook vehemently. "Hell no. I've only been to Vegas one other time and I was just a kid. I don't hardly remember it. Anyway, we drove along for a little while and then we saw this car on the side of the road."

Stan looked down at his notes, even though he'd heard this story before. "That would be the abandoned vehicle?"

"Yeah. Some piece of junk. I don't even know why Shawn wanted to try for that one. It woulda stuck out like a sore thumb."

"Do you remember the make... model?

Danny shook his head. "Nah. Just some old time clunker. Coulda been white... or yellow... I don't even remember. I was too worried about what Shawn was gonna do."

Stan nodded slowly. "Okay. So then you tried the engine..." he prompted.

"Yeah, but it wouldn't start so we drove on."

"And that's when you saw the man on the side of the road?"

Danny nodded glumly. "Yeah, I guess he owned the car. At least Shawn thought he did. He went nuts on me and grabbed the wheel... tried to run the guy down."

"And you don't remember anything about this man?"

Danny shook his head sadly. "Just that he was an old guy... and he wore a hat."

None of this was new information, and it didn't help in any way. Stan knew that an old man wearing a hat who drove a junker car probably fit every desert hermit from here to the state line. He also knew the police hadn't had any luck so far trying to ferret out anyone fitting the description of the man who'd been scared off the road by the two wild teenagers.

"Okay, Danny, let's move on then. You started driving again..." He let his words trail off so Danny would pick up the story.

"Yeah." Danny sighed, his regret over what happened next sounding clearly. "We drove past Mr. Gage... he was changing his tire. I didn't think much about it. We'd never ripped off a car when anybody was around who could see us. But Shawn... Shawn wanted that car... bad, ya’ know?"

He reached for the glass of water Stan had poured for him before he'd been brought in and picked it up with shaking hands. After he'd taken a few gulps and set it back down, he wiped at his mouth and continued.

"I tried to talk him outta that one... it was too conspicuous. We needed one that would blend into traffic. But Shawn... I think Shawn felt he'd gotten cheated outta the other car, so somehow he was owed this one." Danny shook his head slightly, as if he was still trying to figure out the actions of his friend. "Anyway, we turned around and came back... stopped a ways away so he wouldn't hear us." He straightened up and met Stan's eyes. "You know what happened after that."

Stan nodded and leaned forward again, his face intent. "This is where I need you to really think, Danny. I'm convinced John got out of the car before you guys took it. It doesn't make sense to me that a five year old kid would sit so still that you never heard him... or never make a noise or a movement the whole time you two were driving that car. I think somehow Chief Gage got him out of the car. You need to try hard, Danny... try hard. Is there something... anything you can remember that might give us a clue? Was there any time when Chief Gage was out of your sight? Any time he might have been able to get that kid out of the car?"

Danny grimaced and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I dunno, man... I been trying to think." He was quiet a moment, then shook his head despairingly. "I don't think so, I..." He paused again and his eyes grew intent; his face screwed up in concentration.

Stan waited patiently as the boy searched his memory. He knew the kid had been scared. So much had happened so fast it would be hard to recall small details that had appeared unimportant at the time. Nevertheless, Stan prayed Danny would come up with something. He knew without the DeSoto boy their case was, as Danny put it, "screwed."

­­­­­­ Chapter 44

Roy stood in the parking lot of the San Bernardino Civic Center, watching silently as Chet Kelly's blue Mustang pulled out into the street and soon disappeared from view. He was more grateful to his friend than he could express in words, though he had tried as he'd gotten out of the passenger side and leaned back in the window to tell his old friend and former co-worker goodbye. That brief exchange had probably been longer than any conversation the two men had held during the hour long drive.

Roy felt bad that he hadn't been better company. After all, Chet was doing him the favor, leaving his wife and infant son to make the trip out here. The least Roy could do was to keep the trip from being such a monotonous bore. But his tongue had been held fast; unable to put into words all the jumble of emotions he was feeling. Not for the first time in his life he wished he'd been blessed with Johnny's gift of gab.

Chet hadn't seemed put off by Roy's silence. In fact, he'd gripped the captain's hand firmly as they shook goodbye, a warm smile visible under his thick mustache. He brushed aside Roy's weak attempts to thank him, and the money Roy tried to offer him for gas.

"Not a problem, Roy. I just wish there was something else I could do to help, ya’ know? The rest of the guys feel the same way."

Roy knew by "the guys," Chet meant the other men who'd worked on A-shift with them at 51’s. Even though they'd each gone different ways over the last year or so, that's how each of them thought of the other. Roy supposed no matter how many years went by or how many different crews they worked with, that's how it would remain.

Roy's throat had grown tight, so he'd settled for smiling his gratitude. Chet hadn't said anything else either. He'd merely cleared his throat, then driven away with a casual wave of his hand out the window.

After Chet's car had finally blended into traffic, Roy took a long steadying breath and turned to face the building behind him. There were a lot of people who worked inside - people whose long hours and tireless efforts had still been unable to find John. His heart constricted, as he admitted to himself that his little boy might very well be dead; a realization that added weight to his legs and made them seem too heavy to make it up the steps to the police department.

Somehow he managed to keep going and reached the front desk where he gave the receptionist his name and who he needed to see. She spared him an impersonal smile, then called back to let Detective Salazar know he was here. She listened for a time, and Roy assumed the officer must have said something to clue her in on who exactly he was, for when she hung up her smile was far more genuine.

"Go ahead and go back, Captain DeSoto." She pushed a button, and Roy heard the buzzer that told him the door leading to the offices was unlocked. "Detective Salazar is expecting you."

He wasn't sure he would be able to remember the way to the detective's office, but Salazar met him half way there, his hand outstretched to shake Roy's.

"Captain DeSoto," the stocky Hispanic man greeted as he led Roy inside his office. His face was sympathetic. "I wish your trip here could have been for happier circumstances."

Roy couldn't have agreed more. He nodded once and sat down in the chair beside the desk. Salazar took his own seat and retrieved some papers from a thick file. He sorted through them a moment, then handed them to Roy.

It only took about ten minutes for Roy to sign all the necessary releases. Then the detective accompanied him downstairs to the evidence room where Roy was required to sign an inventory sheet stating that all of the camping equipment and personal gear was accounted for. He put his name to the form with only a cursory glance. He wouldn't have any idea if all of Johnny's things were here or not. Nor did he really care. He just wanted this all over with so he could get out of here. He couldn't keep the image out of his mind that one day he might be doing this again, only this time at a morgue, called upon to identify the body of his son.

He scowled, trying to chase away such dark images, but he wasn't entirely successful. It was only when a uniformed officer showed up with some boxes to stow the smaller items, that he managed to occupy his thoughts with matters at hand.

In the end it took Roy, Detective Salazar and three other men to carry everything. Roy picked up the heavy nylon bag that held the large family sized tent. It was the type that had a divider that could be zippered into place to separate the tent into two rooms, and allow for some privacy. Roy knew his friend had several smaller tents; from a one man pop up for those times Johnny went off on his own, as well as a couple of slightly larger ones that he could use if he had one or more of Roy's kids, or any of his other friends keeping him company. But Johnny had bought this one a few years ago specifically for the times when Jennifer and Joanne might be with them, even though those occasions were rare.

Though Jenny had gone on a lot of camp outs with her Uncle Johnny when she was younger, the frequency had lessened as she'd grown older and became more interested in going to the mall or the beach with her friends than hanging out with her brother and uncle. Joanne's opinion of roughing it was only slightly higher than Roy's, so she rarely went either. Roy remembered wondering why exactly his friend thought the tent would be used enough to be considered the great investment Johnny had babbled on and on about, but he hadn't said anything. Johnny had been so happy with the end of the summer deal he'd gotten on it, that Roy didn't have the heart to let his sense of practicality burst the younger man's exuberant bubble.

As it turned out, they'd used the tent exactly twice. Once, right after Johnny had bought it, all of A-shift had taken their families down to Carlsbad and spent the weekend camping at the beach. Cap had pulled rank and he and his wife had rented an RV, but the rest of the guys had used tents, and Johnny had beamed at the opportunity to show off his new purchase. Roy felt a small smile tug at his mouth at the memory, knowing that was a big reason why his partner had spearheaded the entire trip.

As far as Roy knew, the second time Johnny had used this tent was the trip they'd just taken. The smile that had been struggling for life abruptly lost its battle, replaced with sorrow and remorse and a well of regrets for things that had never happened and things that never would. As he followed the line of policemen down a long corridor leading to the back parking lot, Roy's heart seesawed between wishing he'd understood the silent invitation in Johnny's purchase and been more willing to bend a little to store more of the kinds of memories with his friends and family that the weekend at the beach conjured up, and wishing that he'd never seen this damn tent, never agreed to this damn trip, never stood by smiling while John climbed happily into the Land Rover, waving at them out the window as Roy pulled out ahead of Johnny when they left the restaurant in Las Vegas.

Up ahead someone must have hit a button, for an aluminum door began its noisy ascent. As it rolled open and let in the bright daylight, Roy could see several squad cars parked in this private area. But when he stepped outside the vehicle that held his attention was Johnny's Rover, gleaming white in the mid morning sun. Someone had washed it. The dirt that had accumulated from their two week long camping trip was gone, and the spare tire had been restored to its place on the hood. There was nothing left to show that anything out of the ordinary had happened to it.

Roy frowned, feeling an unexpected surge of anger. What had obviously been a thoughtful gesture on someone's part struck him as wrong. He needed the reminders; everyone needed the reminders that his son was still missing. It wasn't right to wash it all away. Nothing could ever wash it all away.

­­­­­­~ ~ ~

Danny shuffled along the corridor, flanked by a stern faced policeman on one side and Stan Beckworth on the other. The restraints on the teen's ankles made a normal gait impossible. They also echoed loudly in the long empty hallway. It had been the same thing on his arrival at the police station, but the difference was this time Danny's heart was lighter.

His lawyer wasn't the idiot Shawn had pegged him. He'd struck Danny as just the opposite, and for the first time since this whole mess had started, the teen felt like he had some hope to cling to. Mr. Beckworth seemed to truly care about what happened to him. And when Danny had finally remembered that time when Gage had opened the door to the Rover and neither he nor Shawn had been able to see the paramedic chief clearly for quite a while, the older man had smiled broadly and slapped his hands on the table excitedly.

"That might just be it, Danny," Mr. Beckworth had told him. "That might have been enough."

It had taken the teen a while to figure out that the attorney thought that in those few minutes the DeSoto kid could have gotten out of the car and run away. Danny wasn't sure why that made a difference in his case. The boy was still missing and Shawn had still beaten the shit out of that Gage guy. But Beckworth's enthusiasm was infectious and Danny found his spirits lifting. Maybe things would finally go right for him. Maybe he could finally tell Shawn to go fuck himself.

That image brought a smile to his face, and it stayed with him as Danny walked out the open doorway to where the squad car was waiting to take him back to the detention facility. It wasn't until he heard Stan's softly muttered, "Shit," that Danny realized there were other people out here besides the three of them.

There was a small group of men, some uniformed some not, loading up the back of the white truck Danny recognized at once. He stopped without thinking, staring at the scene until his watchdog grabbed him by the arm and growled at him to keep moving.

It wasn't much of a commotion, but with the clinking of his restraints and the tone of the officer's voice, it was enough to cause the men at the back of the Rover to stop what they were doing and turn to see what was going on. The uniformed men only spared them a brief glance, but the other two stood up straighter, giving Danny a chance to really see them.

