Thank you, Emergency!Universe. Challenge #5 provided the perfect scenario for this spooky little story. Readers, if you find you're experiencing a little deja vu yourself in here, just keep reading.
You might want to listen harder to your dreams tonight.... They may be trying to tell you something.
" DEJA VU ? "
"So, what's the matter with Gage today?"
Chet had that conspiratorial tone in his voice, but made no effort to keep his question just between the two of them as he slid into the chair next to Roy. He grabbed the last jelly donut from the pink cardboard bakery box sitting on the table and shoved it into his mouth, then wiped the red sticky stuff from his overgrown mustache with the back of his hand.
Without looking up from the new issue of the Straight Streams magazine he was reading, Roy rolled his eyes ever so slowly and sighed deeply. It was too early in the morning for this.
"Chet, why are you asking me a question about Johnny when he's sitting five feet away from you? Wouldn't it be a lot easier to just ask him?" The barely restrained exasperation in Roy's voice went completely unnoticed by the man sitting next to him.
Chet glanced over his shoulder at Johnny and studied him, almost giving the suggestion some genuine thought before turning his attention back to Roy. He scooted his chair a little closer to DeSoto and leaned in close, this time lowering the level of his voice just a fraction.
"Nah, he'll just tell me to shut up or to go play on the freeway. You know, one of Gage's typical brilliant comeback lines. Besides, you usually know what's bothering him before he does. So, what's up with him anyway?"
Roy cast his eyes in Johnny's direction, unable to deny his own curiosity now, looking to see if there was any substance to what Chet was saying. John had been pretty quiet since the start of the shift, and now appeared to be dozing peacefully, but other than that Roy hadn't noticed anything unusual in his behavior or his demeanor this morning. It was true that Roy hadn't really paid much attention though... his mind had been occupied with thoughts of his own about all the work he had to do around the house on his upcoming days off.
Johnny was settled comfortably on the couch with his head resting back and his eyes closed, breathing softly, apparently oblivious to the discussion, centered on him, going on a few feet away at the table.
"Sorry to disappoint you Chet, but I don't think there's anything the matter. What makes you think there is?" Roy grimaced inwardly, wanting to kick himself for asking a question that gave the conversation a life it didn't deserve.
"Well, just look at him." Chet tossed his head sideways in the general direction of the couch. "He's sitting on the couch."
Kelly sure had an uncanny knack for pointing out the obvious. Roy looked at Chet, then at Johnny, then back at Chet, with an annoyed expression that threatened to dismiss the conversation -- and Chet -- if there wasn't a point to be made.
Chet deftly scooted his chair back a few inches. "Just think about it for a minute, Roy… when was the last time you saw Gage sit on the couch?"
Roy was about to tell Chet that was the dumbest thing he'd heard him say in a while, but always one to think before speaking, he realized Chet was right. Johnny never sat on the couch. If he sat at all, it was always in a chair, usually at the table, usually drinking a cup of coffee or a glass of milk and eating something, usually chattering away. It struck Roy at that moment too that there had been a fresh pot of coffee on the stove, and a box of donuts sitting in plain sight when they came into the room earlier, and Johnny hadn't helped himself to either.
Deciding against giving Chet the satisfaction of getting him involved in something that was probably none of his business, Roy redirected his attention to the magazine, and brushed the question aside. "Like I said before, if you have a question, just ask him yourself."
Chet stood up and gazed intently at Johnny, who hadn't so much as blinked to acknowledge that he had heard a word they said. Chet cleared his throat as if to speak, testing the waters to see if he would get a reaction.
"Just go play on the freeway, Chet." It was the predicted response, but there was none of the usual sarcasm in Johnny's voice -- actually it came out flat and emotionless, and Roy was surprised by the strained fatigue he heard there.
Johnny rolled his head to the side away from them, folding his arms across his stomach and blocking out their voices again, truly wishing that Chet would go play on the freeway and leave him alone today.