With a start he recognized the short Mexican guy as the detective who'd first questioned him. The other man, a white guy, was taller, his hair a dark blond that was losing ground at the top of the guy's head. He stared at Danny blankly for a moment, but then a scowl darkened his face.

"Come on," Mr. Beckworth prodded, his voice anxious, as if he felt it was important they leave in a hurry.

Danny's gaze had shifted to his attorney, trying to figure out why the man was concerned. That brief instant kept him from seeing the man move in his direction. His only warning was someone yelling.

"Captain... stop!"

Before he knew what was happening, Danny was pushed up against the squad car they'd been passing, his back hitting hard enough to push the air from his lungs with a soft "umph." For what seemed like forever he felt someone holding his shoulders in a painful grip, shaking him repeatedly as a great many voices shouted around him, but he could only make out the words of one of them.

"Where's my son? Where's John? What did you do to him?"

And then the hands were gone, and the shaking stopped. Danny leaned forward, letting his trembling hands rest on his knees as he took great gasps of air, concentrating on getting his breathing back on track. He could still hear the voices buzzing around him, but they'd lost some of their volume as the situation diffused.

"Captain DeSoto, you have to calm down. This won't help matters."

"He knows where John is, goddammit... he knows what happened to him."

"You can't assault my client like that. I understand you're upset, but that still doesn't give you the right..."

"Oh, stick it, Stan.... nobody got hurt."

They continued on like that, and Danny finally felt recovered enough to glance up. His bangs were in his face but he was still able to see the man who'd attacked him; the man Danny now knew was the father of the missing boy. The fire captain still looked upset, but he didn't look like he was going to go off again. Danny didn't want to call a lot of attention to himself, but he took the chance and stood up straighter. As he did so, Captain DeSoto glanced in his direction. The teen froze for a moment, but he saw more than anger in the eyes that met his. He saw pain and despair and a myriad of other things that Danny could only guess at. His shoulders slumped at the realization that he was the cause of it.

"You okay, Danny?"

He turned to see his Mr. Beckworth's worried face. The attorney stood next to him, his hand on his shoulder. Danny nodded, not trusting his voice yet. He felt the hand on his shoulder give him a slight squeeze before he turned back to the other men.

"I can understand your frustration, Captain DeSoto," he said in a placating tone. "I'm sure I'd feel the same way if it was..."

"You don't know a damn thing about how I feel," the fire captain spit out. "I just want to know what happened to John, and this punk can tell me."

"But I can't!" Danny cried out, unable to hold in his own anguish.

All eyes turned on him. Most of the policemen were cynically skeptical, but Danny wasn't concerned with what they thought of him. He already knew their opinion. They were convinced he was at best a kidnapper and at worst a murderer. He'd heard too many of their snide comments over the last couple of weeks to hold out much hope that any of them might be on his side. He didn't care about trying to convince them. But for some reason he needed to make Captain DeSoto believe him. He needed to erase the accusation he saw in the man's gaze.

"I never saw your son," Danny continued in a quieter tone, his words meant only for the distraught father standing a few feet from him. "I swear to God, I never saw him."

"Danny, don't say anymore," Mr. Beckworth spoke softly into his ear. "You shouldn't say anything else."

He knew his attorney was only trying to protect him, but at the moment Danny didn't care. He never broke eye contact with the fire captain, willing the man to believe him. The only thing that was important to him was that this man believe him.

"I wish I could tell you where he was."

His voice wasn't much more than a whisper, but Danny knew the man heard him. Something washed across the captain's face. Danny wasn't even sure what it was. Maybe he wasn't old enough or hadn't had enough life experiences to give it a name. He only knew that seeing it there brought tears to his own eyes, and for the first time since he was a child, he longed for his own father. But not the man who'd made Danny's life a living hell and then left his family without a word. He wanted the father who would feel about him the way this man felt for his son.

"I wish you could too," Captain DeSoto finally said, his voice as quiet as Danny's had been. He turned away, at last breaking their tenuous contact, and walked back to the Rover.

Danny's shoulders sagged and he leaned against the squad car, drained. He could see Mr. Beckworth talking to the Mexican detective. He hoped it wasn't to cause a stink for Captain DeSoto. The last thing Danny wanted was for that poor guy to get in trouble for being overcome by his worry and fear for his kid.

He couldn't hear the conversation between his lawyer and the detective, but after a moment, they shook hands and Mr. Beckworth beckoned Danny over. Apparently everything had been soothed over. Danny pushed himself away from the car as his guard motioned him to start walking. They reached the unmarked sedan that had brought him here from the detention center. As he bent down to get into the back seat, Danny cast one more look toward the Rover. The men had resumed their packing, and Captain DeSoto never looked in his direction again.

­­­­­­ Chapter 45

Roy stood next to the Rover and dragged his arm across his forehead. He didn't remember it being so hot before, but he supposed he'd been too preoccupied at the time to notice much of anything. He opened the bottle of water he'd just picked up at Nipton's small general store and took a long pull. This day certainly hadn't turned out like he'd planned.

He was disgusted with himself for losing control like he did at the police station. But packing up the Rover had been harder than Roy had expected, and seeing that kid standing there had been the last straw on an already fragile camel's back. He still felt the anger and frustration that had caused him to go after the teen, determined to force the boy to tell him where John was; ready to beat or drag or choke the words from the boy's mouth.

But something had happened when Salazar and another officer had pulled him away. Something he'd seen in the kid's eyes had made it all too clear that he didn't know where John was. He'd never known where John was. These two kids may have been punks, and one of them at least had nearly cost Johnny his life. Whether or not the courts decided it was due to the influence of drugs or not was out of Roy's hands. But whatever else the boys were, Roy knew for certain that they weren't kidnappers. They hadn't seen John. They couldn't help find him. Nobody could help find him.

It was that moment of understanding, an instant of crystal clarity, that sent Roy north instead of south when he finally found himself behind the wheel of Johnny's Rover. He supposed if he were honest with himself, he would admit that he'd been planning on coming to Nipton all along, and the incident in the parking lot had only set things in motion. But he didn't know if he would have followed his impulses without that extra impetus. Or without the small bit of information Salazar had passed on to him from the kid's lawyer.

Danny says Gage had the door open for quite a while. They couldn't see what he was doing. Beckworth thinks that means your son could have gotten out of the car during that time. That might be so... but even if we focus all our search efforts on the Nipton area, it's been nearly two weeks...

He'd left the rest unspoken, but Roy knew what the man was trying to tell him. It would be nearly impossible for an adult to have survived in the desert for that long. No food, no water, no shelter from the hundred plus degree heat. The chances that a five-year-old boy would still be alive out there were next to none.

And so Roy had to go. He'd stood by long enough and let others do what he should have done from the start. Joanne had been right with her unspoken accusations. He hadn't done anything to help find their son. But if he hung back now and continued to let the police handle everything, he wouldn't be able to ever go home and face Joanne. He'd never be able to live with himself. John was his son. How could he just give up and go home without trying his damnedest to find him and bring him home.

He knew the police would do their best, but they'd already been searching out here with no results. Though they hadn't said it in so many words, Roy knew what they would be looking for now was remains.

He took another drink of his water and fought back the shudder that word caused. He couldn't associate it with John. Not with his happy, rambunctious little boy who could sweep through a room like a whirlwind and yet could ease a weary fireman's heart with a fierce hug around the neck.

Tears welled up in Roy's eyes and he sniffed them back determined not to let them out. Now wasn't the time to give into the despair that lurked at the edge of his soul. He was here for a purpose. He tossed the half empty water bottle into the Rover, then locked the door and headed across the street.

Nipton wasn't much of a town, but it did boast a small collection of businesses that ran along both sides of the street. Roy hadn't had any success when he'd showed John's picture at the General Store. The older couple who owned the place had clucked their tongues sympathetically and shook their heads. The woman fussed a great deal over what an angel John looked like, and how hard this must be for Roy and his family. The man talked on about anything they could do to help. But in the end the only help they could offer was the water he'd just drunk.

He knew the police had already been through town, more than likely questioning every one of the residents here. But Roy wasn't going to let that stop him from asking them again; from showing them John's picture once more. Maybe this time something would click in their memories. Maybe one more time was what it would take for somebody to remember a small boy they hadn't seen before, with somebody he shouldn't have been with, or wandering alone where a child shouldn't be. Roy was going to give the people here that one more chance. Though some might think it was a waste of time, how could he ask the police to keep up the search if he didn't have the faith that the effort was worth it?

The first business he entered was a place called the Nipton Trading Post. A tinny bell rang as Roy entered, causing the few people in the store to glance up from what they were doing to stare at him. A portly man behind the register smiled widely at him and gave him a friendly, "Howdy."

Roy nodded back absently, his eyes wandering over the quaintly decorated Trading Post. The first thing he noticed was that the place was much nicer on the inside than the out. The extreme desert temperatures had weathered the stucco and wood that framed this place, but someone had gone to great lengths to keep the interior of the store nice.

It was neat and organized. One wall was lined with shelves, and there were barrels and display cases filled with all kinds of trinkets and souvenirs reflecting the history of the town, from Native American rugs and blankets, to what looked like homemade jewelry. There were rocks for collectors, some polished, some rough, and one glass case held a dazzling array of sparkling geodes. There were also the more mundane sort of souvenirs - t-shirts and post cards and colorful maps, bumper stickers and the type of decals Roy had seen decorate trailers to mark their owner's travels.

Off to one side of the store was a small counter and a few tables and chairs where a couple of customers sat with what looked like mugs of beer. A chalkboard behind the counter listed the few drinks and sandwiches you could buy here. The walls bore framed photos of ancient looking Indians, weathered miners, dusty railroad men standing beside old time locomotives. There was even an electric train above his head, making a circuit of the entire room, its small steam engine replica blowing its whistle every few moments.

John would love this place, was his first thought, for one flash forgetting the reason he was here. But with his next breath he had to fight back the nagging voice that whispered John would never have an opportunity to be enchanted by this little store and its eclectic treasures.

Dragging his eyes away from the toy train, Roy steeled himself for what he needed to do and approached the man who'd spoken to him. The broad smile was still there, framed on each side by well rounded cheeks.

"Can I help you find anything? What I don't got, I can order."

"No, that's okay. I'm not here to buy anything." Roy gave the man credit that the smile only faded slightly. "But maybe you can help me."

"I'll do my best," the man answered without any commitment in his tone.

Roy pulled out the pictures of John he'd brought with him. One of them was the same T-ball photo he'd given the police. The other was a candid shot from the Fourth of July barbecue they'd had last month, and showed John grinning up from behind a huge slice of watermelon he'd just taken a bite out of. He was shirtless; Joanne's answer to the non-ending battle between a five year old and laundry. Though you really couldn't see it, Roy knew there would be red watermelon juice running down his son's chin and dripping onto his stomach.

Roy lay the photos down on the counter. The man folded his large arms on the edge of the glass and leaned forward to see better.

"This is my son," Roy began, but paused when the man jabbed a stubby finger at the pictures.

"Hey, this is that poor kid who got kidnapped, isn't it?"

"We don't really know that for sure," Roy started to explain, but was again interrupted.

"Sure he is. The police have been buzzing around for days showing his picture and asking all kinds of questions." The man looked up at Roy, his eyes registering what Roy had said. "This your boy?"

Roy nodded slowly. "I'm Roy DeSoto. My son John has been missing for nearly two weeks now." He paused again as he realized he was now the center of attention for everyone who'd been in the store. A couple other people had now edged up to the counter and were leaning over to look at the pictures the large man had replaced on the counter top. He stood silently for a moment and let them look, listening to their murmured comments.

"Who'd hurt a kid like that?"

"Aren't the police looking for him anymore?

"I thought the police said he was kidnapped."

"We don't know for sure," Roy broke in. "It looked like that at first, but now the police think John may have gotten out of the car on your road out there. They don't think the boys who attacked my friend and stole his car ever saw John."

"They think he's been out in the desert all this time?" The big man whistled, a long doubtful sound. "That's a heck of a long time for a little boy to be..." He stopped suddenly and his face grew sheepish, realizing what he was saying. "Sorry, mister, I don't mean to say..."

Roy shook his head to let the man know he understood, though he had to fight back the familiar surge of tears at the thought of John lying dead in the desert. He cleared his throat and managed to find his voice.

"I know it's a long shot," he agreed. "But I can't give up. His mother and I..." He had to stop again. His throat had tightened to where he couldn't depend on his voice. A big, beefy hand came down on his shoulder, and Roy looked up to see the storeowner beside him. Somehow he'd squeezed his bulky frame out from behind the counter without Roy noticing.

"Nobody can fault you for that," the man said in a compassionate tone. "What'd ya’ say your name was? Roy? I'm Bob... Bob Satterson." He held out his other hand for Roy to shake. "Most folks around here call me Big Bob. Can't imagine why." He laughed and his belly shook. "Anyway, we all feel real bad about what happened to your boy. All of us," and he used his arm to indicate the whole town, "all of us feel real bad that something like that happened in our town. If there's anything you need... anything at all, you just let me know. You got a place to stay?"

Roy shook his head. "No. I hadn't planned on staying. My wife's at home... and my other kids."

Bob nodded his understanding. "Well, if you change your mind, the Hotel's just down the road. Dale and Gwen are good folks. They'd put you up no charge. They've still got some of the cops over at their place."

Roy nodded again. "Thanks anyway. But I'll just keep moving here... see if anybody else might have seen John."

Big Bob gave him a doubtful look. "Well, I don't think there's anybody in town the cops haven't already talked to, but go ahead. You never know what might jog somebody's brain. You might try some of the guys like ol' Farley over there." He waved at the man still sitting at the far table. "He lives out in boondocks. He mighta’ seen your boy. Hey, Farley," Bob bellowed, even though the man wasn't more than ten feet away. "Come on over here and talk to Roy."

"I ain't deaf, Bobby, and you can just as easy come over here."

Bob chuckled and leaned a little closer to Roy, his voice lowered to a loud whisper that Farley probably could still hear. "He's got a peg leg and it makes him cantankerous sometimes, but just ignore his grumbling. He's a tad crazy, but he's a good guy underneath it all."

"You're about as subtle as a rock, Bobby," Farley shot back. "Bring those pictures over so I can see 'em."

As Bob laughed again, Roy walked to the table. The man he sat down by was probably in his sixties, but years of desert living had weathered his tanned skin and graying hair to give him a leathery look. He obviously didn't shave every day, and the salt and pepper stubble added to his grizzled prospector aura. As Roy pulled out a chair to sit down, the man shifted and moved what the former paramedic immediately recognized as a prosthetic leg out of the way. Roy laid John's photos on the table and Farley peered down at them.

"Hmmm," he murmured after a time. "I seen that one already on the TV," he informed Roy jabbing a finger at the T-Ball shot. He rubbed at his chin as he studied the other picture. Then he shook his head. "Nope. I ain't seen no boy looking like that. In fact, I ain't seen no stray boys at all... only stray puppies." He chuckled to himself at what must have been a private joke. "And I never did actually see him, only heard 'im."

He finally glanced up at Roy and shook his head, his face serious again. "I'm sure sorry, mister, but I ain't seen any sign of your boy."

Roy knew in his head that this was the response he was going to get. Logic told him that the police would have already talked to everyone. But his heart wasn't ready to quit. He picked up the snapshots and put them back in his wallet.

"Thanks," he said, his voice made gruff with disappointment and heartache. "Sorry for taking up your time."

"No problem," Farley assured him. "I hope you find him."

The smile Roy tried to give the man got lost somewhere so he settled for a small nod of acknowledgment. He left the Trading Post and started down the street, aware that the men from the store had come outside and were staring after him.

It was the same story each place he visited. The police had already been here. No, they hadn't seen any little boys they didn't know. It surely was a shame what happened. If there was anything any of them could do to help… And each time Roy walked out the door, the people he'd talked to would follow him out, and stand in their doorways watching as he headed to the next place of business. A few even took to following in his wake, making him feel a bit like the Pied Piper. He wondered briefly what they did for entertainment when they didn't have distraught fathers wandering through their town, but then he squashed that thought as unworthy. They seemed like genuinely caring people who would have helped if they could have.

By the time he'd gone through his routine of questions for the fourth time word of his quest must have already flown through the small town, for people were standing at their doors waiting for him. He was just heading toward the tiny building that served as post office and apparently the only real estate office in town, when he heard someone call his name.

"Captain DeSoto?"

Roy turned to see a San Bernardino County deputy sheriff coming up behind him. Roy tensed, ready to defend his actions, when the young officer reached out to shake his hand.

"I'm Rick Landers. Detective Salazar called a while back. Said he thought you might be headed our way. He wanted you to know we'll offer any help you need. Our headquarters are across the way at the hotel. They'll put you up if you want a room."

Roy shook his head, as he'd done in the Trading Post. "No. I won't be staying the night." He glanced over toward the hotel, but didn't see any black and whites parked there. Landers must have followed his gaze for he chuckled softly.

"We're mostly in Jeeps out here," he explained. "Too much off-roading for a squad car's suspension."

Roy smiled briefly at the deputy's comment, then sobered at the impact of it. "So you really are still out there searching." It wasn't a question, rather a hope expressed.

The officer nodded, growing serious himself. "We won't give up, Captain. I can promise you that."

Landers words were full of compassion, but Roy could also read the same undertone that he'd felt from Salazar. They had little hope of finding John alive.

"I appreciate that," he said in a voice tight with emotion. "I appreciate everything you guys have done."

There was an awkward moment between them, then Roy gestured towards the post office, where an elderly man stood watching them with interest, waiting for Roy to come talk to him.

"I guess I'll just finish up here."

The officer nodded. "You know, we already showed John's picture to every person in town."

"I know," Roy answered with a self-conscious flush to his cheeks. "But it won't hurt to ask them again."

Landers smiled sympathetically. "Nope. It sure won't. You go right ahead. And holler if you need anything." He brought his hand to the brim of his hat in a salutary gesture, then headed toward the hotel with long strides.

Probably anxious to get out of this damn heat, Roy surmised, and as with nearly everything he thought or said recently, he was immediately reminded of John, and that his little boy had more than likely been out in this heat for all this time.

Cutting that thought off the best he could, Roy once more geared himself up to ask questions he already knew the answer to. He walked the last few feet to the post office, knowing already that this visit wasn't going to accomplish anything except prove that the police had been thorough in their investigation. He would finish what he started. He would visit each and every small business or residence that he could find in this lonely little town. And then he would go home - home to Chris and Jennifer - and home to Joanne.  He wouldn’t have her youngest son for her, but at least he’d be able to tell her that he’d searched for the child that they’d likely never see again, and whose absence they’d mourn for the rest of their lives.

­­­­­­ Chapter 46

Using the crutches, Johnny struggled up the three wooden stairs that led to the big deck off his patio doors.  He sank to a well-cushioned chair, propping his crutches against the railing surrounding the deck.  He swiped a hand across his brow.  It had been stifling again today, but the perspiration was from exertion more than it was from the heat. 

 

Johnny’d just shuffled through his barn.  Chris had done the chores before leaving for work that morning, meaning the animals didn’t want for anything and that there was no need for Johnny to leave the comfort of the air conditioned house, struggle off the deck, and hobble across the sun-burnt yard.  No need except sitting in front of the TV had grown boring, and shutting the TV off meant sitting in silence and thinking of John.  Therefore, finding something to do was the better alternative.  Unfortunately, Johnny’s injured arm and leg were now letting him know why Brackett hadn’t wanted him using crutches yet in the first place, and why he was supposed to be resting, and why moving around unassisted was still supposed to be off-limits as well. 

 

Johnny gazed at the San Gabriel Mountains as Joe lumbered up the steps.  The dog lapped from the bowl of fresh water setting against the house, then plopped down beside Johnny.  The man reached over the side of his chair, running his right hand across the dog’s fur. 

 

“It’s too hot for you too, isn’t it, boy.”

 

The dog looked up, his long tongue hanging out as he took panting breaths.  Johnny glanced at his watch.  It was a few minutes after six.  Chris should be home soon.  He’d said he’d bring a pizza for supper, which was a nice gesture, but didn’t matter one way or another to Johnny.  What little appetite he’d manage to find since leaving the hospital dwindled after yesterday’s trip to Nipton. Nothing had been as Johnny hoped it would.

 

The cops had dramatically scaled back their search efforts.

 

Going to the scene of the carjacking hadn’t opened the floodgates of Johnny’s impaired memory.  He still had no idea where John was, nor did he have any clear recollection of the assault, and what the boys might or might not have done with Roy’s youngest child.

 

Most of all, Johnny hadn’t returned with John.  It had been a pipe dream at best, but nonetheless, one he’d latched onto during the long drive to Nipton.  What he was hoping for even Johnny didn’t know. That he’d look out across the desert and see John?  That they’d find John walking along the road?  That the boy would be sitting in the spot the Land Rover was taken from, waiting for Johnny to return?  Johnny was foolish to think any of those things were possibilities because they weren’t, and he’d known it all along but had still allowed himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, he and Chris would somehow do what hundreds of cops and volunteer searchers hadn’t been able to so far – located the missing five year old.

 

Johnny and Chris were both quiet on the ride home.  Although Chris offered little insight into what he was thinking, Johnny suspected the young man had also hoped they’d somehow find John in the vast area surrounding the dusty desert town of Nipton.

 

When they were within thirty minutes of Johnny’s ranch, Johnny instructed Chris to stop at a grocery store.  The paramedic gave the teenager money to buy the essentials they’d need for the next week such as milk, bread, eggs, cereal, juice, sliced ham and turkey for sandwiches, and anything else Chris could think of.  It was late when they got home.  Johnny was glad Bob Emery had the chores done.  The paramedic chief knew he wasn’t up to doing them, and he hated to ask Chris to, considering the long day the teenager had experience that started with the prayer service for John that morning.

 

Monday passed quietly and uneventfully for Johnny.  After Chris left for work, the man alternated between watching television, napping, making a sandwich for lunch that he’d only eaten a few bites of, and using his crutches to travel to the paper box and mailbox at the end of his driveway.  It was after Johnny read the paper and sorted his mail that he ventured outside again. In another hour or so, the sun would lose its strength and the day would finally cool down.  Not that it made much difference to Johnny. By then, he and Chris would be done eating.  Then they’d probably watch some TV before calling it a night.  The next day would be much the same as today had been, with Chris doing chores before heading to work, and Johnny having nothing to do but watch TV, nap, and venture outside now and again just to keep from going stir crazy.  He’d be glad when he could return to work, and now had a much better understanding of why Roy sought refuge at the fire station, rather than sit at home where he had nothing to do but think about his missing child.