The corners of Chet's mouth began to curve upward into a smirk, and his eyes danced with self-satisfaction as he threw Roy one of those "I told you so" looks, but whatever he started to say was drowned out when the tones went off. Roy pushed his chair clear of the table and started to get up, noticing that Johnny didn't so much as move a muscle. The call was for the engine only to respond to a trash fire, so Chet hustled through the doorway to take his usual spot on the rig, and Roy sat back down and waited patiently for the station to grow quiet again.
"Johnny?"
"Please don't make me tell you to go play on the freeway with Chet. I don't wanna talk about it, okay?" came the tired voice from the couch.
"Okay, whatever you say." Roy shrugged his shoulders and sighed, trying once again to find the spot in the article where he had left off reading when Chet had interrupted him.
"Roy?"
Roy closed the magazine in resignation, and put it aside for reading another time.
"Yeah?"
Johnny sat up and put his elbows on his knees, first resting his face in his hands for a brief moment, then rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Their shift had only started a little over an hour ago, and Roy wondered how he had missed seeing earlier the exhaustion that was now so evident on his partner's face.
"Johnny, are you feelin' all right? We just had two days off, and you look like you haven't slept in at least that long." Roy noticed the dark circles under John's eyes when his hands slipped away from his face. How was it he hadn't noticed them before when they talked while checking out the supplies in the squad after morning roll call?
Groaning softly, Johnny slumped back tiredly on the couch and blinked his heavy eyelids before answering.
"I haven't slept in over a week, Roy. Well… that's not exactly true. It's just that every time I fall asleep, it's only for a little while, then I wake up and it takes hours before I can fall asleep again," he wearily explained.
Johnny leaned forward slightly, a bit of his usual animation returning to his gestures. "You know what's really weird is that I don't think there's anything bothering me that's causing it. Everything's been going great. I'm not having nightmares, and it's not like that other time when all I did was keep myself awake worrying about why I couldn't sleep. I can go to sleep but I wake up a half hour or hour later, feeling like there's something I'm supposed to remember, only I can't remember what it is. It sorta feels like someone's tryin' to tell me something important, but when I'm awake, I just can't figure it out. I tell you Roy, it's starting to drive me crazy."
If Johnny didn't look so haggard and sound so somber, Roy might have thought this was just another one of his obsessions that he'd forget about as soon as they got busy. That didn't appear to be the case this time, and Roy offered the only advice he could think of.
"If it's that bad Johnny, maybe you should talk to Brackett or Early the next time we're at Rampart and see if they can give you something to help you sleep. You know you can't show up for work feeling like this next shift. You're gonna need to get some rest soon," Roy said seriously.
No matter that he trusted Johnny implicitly, Roy knew an exhausted firefighter was a danger to himself and to everyone else who staked their lives on his alertness and ability to do the job in a moment of crisis. The supply of adrenaline wasn't endless.
Johnny shut his eyes again as he laid his head back and took a deep breath. "As much as I hate to take anything, you might be right this time. I've tried everything else I could think of these last few days, and nothing has worked so far. Since we're off for four days, I guess it wouldn't hurt to think about taking something that first night at least. I don't know though… maybe I'll wait and see how it goes tonight. Who knows, maybe we won't get any runs and I'll sleep like a baby."
That comment briefly distracted Roy from the topic at hand, as it triggered a short side-trip down memory lane. Roy's thoughts ventured back to the nights after both Chris and Jennifer had been born and came home from the hospital. Roy had quickly taken exception to that statement, convinced that the only people who ever used it had never had the pleasure of staying up night after night with a baby who cried no matter how many things you did to try to comfort him. Neither of his kids had slept through the night for those first few months -- Roy remembered how he used to swear they never slept at all. He and Joanne had both felt like Johnny looked now. Utterly drained.
"Well, if I were you Johnny," Roy encouraged, " I'd talk to the doctors about getting something anyway. Just in case."
Taking in his partner's appearance one more time, Roy made a mental note to see that John did talk to whoever was available the first trip they made to Rampart today. It turned out to be a good thing he did. Three runs during the night, and no one in the station got more than an hour or two of sleep. By the time they returned from the final run, the shift was almost over.