 

Joe heard the crunch of tires on gravel before Johnny did. The dog shot to his feet barking while running down the steps and around the corner of the house.  Johnny didn’t try to get up and lean over the railing for a look.  He assumed Chris had arrived home.  It wasn’t until Roy rounded the house with Joe at his side that Johnny knew his assumption was wrong.  Johnny struggled to stand, but Roy waved him back to the chair.  The captain climbed the steps, ignoring Johnny’s offer of a chair to instead lean against the railing. He handed a key ring to Johnny.

 

“I brought the Rover home.”

 

Johnny looked up with surprise. “I didn’t know you were getting it.  I would have ridden along.”

 

“It was a spur of the moment thing. Salazar called not long after I went off-duty and said they were ready to release it.  Besides, you couldn’t have ridden along. Brackett would have shot us both if he found out you were making a trip like that.”

 

For a lot of reasons, including what Roy had just mentioned regarding Kelly Brackett, Johnny didn’t tell his friend that he’d traveled to Nipton with Chris the previous day.

 

“How’d you get to San Bernardino?  Joanne take you?”

 

Johnny was sorry he asked the moment the question left his mouth.  Sorrow and upset flashed briefly across Roy’s face.  Whatever happened at the DeSoto home before Roy left hadn’t been good.

 

“Chet took me,” was all Roy said on the subject.  “Chris isn’t back from work yet?”

 

“No, but he should be here soon.”

 

“I’ll need him to drive me home.”

 

Johnny started to stand again.  “I can take you.”

 

“No you can’t.  Sit back down.”

 

Johnny shot his friend a disgusted look, but did as Roy ordered. 

 

“Chris is bringing a pizza home with him.  Stay and eat with us.”

 

“Thanks, but I’d better not. I don’t know if Jo…”

 

Roy let his sentence trail off.  He didn’t have to finish it for Johnny to make a few easy guesses as to what the man was going to say.  He didn’t know if Joanne had bothered to get supper together for herself and Jennifer.  He didn’t know if Joanne was planning to pick Jennifer up from work that evening.  For that matter, he didn’t know if Joanne had come out of John’s room since he’d left and even knew where Jennifer was.

 

Johnny thought again of all the things he blamed himself for, and of all the things he’d blame himself for in the future if this family fell apart before his eyes, as it had been doing ever since John disappeared.

 

An uncomfortable silence prevailed, something Johnny wasn’t used to happening between himself and Roy.  The paramedic leaned sideways, slide a patio door open, and let the panting Joe into the cool house.  He slide the door closed, then sat there as still no words were exchanged between himself and Roy. When Roy finally broke the silence, his tone was hesitant, yet carried an undercurrent of anger that only someone who knew him as well as Johnny could have picked up on.

 

“Johnny…Johnny, Detective Salazar told me that one of the kids who took the Rover – Danny Wyatt – that he says you had the door open for a long time, and that they couldn’t see what you were doing.  Wyatt’s lawyer thinks John could have slipped out of the truck then.”

 

“I…I don’t know,” Johnny said, all the while hearing his own voice in his head repeating words he didn’t recall saying.

“I need you to hide until I tell you it's safe, okay?"

Roy leaned forward.  “Think, Johnny, think.  If there’s any chance that John got away.  That you got him out of the truck and sent him--”

 

“Sent him where, Roy?  Even if I did get him out without those kids seeing him, where the hell would I have sent him? We were in the middle of a goddamn desert and I don’t even know why!  I don’t know why I took that road, and I don’t know if I got John out of the Rover or not.  I keep…”

 

“You keep what?”

 

Johnny finally admitted what he’d kept from Roy.  “Sometimes I…I think I remember telling John to hide, but I don’t know if it’s a real memory or just wishful thinking on my part.”

 

“How long have you had these memories?”

 

“I just told you, I don’t know if they are memories.”

 

“How long, Johnny?”

 

“They’ve…they’ve come in bits and pieces ever since I was at Rampart.”

 

“And you didn’t say anything about them to me?”

 

“I didn’t think they were real.  I still don’t think they’re real.”

 

“But you should have at least said something.”

 

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

 

“My hopes?”  Roy pushed himself away from the railing.  “My son is missing, and you’re worried about getting my hopes up?  I can’t believe you kept something like this to yourself.  You could have helped the police.  If they’d known--”

 

“If they’d known what?  That my memories are so vague it could have been Jennifer I was telling to hide, or my daughter, or maybe no one at all.”

 

“Still, maybe the cops would have concentrated more of their efforts on the desert around Nipton.  Maybe they would have known not to waste time and manpower looking in Barstow and San Bernardino, and all the way to Arizona for christ sake.  If you’d just told them--”  

 

“I already told you that I didn’t tell them because I have no goddamn idea what I did or didn’t tell John to do. I don’t know, Roy!  Don’t you think I wish I did?  If I could go back to the day he got in the Rover with me instead of riding home with you…If I could go back to the moment I got off that freeway…If I could give you back your child, I would, Roy.  If I could find him for you, I would.  But you’re asking me to validate memories that I’m not even sure are memories in the first place.”

 

“I should have never let John ride with you.  I should have made him get in the camper with us.  Everything with you has to be a big adventure.  He didn’t want to ride with boring old Daddy because Uncle Johnny’s more fun.  Well goddamn you and your damn adventures, that’s all I’ve got to say!  Goddamn you and your adventures, Johnny, because John has probably paid for them with his life!”

 

Roy’s voice cracked.  He swiped at the tears filling his eyes.  What other angry words might have been exchanged neither man had a chance to find out, because Chris came around the corner of the house carrying a cardboard box. 

 

“Hey, Dad. What are you doing…”

 

The smile left Chris’s face as his eyes traveled between the two men.  Johnny had no doubt the teenager could feel the tension and knew he’d just walked into the middle of something that hadn’t been pleasant.

 

“I need you to take me home, Chris.”

 

“But I just got here with supper.  Eat with us and then I’ll--”

 

“I’ll buy you something along the way.  Just take me home now.”

 

Chris caught Johnny’s slight nod that indicated he’d be wise not to give his father any hassles.

 

Chris climbed the steps and left the pizza box on the patio table. He gave it a longing look, allowed his gaze to travel to Johnny a moment as though he was trying to find answers to what had just happened, then gave a small sigh and turned to follow his father to the LeBaron.

 

Johnny heard the Chrysler’s engine come to life, then tracked its progress down the driveway until he could no longer hear gravel crackling.  He glanced at the pizza box, the aroma of warm cheese and sausage not even enticing him to open it and take a slice.

 

This time the memories were all too real as Roy’s voice replayed in Johnny’s head.

 

Well goddamn you and your damn adventures, that’s all I’ve got to say!  Goddamn you and your adventures, Johnny, because John has probably paid for them with his life!”

 

“He probably has,” Johnny murmured, barely able to keep his own voice from cracking now.  “He probably has, Roy, and I’ll never have enough words to tell you how sorry I am about that.”

 

The man struggled to his feet.  He slowly made his way into the house without his crutches while carrying the pizza box and fighting to keep his balance.  Johnny put the pizza on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator, then hobbled into the living room using the wall for support.  He eased into his recliner. The throbbing in his injured knee let up just a bit when he raised the chair’s leg rest. 

 

The paramedic ignored the TV’s remote control that sat on an end table to his right.  Joe lay on the floor by Johnny’s chair, looking up at his master with mournful eyes as though he understood what had transpired outside, and why the air was heavy with sorrow and regret. 

 

Long after the sun went down and twilight gave way to darkness, Johnny sat alone in his living room wondering if he and Roy could salvage their friendship, or if like John, it would vanish without a trace, leaving behind nothing but memories and bad dreams.

­ Chapter 47

Roy watched as Chris drove off in his Pinto. Since the Land Rover was back at Johnny’s, Chris decided there was no reason for him to continue to drive Joanne’s LaBaron.  The Rover would easily hold the wheelchair while providing a comfortable ride for Johnny.

 

Chris had turned down Roy’s offer of a meal at a McDonald’s drive through.  He told his father he’d eat the pizza that was waiting for him back at Johnny’s.  The teenager seemed anxious to get in his car and return to the ranch.  Whether that was because he was tired and had to work the next day, or whether Roy’s tension and silence had made Chris uncomfortable, or whether Chris was enjoying his time away from the house that no longer seemed like home, Roy wasn’t sure.  Regardless, he didn’t argue with his son.  Just told him to drive carefully, and that he’d talk to him in a day or two. He hadn’t told Chris about his trip to Nipton, or what had precipitated the argument between himself and Johnny.  He didn’t want to force his son to choose sides, and no matter how upset Roy was, the fact remained that Johnny needed someone to help him for a while and Roy was the one who’d volunteered his family for that duty.  Therefore, it was just as well that Chris was more than willing to return to Johnny’s place, and also more than willing to stay as long as necessary.

 

Roy turned to enter the house. His eyes wandered over the hot pink Gremlin in his driveway with the pair of purple fuzzy dice hanging from the review mirror.  He hadn’t seen a Gremlin on the road in several years now, and had always thought of this peculiar looking American Motors car as a death trap.  He assumed the little vehicle belonged to one of Jennifer’s friends.  Between its color and small size, it was the kind of novelty car a teenage girl would love.

 

The first thing Roy noticed when he walked in the front door was the smells coming from the kitchen that made his stomach rumble.  Roast beef.  Fresh baked bread.  And cinnamon, nutmeg and apples like you’d mix together and put in a pie shell. 

 

After what had happened between him and Joanne that morning, Roy couldn’t imagine she’d be welcoming him home with a dinner fit for a king, but nonetheless, he allowed himself to hope she was.  To hope that, like with the breakfast she’d cooked, she was doing her best to slowly but surely return to a normal routine.

 

Roy rounded the dining area. He came to an abrupt halt when it wasn’t his wife standing at the stove with her back to him.  The pudgy little woman wearing the florescent orange dress with fat yellow sunflowers on it turned around.

 

“Ah, welcome home, Roy Rogers.”

 

“Uh…hi.”

 

“Go ahead.  Ask what is on your tongue.”

 

“On my mind?”

 

“That too. Ask away.”

 

“Uh…”

 

“What am I doing here.  That is what you want to ask, is it not?”

 

“I…yeah, I guess so.”

 

“Then I shall tell you. I came by this afternoon to visit with my new friend Joanne, and decided that what the Rogers family needs is a good home-cooked meal.”

 

“But our neighbors--”

 

“Ach, your neighbors.”  The woman waved a hand in dismissal as she opened the refrigerator and took out the milk.  “They are kind hearted people, but their meals made of Hamburger Helper and spaghetti sauce from a jar are not the same as a succulent beef of roast, mashed potatoes, bread kneaded with my own two hands, and an apple pie made from only the freshest ingredients, now are they?”

 

“Well…uh…no.  No, I don’t suppose they are.”  Roy glanced down the hall.  “Where’s Jo?”

 

“I sent her and Jennifer on a nice long walk.  She cannot hide away in this house so people will not ask her about Little Just John.  She must get used to people asking.  She must learn the best way to answer them.”

 

“The best way?”

 

The woman turned her back to Roy again as she began making gravy from the roast drippings. 

 

“Losing a child is heartbreaking, no matter the circumstances.  It is not easy for any mother to talk about.  But Joanne cannot go on blaming people for not talking about Little Just John, while at the same time giving people the impression she doesn’t want to talk about him.  This only makes things worse for all concerned, does it not?”

 

“It does,” Roy acknowledged from his own experience of not knowing from one moment to the next what Joanne wanted from him. 