As they walked across the parking lot toward their cars after their shift ended, Johnny promised Roy he'd think about taking the Secanol that Dr. Early had given him if his quasi-insomnia continued to plague him while off-shift. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open long enough to get home safely.
Never one to sleep much anyway, the lack of it had never been that big of a deal before, but for some reason, this time it troubled him beyond explanation. It been a long while since he had felt this kind of incredible bone-deep weariness. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Johnny tried to push from his sleep-deprived mind the nagging reminder that there was something important under the surface -- just out of reach -- that he should remember, but couldn't.
Maybe if he could just get some uninterrupted sleep, he'd know what it was. Johnny got up off the bed to go get a glass of water, and took the small bottle of pills with him.
* * * * * * * *
Roy was sitting on the bench with his head down, tying his shoelaces, when Johnny raced into the locker room. He was running later than usual, and flung open his locker door, while quickly pulling his shirt off over his head. He had just passed Hank Stanley in the rec room, and figured with the mood the Cap was in, he'd better be dressed in his uniform in record time.
Finished with his shoelaces, Roy stood up and pushed his own locker door closed, then reached over and pulled Johnny's open a little wider to get a look at him. John shot him a quick smile as he yanked a clean blue shirt off the hanger.
"You look a lot better today, Johnny. I take it you got some rest?" Roy inquired, seeing it was obvious he looked refreshed and relaxed. "I was gonna call you, but I didn't want to disturb you in case you finally managed to stay asleep."
John nodded as he buttoned his shirt. "I took one of those dumb pills when I got home, and ended up sleeping for almost eighteen hours. Man, I felt like crap when I finally woke up, though. It was like I had the worst hangover of my life, and it took me hours to get over it and function normally again. But after that, everything was fine. I ended up taking a drive up the coast for a change of scenery to kinda clear my head, you know? I met this girl, and... well... let's just say I had a great time the last two days. I have no idea what my problem was, and I'm glad I'm over it… but I can tell you one thing, I'm never taking any more of those damn sleeping pills again, no matter how much I need to sleep."
He was just jamming his shirt into his pants when they heard the summons resonate from the apparatus bay.
"All right, you guys! Roll call!" yelled Captain Stanley, not quite tapping his foot impatiently. He glanced at his watch.
The quiet station house fairly exploded with pounding and skittering feet as Station 51 clamored to the closet to pull out their hats. Chet and Johnny grabbed the same one, with Johnny pulling harder.
"Will you let go of my hat!" said Johnny through tightly clenched teeth.
Chet let it go reluctantly, and reached for the remaining one. "This isn't mine!" he said indignantly. He was left standing at the closet as the others were already sliding into the lineup.
"Kelly!" bellowed Stanley.
"Coming, Cap!" answered Chet as he scooted around the corner of the squad and elbowed his way between Johnny and Marco. More elbows flew with accompanying grunts.
Stanley looked up from his clipboard and glared.
Station 51 finally settled down.
I'm running a camp of ten-year olds, thought Stanley. He managed to keep from rolling his eyes and maintained his stern demeanor.
"Okay. Glad you could join us, Chet."
Chet smartly decided to just nod to that.
"Marco, dorm. John, Roy, kitchen/rec room. Mike, apparatus bay. Chet, latrine. Now, today's going to be a real ball buster. We've got to do the hose test on that new hose we got last week," said Stanley.
He waited for the groans to die down.
"Uh, huh. That's what I thought you'd say. I say, the sooner we start, the sooner we get done. So everybody out back."
Stanley strode into his office and stowed his hat and clipboard. Then, he headed to the rear door, passing his crew as they filed past the closet returning their hats. Stanley hit the door controls and ducked under when it cleared high enough for his tall frame. Everyone else slowly made their way outside. Johnny hung back a little, prompting Roy to turn back questioningly.
"Oh, joy," said Johnny.
"Well, like the Cap said, the sooner we get started?" smiled Roy.
"I know. The sooner we get done," replied Johnny.
Chet and Marco were already getting the first length of hose unrolled at Roy and Johnny's approach. It was going to be a long morning.
As the group of men worked together companionably, they were suddenly startled by the loud horn of a tractor-trailer, stridently, urgently sounding. It was followed by the unmistakable screech of multiple tires and brakes locking up, and the sickening crunch of heavy metal objects impacting.
"Holy...!" "What the...?" "Good God!"
Stanley ran into the station house after the first frozen seconds to call it in. As the horns and crunching sounds continued, Johnny and Chet ran to the cinderblock wall and jumped onto the hood of Johnny's Rover to get a clear view of the source -- the 405 Freeway.
"Oh, f....!" exclaimed Chet.
Johnny immediately turned to jump down, grabbing Chet's arm -- hard.
"Run!" yelled Johnny for all he was worth to Roy and Mike.
Then, the wall exploded.
* * * * * * * *
Hank Stanley's report to dispatch froze in mid-sentence, and he almost dropped the mic when the hand holding it fell limply to his side. He stood transfixed, as the walls of the station literally shook and objects rattled and shifted, much as they would if a minor earthquake had just rumbled through the earth beneath the station. There was no time for him to react as the harrowing sounds grew in intensity and reverberated through the apparatus bay one right after the other in rapidfire succession -- the exaggerated grinding of gears, the high-pitched whine of air brakes being frantically engaged, the shrill screech of rubber skimming across asphalt -- sounds that grew louder as they came even closer... the scraping, popping, crunching sound of tires skidding and bouncing over rocks and gravel -- then a violent, thunderous crash, followed by still more gut-wrenching sounds... of shattering glass and the groan of metal as it ripped and bent, the deafening roar of an avalanche of stones... and above it all, came the sound of the terrified screams of his men.
Then moments later, an eerie silence reigned.
* * * * * * * *
Truck 18's brakes squealed in loud protest as the big rig jerked to an abrupt halt in the driveway of Station 51. Captain Paul Hanson jumped out and quickly made his way through the open bay door, moving between the engine and the squad parked there, only to stop short before reaching the rear bay door. A twenty-year veteran of the department, he thought he had seen it all, but the sight before him painfully took his breath away like a sudden, unexpected punch in the stomach would do.
The solitary figure of Hank Stanley stood silhouetted in the huge doorway, staring at what had been a simple parking lot a short time ago. An overturned gravel truck now filled the entire area... somehow, it had miraculously stopped mere feet from the station house wall. The two jackknifed trailers it had been pulling lay on their sides at odd angles to each other, and their spilled contents covered a large portion of the lot with layer upon layer of crushed rock. Smashed between the front of the truck and the wall of the building was a large piece of someone's car or truck -- but it was impossible to tell what piece it would be. Looking beyond the immediate devastation, Hanson could see that most of the block wall fence that separated the station parking lot from the small parking lot between it and the freeway was gone.
The sounds of scores of blaring sirens filled the air as fire and paramedic crews, police and ambulances began arriving on the scene of mass chaos. Just minutes earlier it had been a normal, busy Southern California freeway filled with trucks on their way to their delivery destinations and morning commuters hurrying on their way to work. Now, it more closely resembled a wrecking yard than a freeway.
Hanson's attention was drawn back to the scene in front of him. Squashed like empty beer cans, the remains of some of the vehicles that had been parked there were now scattered everywhere, while several others still resembled cars, but were damaged beyond repair. The hose tower had collapsed on and around one of the trailers, and huge chunks of the block wall fence lay intermingled with shards of metal and piles of gravel and stone.
Hanson moved to Stanley's side and put his hand on the taller man's shoulder. Feeling the trembling there beneath his hand, he tried to get his fellow captain's attention.
"Hank." Hanson got no response. "Hank... Hank, are you all right?" Hanson shook his shoulder lightly, sensing now the man was in a state of emotional shock. Hank Stanley was one of the coolest heads in the department when it came to dealing with emergencies, and Hanson was a little surprised that Stanley wouldn't have followed his men out to the freeway accident scene to help the victims there, leaving his nearly destroyed station to worry about later.
The simple statement was uttered in a voice so hollow and bereft of emotion that it sent chills down Paul Hanson's spine.