 

“So, we are both in agreement, Roy Rogers. That is good.  Now you can set the table for me.  I assume Christopher will not be joining us?  I saw him bring you home, but then leave again.”

 

“He headed back to Johnny’s.”

 

“That is too bad and too good, both at the same time.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Too bad, because Christopher will miss my excellent meal.  But it is good, because John needs someone with him until his injuries heal.”

 

“I didn’t kick him out.”

 

“I never said you did.”  The woman put down the spoon she was using to stir the gravy and turned around.  “What is the matter, Roy Rogers?  You sound defensive, which is not like you.”

 

“Nothing’s the matter,” Roy said as he grabbed a stack of plates from a cabinet.  Even to his own ears Roy’s answer sounded short and abrupt, which was also not like him either, especially not when he was speaking to a guest in his home. Least of all one who was making supper.

 

“It was a hard day, no?”

 

Roy shrugged as he circled the table with the plates.

 

“Joanne told me how she reacted when you informed her you were leaving to get John’s truck.”

 

“She was right.  I should have done more.”

 

“More?”

 

“To try and find John.”

 

“What more could you have done, Bubele?”

 

“Joined in on the search parties for one thing.”

 

“But your family needed you.”

 

“They did. But still…”

 

“Hindsight is fifty-fifty as the saying goes, Roy Rogers.  You did what you thought was right at the time. What was best for Joanne, Christopher, and Jennifer.  No one can fault you for that.”

 

“Except my wife.”

 

“Your wife grieves for her child.  This can make a woman say things she normally wouldn’t.  And too, you must remember that just like you think you could have done some things differently, Joanne could have as well.  She has shut herself off from her family by hiding in Little John’s room.  I am not saying this is good or bad. I am just saying it is.  None of us knows how we would face such a tragedy like you and Joanne find yourselves with. There is not always a right or wrong to it, and no book of rules to follow either. Remember that. For this is true because I said it is so.”

 

Roy smiled a little as he finished setting the table.  He couldn’t help it.  The unorthodox woman had a way of lifting a person’s spirits.

 

Dr. Edwards began carrying food to the table.  “You stayed away all day. Joanne was fearful she pushed you too far this time, and that you had left for good.”

 

“I’d never do that.”

 

“I told her so. You are not that kind of man.  I can tell.”

 

“I…I went on up to Nipton after I got Johnny’s truck.”

 

Without Roy taking notice, the doctor started handing him platters of food to cart for her.  He walked back and forth between the dining area and kitchen, barely registering the food that was piling up on the table.

 

“I see.  Did you join a search party while you were there?”

 

“There wasn’t much in the way of search parties to speak of.  It’ll be two weeks tomorrow since John disappeared.  I don’t think the police…that they hold out much hope of finding my son ali…of finding my son.”

 

“So what did you do?”

 

“Showed John’s picture to everyone in town I ran across.  Asked a lot of questions the police have probably already asked.  Still, I had to do something, even if it does come two weeks too late.”

 

“It is not two weeks too late, Roy Rogers.  No effort made on behalf of someone you love is ever too late.  You have supported this family both financially and emotionally ever since Little John disappeared.  Do not punish yourself for doing what it is a married man is supposed to do in times of trouble.”

 

Roy didn’t comment as he put the last of the food on the table.   He could hear the sadness in the doctor’s voice when she asked, “The police have nothing new to report on Little John then?”

 

“No.  Other than one of the kids who assaulted Johnny now claims that for a period of time Johnny had one of the Land Rover’s doors open, and he and the other kid couldn’t see what Johnny was doing.”

 

“And this means?”

 

“The kid’s lawyer claims it means this would have given Johnny the window of opportunity he needed to tell John to hide somewhere.”

 

“Do the police think this is what happened?”

 

“I got the impression they’re uncertain.  Or at least not willing to give a definite yes or no.”

 

“So they consider it a possibility then. Nothing more, nothing less.”

 

“That’s probably the best way of putting it.”

 

“And what do you, as John’s father, think?”

 

“If Johnny did get John out of the vehicle, then I’m pretty certain John would have done whatever Johnny told him to – hide, run for help, lay low in the ditch until Johnny came for him, whatever.  Johnny…a little while ago he told me he’s had some memories of telling John to hide, so I guess that says it all.”

 

“Says it all? I do not understand what you mean by this.”

 

“That Johnny instructed John to hide, and my little boy did as he was told and that cost him his life.”

 

“You come to conclusions too easily perhaps, Roy Rogers.”

 

“Or maybe I don’t.”

 

“And you and Just John exchanged angry words about this?”

 

“We had a discussion about it, yes.”

 

The doctor chuckled.  “You are men.  Therefore, I know what kind of a ‘discussion’ took place.”

 

Roy turned away from the woman.  “Doesn’t matter anyway.  If Johnny did send John into that desert…”

 

“And what would you have done in his place?”

 

Roy turned around. “In whose place?”

 

“Just John’s.  What would you have done?  Kept your child by your side, all the while uncertain as to what might happen to him if you could not protect him?  If you were assaulted with a tire iron like Just John was?  Would you not worry that those boys, one of them high on drugs, would beat your child to death?  Or rape him?  Or do so many unspeakable things to him that you could not bear the thought of it?   Would you have tried to hide him if the opportunity presented itself?  Or sent him for help? What would you have done, Roy Rogers?”

 

“I wouldn’t have taken my eyes off of him, that’s what I would have done.”

 

Dr. Edwards reached out and patted Roy’s arm, her wrinkled face soft with understanding.  “As I told you earlier, Bubele, you reach conclusions too easily. When it comes to protecting a child in a situation like Just John was faced with, you cannot know for certain what you would do until you experience it.”

 

“So you’re defending Johnny’s actions?”

 

“I defend no one.  However, I do ask that you remember there are two sides to every coin, and although those two sides are very different, they are still worth the same amount of money.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“That both you and Just John love Little John very much.  Protecting him and keeping him safe would be the utmost priority of either one of you, even if the methods each of you chose to do that differed. Perhaps now is not the time to fight with your best friend, Roy Rogers. Perhaps now is the time to remember the bond you have with him that caused you to name your youngest child for him.  I believe a positive outlook often makes for a positive outcome; yet I am not a fool.  I know your child may not come home to you.  It hurts my heart to say so, but it is the truth.  If that is the case, then the road ahead will be a hard one to travel, for I am well acquainted with that road, because I too have buried a son.”

 

“I…I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”

 

A wistful smile touched the corners of the old woman’s mouth. 

 

“His name was John, also.  He was my only child.  He was killed in a car accident when he was twenty. Many years ago now.  His death came ‘like a thief in the night’ as the Bible says. It is a New Testament reference a good Jewish woman like myself should not be aware of; nonetheless, it describes what it felt like to lose my precious son so suddenly and unexpectedly.  And it is because of this, that I know you will need your friend John, just like he will need you, if the worse comes to pass.”

 

Roy didn’t respond.  So many feelings were assaulting him that it was hard to sort them out.  Anger.  Sorrow. Fear. Self-pity. Hopelessness. 

 

As though she was aware of his inner turmoil, Dr. Edwards patted Roy’s arm again. 

 

“It is okay to feel all of those things.  As I have told Joanne, it is normal.  It is easier to sort them out, however, if they are spoken of openly. That is why on Wednesday, promptly at eleven a.m., you, and Joanne, and Just John, will meet with me in my office at Rampart Hospital.”

 

“But--”

 

“There are no buts allowed, other than the tushy you set in a chair.  I have already told Joanne this.  I expect to see all three of you there, or I shall round you up myself in my little pink hotrod.  But let me warn you, you will not like the ride for it will not be comfortable for a tall man like yourself.”

 

“Johnny won’t agree to it.”

 

“You let me worry about Just John. I assure you, Roy Rogers, he will be there.  I will see you then, no?”

 

Roy wanted to say, “No, you won’t see me then,” but it was hard to buck this forceful little woman, especially given all the time she’d devoted to his family recently. 

 

“All right,” Roy sighed. “ If I don’t have to work overtime or something like that.”

 

“I can track you down at the fire station just as easily as I can track you down here, so remember that. Besides, I have never ridden on a fire truck, so maybe I would enjoy a visit to your station, no?”

 

“It’s against the law for me to allow you on a fire truck.”

 

The doctor laughed. “And you think an old woman of my age cares about laws?  Oh, Roy Rogers, but you do funny my tickle bone with all your rules and regulations.  I bet Just John would sneak me on a fire truck if I asked him to.”

 

Roy tried not to smile at her reference to Johnny, but he couldn’t help himself.  She knew his friend too well.

 

“He probably would,” Roy confirmed. 

 

“And that is why I like both of you.  A little by the book, mixed with a little devil may care.  It makes for a good friendship, does it not?”

 

Roy didn’t answer the woman, but she didn’t seem to mind. 

 

“Of course it does.  I know you think so too.”

 

The front door opened, which ended the conversation.  Joanne and Jennifer entered the dining room, Joanne just as uncomfortable in the presence of her husband as she had been at breakfast that morning.

 

Dr. Edwards didn’t allow time for any tension between husband and wife. She urged everyone to their seats, clucking like an old mother hen as she oversaw dishes of food being passed and generous portions ladled onto plates.

 

What had been a bad day, turned into a good evening for Roy.  He wished Chris was there to share in the family meal, and when Jennifer voiced the same thing, Dr. Edwards assured her that she would be going to Johnny’s house the next evening to cook for the “bachelors who are probably living on frozen pizzas and pot pies.  Not the kind of food that is suitable for a dog, Jennifer.  You remember that when you have a husband someday.  A man appreciates a good meal that does not come from a box or a can.”

 

If nothing else, Roy now knew how the psychologist planned to get Johnny to the counseling session on Wednesday. She’d do to him what she’d just done to Roy – guilt him into it with a home cooked meal.

 

After supper was finished and the kitchen cleaned up, Roy walked the doctor to her car.  He thanked her for the meal, and for everything she’d done for Joanne. When she cornered him again about Wednesday, he promised he’d do his best to attend. 

 

Jennifer was watching TV when Roy entered the house. He kissed the top of her head, said, “Don’t stay up too late.  You have to work tomorrow,” and headed for the bedrooms.  He was disappointed to see the door to John’s room closed.  He thought things had gone pretty well between him and Joanne during dinner, and then afterwards, when they’d insisted Dr. Edwards remain seated at the table visiting with Jennifer while they cleaned up.

 

Roy thought of knocking and then entering, but decided against it.  He was too tired and drained to deal with whatever Joanne might throw at him.  He went to the master bedroom, quietly closed the door behind him, and crossed to the bureau. He retrieved clean boxer shorts and a pair of pajama pants.  He headed for the master bathroom, anxious to wash off the remnants of an exhausting day, along with the desert dust that made his eyes and hair feel gritty.

 

The man did a double take when he emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later.  The bed was turned down and Joanne was in it.  She hadn’t slept in this room since they’d arrived home from vacation. 

 

Roy didn’t say anything as he padded across the carpeting to the bed. His wife gave him a shy smile that he returned.  He climbed in beside her; opening his arms to her when she snuggled against his chest and rested her head on his shoulder.

 

Joanne was the first to speak.

 

“I’m sorry about this morning.”

 

“I’m sorry too.”

 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

 

“Yes, I do. You were right. I should have done more to help find John.”

 

“I never said that.”

 

“I know. But that’s what you meant.”

 

The woman didn’t deny Roy’s statement, which confirmed to the man that he’d guessed correctly.

 

“I…I drove up to Nipton after I got done at the sheriff’s office.”

 

“You did?”

 

“Yeah.  I showed John’s picture around town, asked some questions…”

 

“And?”

 

Roy sighed. “And nothing.  Everyone wants to help, but no one’s seen him, or seen anything suspicious.”

 

Joanne squeezed Roy’s hand.  This news didn’t seem to surprise her.

 

“Did the police have any new information?”

 

Roy debated whether or not to tell Joanne what Danny Wyatt was now claiming.  He finally decided he should. Better she hear it from him, than find it out later when watching a news report on TV.

 

“The Wyatt kid told his lawyer some time passed when he and Reynolds couldn’t see what Johnny was doing because he’d opened one of the Rover’s doors.  He must have been standing behind it, using it to block their view.  Because of that, the cops think there’s a chance Johnny somehow got John out of the vehicle.”

 

Joanne propped herself up on one elbow.  “And did what with him?”

 

Roy shook his head.  “I don’t know, Jo.  No one knows.  Not even Johnny.”

 

Roy could tell Joanne was thinking of all the possibilities he had.  That Johnny told John to hide somewhere. That Johnny sent John for help.  That Johnny…what?  Who knew for certain?  Until and if Johnny ever remembered, what happened to John Walker DeSoto would likely remain an unsolved mystery.  Like Roy, Joanne knew her child couldn’t have survived in the desert for long. Certainly not for two weeks, unless someone had found him and offered him help.  But if someone had, why hadn’t that person come forward and turned John over to the police?  So many possibilities, and each one of them as terrifying as the next.

 

Silent tears began running down Joanne’s face.  She buried her head in her husband’s shoulder as though the last bit of hope she’d carried that her child would be return to her had just been shattered.

 

Roy stroked a hand over his wife’s hair as tears ran down his face, too.  It was the first time they’d cried together for their son. The first time Roy had really cried at all.  His body shook as sobs overtook him.  Joanne held him tighter, allowing him to draw strength from her for a change, rather than the other way around.  When Roy finally had no tears left, he planted soft kisses on Joanne’s face and neck.  They hadn’t made love since John disappeared.  That night they came together again as husband and wife, then slept wrapped in each other’s arms until Roy woke a few minutes before two a.m.

 

The man was able to disentangle himself from his wife without waking her; a testament to her exhaustion.  He slipped his boxers and pajama pants back on, then quietly left the room.  The door to Jennifer’s bedroom was closed, and all was quiet within. 

 

Roy allowed the dim light that was on over the kitchen sink to guide him through the house.  He poured a glass of orange juice, then took it out onto the deck.  He sat in a chair, listening to the crickets sing and watching the swimming pool’s water ripple slightly with the nighttime breeze.  Roy thought back over what had occurred in the bedroom.  He didn’t need a degree in psychology to know that he and Joanne had come to the realization that their child was dead. That there was no more hope.  No more uncertainty.  John was dead, and whether or not they ever got a body back was the only question left unanswered.  It broke Roy’s heart to think about it, and when his tears started again, he didn’t try to hold them back.

 

­ Chapter 48

Farley ambled toward his truck carrying the license plates for Rudy’s Buick in one hand, while slipping the title for the vehicle into his shirt pocket.  Farley had come into town a few minutes after eight on this Wednesday morning in mid-August.  He ate breakfast at the café, sat in there and jawed through four cups of coffee, then made his rounds, visiting with Gwen and Dale a few minutes before heading over to Big Bob’s to catch up on all the latest gossip, which mostly centered around Roy DeSoto, who’d been in Nipton on Monday showing pictures of his missing boy and asking questions.  Everyone in the Trading Post agreed the boy was probably dead, and Big Bob wondered aloud if the kid’s body would ever be found.

“That’s gotta be the worst thing for the parents, don’t ya’ think?  Never getting a body back.  Never knowing for sure what happened to the boy.”

“Yeah,” Farley agreed.  “Gotta be.”   

“Me and Marge said that would be the worst thing if it was one of our kids.”

“I ‘magine so.”

The conversation shifted then to the usual stuff:  When rain might move in and bring some relief from the heat.  If arrangements with another bus company would come through before the area kids went back to school in two weeks.  If Nipton’s oldest citizen, Tilly Masterson, would still be alive and kicking to celebrate her one-hundredth birthday in November. 

After the gossip lost its steam, Farley played a couple of hands of cards with Big Bob and Charlie Emerson, then walked down to the filling station to shoot the bull with Kip.  When Farley was getting ready to head home, Kip asked, “Hey, you gonna see Rudy any time soon?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on seein’ him today, but I can stop by there if ya’ need me to.”

“I’ve got the new plates and title for his car.  Said he’d get ‘em from me last Friday, but he never showed up.  Figured if you were gonna see him you could give ‘em to him for me.”

“I kin do that.”

“It’s not any trouble?”

“Nope. No trouble t’all.”

“Thanks.”

Farley waited outside while Kip walked through the old station and stepped into his cramped little office at the rear.  Seconds later he was back with the plates and title. He handed them to Farley. 

“It’s not like Rudy not to show up when he says he’s going to.  Hope he’s not sick.”

“Ah, he’s not sick.  Nuts maybe.  But not sick.”

“What?”

“Ah, nothin’. Forget it.”  

It was too hot to stand out in the sun and tell Kip how oddly Rudy was behaving lately.  It was exactly a week ago that Farley stopped at Rudy’s and practically had to force his way into the house, only to hear that mangy puppy barking and then have Rudy give him the bum’s rush him out.  Farley’d been worried enough about his friend’s behavior to stop by again on Saturday.  Rudy hadn’t even let him in the house that time.  Just kept making excuses about how he needed to go because he had errands to run, yet he wouldn’t tell Farley what errands he had to run, and when Farley offered to ride along to keep Rudy company, Rudy had said no in a sharp tone that wasn’t called for.  He kept looking at the house too, and the whole while that stupid puppy was barking from somewhere inside. 

“He better not have been dumb enough to take in a coyote pup,” Farley muttered now as he walked away from Kip and headed across the street to his truck, which was still parked in front of the café.  

The man started the Ford, checked in the rearview mirror to make sure the path was clear, then pulled away from the curb.  As he drove down main street and then headed out of town on Nipton Road, Farley’s thoughts dwelled on his best friend.  He sure hoped the behavior he’d been witnessing wasn’t the first signs of senility setting in.  It was hard for Farley to even guess at the source of Rudy’s strange behavior. The man had always been slightly paranoid, so it was difficult to know for certain if Rudy was going senile, or if there was something bothering him that he was stewing over and getting all worked up about, and then making out to be a bigger deal than it really was.

Rudy was like that sometimes.  Farley’d seen it first hand after the mine accident.  Rudy had been so certain the police were trying to pin the blame on him, when from Farley’s perspective, they were just being thorough and making sure the accident couldn’t have been prevented on the part of the mine company, or was the result of criminal intent on someone’s part.  Of course, Farley had been in the hospital then recovering from the loss of his leg, so he hadn’t been present when Rudy was questioned.  Maybe the police were gruff with him, or kind of tough on him in some way.  Farley knew how sensitive Rudy was. Probably one of the few people who did.  You had to handle him delicately sometimes, though Rudy would have a fit if he ever heard Farley say that.  Still, it was true. Rudy blamed himself easily for things that weren’t his fault.  Maybe it went back to the Dear John letter he’d gotten all those years ago from Carol.  What was that new fangled phrase Farley heard thrown around on all the TV talk shows now – low self-esteem?  That was it.  That’s what Rudy had.  Low self-esteem.  Even going all the way back to the war.  Rudy blamed himself even that far back for Frank Chappaquick’s death. 

Farley didn’t know much of the story, only that Frank and Rudy were paratroopers together and had jumped from a plane behind enemy lines during the Normandy invasion.  Chappie’s parachute hadn’t opened.  With German tracer fire going off all around him, Rudy watched his friend plunge to the earth.  Because Rudy had helped the young man pack the chute, he’d blamed himself for Chappie’s death.  No amount of common sense reasoning on Farley’s part had ever been able to convince Rudy he didn’t need to carry this guilt to his grave. Farley’d served in the war too.  He knew what it was like.  He knew how chaotic things were, and how often things didn’t work like they were supposed to; from guns, to grenades, to parachutes, to battle plans.  Besides, the odds were against Rudy and Frank right from the start.  General Eisenhower fully expected seventy percent of his paratroopers to perish during the invasion.  In the end, things turned out a little better than that, with an almost even split of fifty-fifty. Still, like Farley had told Rudy a thousand times, “Them’s crappy odds right from the start.  There’s a good chance your friend wouldn’t have lived through the invasion even if he had made it to the ground alive.”

“Yeah, but there’s a good chance he would have, too.”

So there was no talking sense into Rudy sometimes, that was for sure.  He hurt deeply and shouldered a lot of blame he shouldn’t, but that was Rudy for you.  Farley supposed those same qualities were what made him such a good friend.  Didn’t matter much either way. They’d been buddies too long for Farley to question the reasons why.  It’s just that at times like these, when Rudy was acting weird, Farley wished he was an easier man to figure out.  Hell, he could be spooked by all the cops in the area lately. That might be the only reason Rudy’d stayed away from town and was acting skittish.  Or maybe he really had done something stupid like take in a coyote pup, and now didn’t know what to do about it.  Or, the last possibility, and one Farley didn’t like to think about, was that maybe his friend was losing his marbles.  Maybe Rudy really was going senile like had happened to Jack Doogan a few years back.

They used to work with Jack in the mine. He was their foreman; a real good guy.  He got so goofy as he grew older that when he was found wandering around Nipton one day naked as a jaybird, his family had to put him in an old folk’s home.  He died a couple of years back. At the wake someone said Jack hadn’t even known his name anymore, nor recognized his wife and children.  Farley sure hoped something like that wasn’t happening to Rudy.  He didn’t know what he’d do without his best friend.  They fought and bickered more than they did anything else, but they were always there for one another through thick and thin. To Farley’s way of thinking, that’s what mattered the most.

Farley turned the Ford onto Rudy’s road.  He traveled two desolate miles, then could see his friend’s little stucco house in the distance. The Buick was parked in the driveway, and everything appeared quiet and undisturbed.  As Farley drew closer, he spotted Rudy coming out of the front door.  The old man leaned forward, squinting.  It looked like a child was clinging to Rudy’s hand and skipping along beside him as they turned toward the shed. 

Farley blinked, sure he hadn’t seen what he’d just thought he’d seen. Sure the strong sun reflecting off of his windshield was playing tricks on his eyes.  He swung the Ford into the driveway.  Rudy stopped when he heard the vehicle and spun around.  For just a moment, Farley saw panic cross the man’s features, then Rudy swept the child up and raced for the house.  But not before Farley had determined his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. 

“What the hell!  That ain’t no puppy, that’s a…”

Farley slammed on the brakes, flew out of the truck, and ran to the front door as fast as his artificial leg would allow.  He threw open the screen and grabbed the knob, twisting and turning.  Locked. 

Farley raised a fist, pounding and shouting, “Rudy, let me in!  Rudy, gosh darn you, you crazy ole’ fool, you let me in!  Let me in and tell me what’s goin’ on, or I’m goin’ to the police right now.  I will! I’ll turn your ass in to the cops if you don’t open this door!”

A few seconds passed, then the door slowly opened.  Farley found himself face to face with his contrite and terrified best friend.  The boy glued to Rudy’s side had his head buried in the old man’s waist, and appeared to be just as frightened as Rudy was.  As though he knew they’d finally been caught at their game. He sobbed and begged, “I wanna go home.  I wanna go home now, Cloud Jumper. Please take me home to my mom and dad.”

Even without the kid turning to face Farley, the man knew he’d just located John DeSoto. He looked from the child to his friend.

“Holy crap, Rudy. What the hell kinduva mess did you git yerself into?”

 

 Chapter 49

Johnny grimaced and swung his legs out the passenger side of the truck. He reached back for the crutches Bob handed him, maneuvered them from the vehicle, placed their rubber tips on the cement, and carefully eased to the sidewalk.

 

“Sure you don’t need my help making it inside?”

 

Johnny pivoted on the crutches so he was looking into the truck’s cab.  “No, I’ll be okay.”

 

“If you say so.  Just don’t fall and break your other arm.”

 

Johnny gave the man a half smile. “I won’t.”

 

“I’ll be back by one to pick you up. Don’t worry if you’re not done yet.  I brought along the newspaper and a couple of magazines.  I’ll sit in the parking lot right across the way here and read while I wait for you.”

 

“I should be out about then,” Johnny promised. 

 

All he’d told his neighbor was that he had a medical appointment at Rampart.  He hadn’t revealed the appointment was with a pushy little Jewish psychologist who’d plied him with a meal of baked chicken, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and all the other trimmings, including a fresh cherry pie for dessert. It was after the meal was over and Chris had gone to the barn to check on the animals and secure the building for the night, that Dr. Edwards announced she expected to see Johnny promptly at eleven on Wednesday morning for a joint counseling session with Roy and Joanne. She’d even offered to pick him up, an offer Johnny rebuked in a fit of temper that the doctor ignored while insisting he eat another piece of pie to, “sweeten you up and get that sour expression off of your handsome face, Just John.”

 

When Johnny had gotten past the anger over how he’d been blackmailed, he’d considered driving himself to the hospital in the Land Rover.  When his common sense finally kicked in, he realized that wasn’t the wisest of ideas considering his sore ribs, bum knee and the cast on his left arm.  Not to mention the headaches he still suffered from that could sometimes be so overwhelming all he wanted to do was lay down and close his eyes.  He knew Bob ran errands in the city every Wednesday while his wife had a girls-day-out with friends.  One quick phone call to Bob ensured Johnny a ride to and from Rampart.  He could have asked Chris if all else failed, but that would have meant the teenager adjusting his work schedule. As well, it had the potential to put Chris in an awkward position between his parents and Johnny, even though he was still unaware of what exactly transpired between Roy and Johnny on Monday evening.

 

“Don’t forget, lunch is on me,” Johnny reminded his driver.  “You pick the place.”

 

“I already told you; you don’t have to buy my lunch.”

 

“And I already told you that I was going to since you won’t take any gas money.”

 

“No need to. It wasn’t like I had to go out of my way or anything.”

 

“You can argue with me about it later. In the meantime, be thinking of where you wanna eat.  Anyplace that doesn’t serve fast food is fine with me.”

 

“I’ll go along with that,” Bob agreed.

 

Johnny shut the passenger door, nodded when Bob waved, and then watched the man drive off.  

 

The paramedic tightened his grip on his crutches and turned around.  He’d directed Bob to the main entrance doors.  Johnny wasn’t stupid enough to walk through the Emergency Room like he normally would have.  If Brackett caught sight of him using crutches, Johnny’d be on the receiving end of a public display of the doctor’s infamous temper. When the shouting finally came to an end, he’d wind up in a wheelchair being pushed to Dr. Edwards’ office by Dixie, or Betty, or some other available nurse.  All of which were humiliations and hassles he could do without.

 

The doors slid open. Johnny could feel a comfortable wave of cool air before he actually entered the building.  He headed for the elevators, moving gingerly so he didn’t put too much pressure on his left arm.

 

As the paramedic waited for the elevator doors to open, he hoped this appointment would be over with before it started.  Maybe Roy and Joanne wouldn’t show up.  Maybe Roy got hung up at the station and couldn’t make it.  Johnny didn’t think Joanne would come by herself given how infrequently she left the house lately.  Besides, neither of them probably wanted to be here any more than Johnny did.  If luck was on his side, they blew off the appointment.

 

Yeah right, Gage.  Like Roy DeSoto would blow off an appointment he’d committed to.  Not likely, short of a major fire tying him up at work.

 

Johnny paid no attention to the lab technician, nurse, and two hospital visitors who got on the elevator with him.  He let his fellow passengers punch various buttons first before he reached his right index finger out and pressed the number 6.

 

Everyone else had departed by the time the elevator arrived on the 6^th floor.  When Johnny emerged at the head of a long hallway he was alone, which didn’t surprise him. This floor held nothing but offices. Some occupied, some empty.  Years ago, when Johnny’d had some counseling sessions with Dr. Edwards in her office it had been a rare occurrence when he’d encountered anyone else in this hall. An occasional clerk headed to the main file room in the hospital’s basement, or a doctor who, like Hepzibah Edwards, had an office housed here, but that was about it.  It wasn’t a bustling corridor like the one in the ER, or like the corridors that held patient rooms and were often populated by nurses, orderlies, and visitors.

 

As Johnny traveled the corridor he heard female chatter, the squeak of metal file cabinet doors being opened and closed, fingers clacking against typewriter keys, and the occasional ringing of a telephone.  Some of the sounds were muffled by closed doors, while others were clear and easy to focus on as he passed by offices with open doors.

 

Johnny hesitated as he came upon Dr. Edwards’ office.  The door was open and light spilled into the hallway, but no voices drifted out to him.

 

Maybe Roy and Jo really didn’t show up.

 

It didn’t matter to Johnny that that event would mean he’d have a two hour wait in the lobby until Bob returned.  He’d gladly read outdated magazines and stare at the TV set that was probably tuned to some soap opera, rather than sit in this office and try to hash out things he didn’t want to discuss.

 

Johnny moved forward, hovering in the doorway a moment.  Dr. Edwards looked up and caught sight of him first.  Her smile, which came before her greeting, must have indicated to Roy and Joanne that he’d arrived.  They turned around in their chairs, staring at him in a way that made Johnny feel like a zoo exhibit.  Johnny couldn’t tell what either of them was thinking, nor did either of them greet him.  He thought the couple looked tired and washed out, just like he felt tired and washed out as they now reached the fifteenth day since John disappeared.

 

The doctor stood and gestured with her right hand.  “Ah, Just John, you are right on time.  Come in, come in.”

 

Johnny saw Roy eye the crutches and caught the look that said, “What are you doing on those things? Brackett’ll ring your neck if he sees you using them.”

 

Whether Roy hadn’t noticed the crutches leaning against the deck railing on Monday evening, or whether he’d been too preoccupied with trying to get answers from Johnny as to where he might have told John to hide, Johnny wasn’t certain.  He figured it was a toss up between either one of those options.

 

Roy and Joanne occupied the only two chairs in front of Dr. Edwards’ desk.  Johnny assumed the woman was going to pull a third chair to the desk, but she didn’t. Instead, she indicated to a round table setting off to the right with four chairs circling it. 

 

“Let us all sit together over here. We will be more comfortable, no?”

 

“Sure,” Roy agreed in a subdued tone that indicated he was being polite, and would actually prefer this discussion not take place at all.  Not that Johnny blamed him, considering he was of the same opinion.

 

Roy put an arm around Joanne’s shoulders as they crossed the few feet to the table.  Dr. Edwards sat on Joanne’s left, and indicated for Johnny to take the only remaining seat.  The one between herself and Roy.

 

Johnny crutched to the table.  He leaned the crutches against the wall behind him, took a couple of hopping steps, and sat down.  His eyes flicked around the room because that was the better alternative than focusing on Roy or Joanne.  The office hadn’t changed much since the last time Johnny was here.  Paneling in some sort of fake blond wood lined the walls. Shelves overflowed with books, journals, and pictures of Dr. Edwards’ family, all of them deceased now.  The parents and siblings who’d died in concentration camps during the Second World War, then her husband and son, both of whom had passed away in more recent years. 

 

Johnny’s attention returned to the group when, with great ceremony, the doctor plunked her folded hands on the table, looked from Joanne, to Roy, to Johnny, then smiled at all three of them while announcing, “I am here, and you are here, so here we are together.  Let our discussion begin now, shall we?”

 

Johnny’s eyes traveled to Roy and Joanne.  They looked as uncomfortable as he felt when nothing but silence lingered in the room.

 

The paramedic subtly watched the minute hand on the wall clock make two complete revolutions.  As it was making its third pass around the clock, Dr. Edwards cleared her throat.

 

“So, we have nothing to discuss, is that it?  No one has anything to say?”

 

Johnny bowed his head slightly like he’d done when he was a kid in school and hoped the teacher wouldn’t call on him. 

 

“Nothing that needs to be aired?  Nothing about Little John any of you wish to discuss?”

 

When the room fell silent again, Dr. Edwards sighed.

 

“All right. As the expression goes, you can lead an elephant to the circus, but you cannot make him wear a tutu and dance. If no one wants to talk, then we will do no talking.  I myself would rather talk than do paperwork, but since the three of you have nothing to say, I must thank you for coming, bid you a fond farewell, and start filling out reports that will put me to sleep.  But, ack, such is my lot in life.”

 

Johnny waited thirty seconds longer as a heavy, uncomfortable silence enveloped the room once again.  Whether by coincidence, or because they were still in sync with one another as a result of working together for so many years, Johnny and Roy stood at the same time.  Johnny turned to reach for his crutches, as Roy bent to help Joanne scoot her chair from the table. 

 

“No.”

 

The voice was weak at first…a cross between timid and uncertain.  But then it gained strength, and sounded more like the Joanne the paramedic chief knew.

 

“No, I…I’m not ready to go.”

 

Dr. Edwards repeated, “You are not ready to go?”     

 

“N-no.” 

 

Johnny saw Joanne’s eyes go first to Roy, then to him. 

 

“John. Roy.  Sit down again, please. Joanne has something she would like to say, am I correct, Joanne?”

 

“Y-yes.  Yes, I do.”

 

Joanne sat with her hands clutched together on the table. Her knuckles were stark white.  When she finally looked up, it was Johnny she fixed her gaze on.  Tears filled her eyes as she asked, “Why?  Why, Johnny, why?  Please just tell me why.”

 

She didn’t have to say any more than that for Johnny to know her questions were the same ones she’d asked him on Sunday.

 

When Johnny didn’t answer her, Dr. Edwards said, “Why what, Joanne? What is it you want to know?”

 

“I want to know why he was on that road to begin with.  I want to know why he left the freeway.  There was no reason for him to leave the freeway!  If he’d just followed the route he and Roy had agreed on, none of this ever would have happened.  John would be safe.  He’d be at home right now where he belonged.”

 

Johnny’s voice barely held any volume. “I already told you, Jo, I don’t know.  I wish I did, but I don’t.”

 

“Then what did you do with John when those boys approached you?  What did you tell him?  Did you tell him to hide?  Did you tell him to run for help?  Did you tell him to go and wait for you somewhere?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“How can you not know? He’s five years old!  Nobody in his right mind sends a five year old off by himself, Johnny.  I don’t care what the circumstances are.  Nobody sends a five year old off into the desert by himself.”  Joanne’s tears came more steadily now, running down her face and falling onto the table.  “I trusted you. That’s what hurts the most.  I’ve always trusted you with my kids.  Trusted you as much as I trust Roy with them.  As much as I trust myself.  Do you know how much it hurts to find out like this – after my child has vanished – that I should have never trusted you at all!  That I should have known a man who can’t keep his own daughter alive shouldn’t be trusted with my child! With any child!”

 

Roy’s, “Joanne!” was filled with both shock and reproach.  However much of what his wife had said he agreed with, he apparently didn’t agree with her last few sentences, or at the very least, thought she was hitting below the belt when she brought up Jessie.

 

Johnny thought so too. For the first time since this nightmare started, he lost his temper and defended himself.  He thrust a finger at the crying woman.

 

“Don’t you ever say I didn’t do enough to keep my daughter safe, because you weren’t there, Joanne!  I fucking did all I could!  To this day I’d gladly trade my life for hers.  If there was any way I could bring Jessie and Kim back, I would in a heartbeat.  If I had to die in order to make that happen, I would.  Just like I’d gladly die if it would bring John back to you.  But don’t you dare say I couldn’t be trusted with your boy.  I never heard you complain all the times I took your kids for a night or weekend so you and Roy could go out to dinner, or get away for a few days.  I never heard you say you didn’t trust me when you needed me to come over at the last minute when your dad had his heart attack, or the time Roy’s mom fell off the ladder.  I never heard you say a word about not trusting me all of those times.  It’s not my fault we were out of Cokes and John was thirsty.  Yeah, I probably should have told him no and made him wait until we got to Baker, but I didn’t, okay? I’m Uncle Johnny to your kids, and it’s hard for Uncle Johnny to say no.  I should have, but I didn’t, because honest to God, Jo, I had no way of knowing some punks out looking for trouble would be on Nipton Road that day.  And I had no way of knowing they were gonna beat the shit outta me after I’d told John to hide!  All I wanted him to do was hide in the ditch and stay down.  I told him I’d come back for him.  I’d told him to stay hidden and that I’d come…”

 

Johnny’s sentence trailed off when he realized what he said, and that everyone was staring at him.  The memory was finally there.  Faint and still foggy, but clearer than it had been at any other time.  Now he knew for certain why he’d gotten off the freeway.

"I'm thirsty," John said, rubbing at his eyes with one fist. "Can I have som'pun to drink?"

Johnny glanced down at the cooler, knowing he'd drunk the last Coke. "We're all out, buddy. Can ya’ wait a little while? We'll probably stop before too long."

John heaved a little sigh. "But I'm really, really thirsty. How long's a little while?"

And now he knew for certain too, that he’d told John to hide.  One major problem still remained though. What had happened to John after that?  After Reynolds had beaten Johnny up and driven off with Wyatt in the Land Rover?  Had John somehow gotten back in the vehicle without them seeing him, and then gotten out in Barstow or San Bernardino?  Or had he witnessed the beating, gotten scared, and ran off somewhere?  Or had he just kept running when Johnny told him to hide, and not stopped until…until what? Until he’d collapsed with exhaustion?  Until he was lost in the desert?  Or until he’d run across some unsavory character who’d done God knows what to him?

 

Johnny could tell Roy and Joanne were asking themselves those same questions. None of it made much difference though. Yes, Johnny could now tell the police exactly what he’d told John to do, but he still couldn’t tell them what ultimately became of the boy.

 

The paramedic slumped back against his chair.  The stress he was under and the exertion of shouting had started his head throbbing.  He just wanted to go home. He didn’t even know who he was talking to – Roy, Joanne, or Dr. Edwards – when he said with little inflection and great weariness, “I’ll call Detective Salazar when I get home. Tell ‘im what I remember.”

 

Joanne’s, “Thank you,” was quiet and apologetic. 

 

Dr. Edwards let silence linger once again. She stood and got a box of Kleenex off of her desk.  She placed it on the table in front of Joanne, and waited until Jo had taken a handful of tissues, wiped her eyes, and dabbed at her nose.  When the doctor spoke, her words were directed at Joanne and Roy.

 

“During the war, it was common for Jewish parents to hide their children from the Nazis.  They did this because the instinct we humans have to keep our children safe far exceeds even our own will to survive. The most fortunate Jews were able to get their children to America or England before the Nazis occupied their country.  Others who were fortunate had Christian friends willing to take the children in and pass them off as their own.  The unfortunate ones, which were the majority, did the best they could.  Sometimes that meant hiding children in some specially built hiding place in the house seconds before the Nazis burst through the front door.  Sometimes that meant shoving them into a closet, or into a cupboard, or beneath a mattress, and then praying they would be safe. That they would not cry out in fear and give themselves away. That the Nazis would not realize children were in the house and would not look for them. But the Nazis learned quickly.  They learned to look for signs of children in a household, searching for things like toys, or storybooks, or small clothing.  They learned all the hiding places, and would aim their machine guns at closet doors, and cupboard doors, and cellar doors, and shoot until all the children inside were dead.  They stabbed the mattresses with their bayonets over and over again, often times piercing small bodies that screamed and cried until no life was left in them.  They would tear a house apart until the special hiding places were found. The children would be ripped from them and taken to camps where they were gassed. 

 

“Why do I tell you such sad stories, you are asking yourselves.  All of this happened a long time ago.  What does it have to do with your Little John, you wonder. Well, what it has to do with your child is this: Your best friend did all he could to keep John safe.  He could not have predicted what would happen.  He sensed danger from the two boys who approached him.  Possibly even recognized that at least one of them was high on drugs.  He knew he had just seconds to make a decision, and had few resources at his disposal.  I do not know what you would have done in John’s position, Roy, or you either, Joanne.  But I do know your only concern would have been to get your son to safety in any way you could, just like that was John’s only concern.   Just like that was the only concern of so many Jewish parents who were willing to hide their children in any nook and cranny with the hope that the children would somehow survive to live another day.  Just because the Nazis found the children, does not mean the parents’ hearts were not in the right place.”

 

The doctor stopped speaking then, allowing a long silence to linger before her gaze took in all of her patients. “This is not something that will be resolved today.  Probably not for many days to come.”

 

“What isn’t?”  Joanne asked meekly.

 

“How the three of you will go forward as friends.  If you can go forward as friends.  Most important perhaps, is if you want to go forward as friends.” 

 

The woman looked to her left first.  “Joanne?”

 

Joanne twisted a Kleenex between her hands.  “I…yes. Roy…Roy and Johnny have been friends for many years.  I don’t want to come between that friendship.  I know how much it means to Roy.”

 

The doctor looked at Roy next.  “And you?  Do you want to go forward?”

 

“I do,” Roy nodded.  “I know we’ve got a lot of things to work out…get past, but if there’s any way we can…”

 

When Roy didn’t say any thing else, the doctor looked at Johnny.

 

“John?”

 

Johnny refused to make eye contact with anyone.  He stared at the table and shrugged.

 

“No one knows what a shrug means, John.  You must tell us.”

 

Johnny hesitated a long moment, then finally said, “It’s…it’s a lot to ask of Roy and Jo.  We’ll just have to wait and see.”

 

Of everyone in the room, Johnny was the person who most wanted to make a commitment to the long standing friendship he held with Roy, yet at the same time, he was also the one who appeared to have the firmest understanding of all they’d have to overcome in the name of that friendship. He wasn’t certain that even a friendship as strong as his and Roy’s could, over time, survive a tragedy like the one that seemed intent on keeping them in its grip.  No matter how good Johnny’s intentions had been; the fact still remained that the decisions he made led to John’s disappearance.  Expecting Roy and Joanne to forget that fact…well, Johnny knew he couldn’t, which in turn meant his presence in their lives would be a constant reminder of their missing child.

 

“Sometimes waiting and seeing is not a bad thing,” Doctor Edwards said.  “So, we shall wait and see until next time.”

 

Johnny looked at the woman.  “Next time?”

 

“I would like to meet with the three of you again next week, on whatever day your schedules allow.”

 

When Roy and Joanne didn’t protest, Johnny kept his mouth shut.  He’d do as the doctor had just said.  Wait and see.  Maybe he’d come to another session, and maybe he wouldn’t.  At this moment, he was too emotionally spent to make a decision one way or another.

 

“Joanne, call me please when you know what day and time you and Roy can be here.  Or perhaps you will tell me over strudel and coffee at your house on Monday. I will then call John, and we will once again be here together.”

 

“All right,” Joanne agreed. 

 

The doctor looked at Roy, awaiting his confirmation.

 

“Whatever you and Jo decide is fine with me.”

 

She then looked at Johnny, who shrugged.

 

“Sure.”

 

“That does not sound like a firm sure, Just John.”

 

Johnny refused to answer the woman, just like he refused to make eye contact with her or his friends.  When she finally announced the session was over, he stood, reached for his crutches, and headed out of the office. 

 

It was difficult to hurry away given his injuries.  He hoped Roy and Jo would have reason to linger and talk to the doctor.  It would be easier on all concerned if they didn’t have to ride the elevator together.

 

“Johnny!  Hey, Johnny, wait a second!”

 

So much for Roy lingering.

 

Johnny turned around.  Roy was headed toward him, though without Joanne by his side. Either she’d stayed behind to talk further with the doctor, or she’d stayed behind so Roy could have a few minutes alone with Johnny.

 

“Do you have a ride home?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You sure? Because if you don’t, Jo and I can take you.”

 

“I’m sure. Bob brought me. He’s supposed to pick me up at one.”

 

Roy looked at his watch.  “It’s only quarter to twelve.  That means you have over an hour to wait.”

 

“No big deal.  I’ll hang out in the lobby until he gets here.”

 

“We could take you.  It’s not a problem.”

 

“Thanks, but I’ll just wait for Bob.  I have no way of getting in touch with him to tell him not to come by here, and besides, I don’t think it’s fair to Joanne.”

 

“What?”

 

“You taking me home. Throwing us together like that.”

 

“She was the one who suggested it.”

 

“Oh.  Well…still, it’s not fair to her, and like I said, I’ve already made arrangements with Bob.”

 

“All right. But the three of us could get something to eat in the cafeteria while you wait.”

 

“Sorry, but I told Bob I’d buy him lunch for being my chauffeur.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Maybe some other time.”

 

Johnny could tell that Roy didn’t like how he’d phrased his last sentence.

 

“Yeah, maybe some other time because there will be another time, right?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Johnny…”

 

“Listen, Roy, my leg aches and my arm’s killing me.  I need to get off these crutches for a while.  I’ll see you later.”

 

“Need me to help you to the lobby?

 

“No. I’ll be fine. Thanks anyway.”

 

Johnny turned for the elevator once again. He’d moved forward a few paces when Roy called to him again.

 

“Johnny?”

 

The paramedic gave an internal sigh.

 

In all the years I’ve known the guy he’s never been so talkative.

 

Johnny turned around. “Yeah?”

 

“I’m sorry about Monday night.  The things I said.”

 

“Forget it.”

 

“But--”

 

“Forget it, Roy.”  Johnny managed a bittersweet smile then. “Besides, John wouldn’t want his dad and his uncle Johnny to be fighting, now would he.”

 

Roy’s eyes misted over a little as he shook his head. “No. No, he wouldn’t want that.”

 

Johnny let Roy collect himself, then said, “See ya’ later,” before turning for the elevator once more.

 

He heard the soft, “Yeah. See ya’ later,” coming from behind him, and felt Roy’s eyes tracking his progress until the elevator doors slid shut, finally hiding him from view.

 

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