"My men are gone."
As the rest of the truck crew came up behind them, the horrible reality of what Hank Stanley meant sank in, and Captain Hanson turned toward his crew, shock and despair registering on his face.
He told his men, and they all stared at the carnage that lay before them, every pair of eyes instantly searching for signs of their missing comrades. He sent one of them to call for immediate backup assistance, while the others raced back to the truck for gloves and the tools that they would use to start moving the debris and digging through the rocky gravel. It didn't take long before the others began to arrive.
The K-12 from the squad was put to use as they carefully sawed through the downed supports of the hose tower to make it easier to lift and move the pieces away as the search progressed.
The parking lot and adjacent area was soon filled with noisy equipment, a contrast to the men who worked in silence, feeling the knots begin to form in their stomachs, as they continued the grim task at hand.
* * * * * * * *
Johnny couldn't move and he felt like he was suffocating. He was sure he had opened his eyes, but there was only darkness. He opened his mouth to call out, but there was only silence. He felt the crushing weight of something on top of him, surrounding him, squeezing the air from his lungs. He didn't know where he was or how he got there. Chet had been there beside him a minute ago -- they'd all been there a minute ago, but wherever he was now, he was all alone.
A sudden loud buzzing startled him and he struggled to draw a breath into his lungs. The noise was close by, and he strained to listen for voices that would tell him he would soon be freed from his dark and airless prison.
The droning sound in his ears continued unabated, but it changed in pitch and tone as his mind began to be more cognizant of his immediate surroundings. His heart was racing and he could tell he was sweating profusely. The blackness that surrounded him began to fade, little by little, to a lighter shade of gray, and the first thing he actually saw was the snow-filled TV screen across the room -- it was the source of the irritating static that had been drilling him into consciousness. Still groggy, his eyes drifted to look at the digital clock on the night stand beside the bed… they adjusted with difficulty, but gradually brought the glowing red numbers and letters into focus. 3:06 AM.
Closing his eyes again, he sank his head deeper into his pillow and tried to clear the massive, sticky tangle of cobwebs woven in his brain that was keeping him from being fully awake. Johnny slowly rolled over and attempted to sit up, but nausea and dizziness hit him like a runaway truck, forcing him to lay back down again. His head began to pound and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with thick wads of dry cotton. Any shred of memory of the previous day and night eluded him as he desperately sought to recall what had happened and find answers for his condition.
I don't remember this binge at all. Damn! I sure hope I enjoyed it while it lasted, 'cause I can tell I'm gonna feel like shit for a long time.
Several minutes passed, and the symptoms eased slightly, and he tried getting up again. This time, it wasn't as bad, and he staggered into the bathroom, only to clumsily grab hold of the sink counter when the room started to resemble the Tilt-A-Whirl ride that he and Chris had loved so much at the school carnival a few weeks ago. Johnny had to grasp the faucet handle with both hands to turn it on -- splashing cold water on his face, he fought the almost overpowering urge to throw up.
Finally able to stand up straight again, his eyes fell upon the cause of all his grief. The sleeping pills. Early had warned him to be careful, and had cautioned that the side-effects of even a mild dose of secobarbital could be nasty… but he had no idea it would be this bad. He dumped the contents of the bottle on the countertop and stared at the four pills. Early had given him six… he was sure he had taken only one before going to sleep, and had no recollection of taking the second. Taking two would explain the nightmarish reaction. Feeling nauseous again, Johnny quickly tossed the remaining pills in the toilet and flushed them, along with the meager contents of his now-emptied stomach.
Stumbling, he slowly returned to sit on the side of his bed and willed himself to come around. Staring at the clock again, he calculated the lights had been out for almost eighteen hours… but if that was sleep, he decided he'd rather stay awake the rest of his life. He knew the nightmare had been particularly bad, but other than the memory of having one, the details were gone. He really didn't want to remember them now anyway. Still shaky and short of breath, a ghostly chill passed through him, and Johnny lay down again, not in his usual position on his back with his arm over his eyes -- this time curling up on his side and drawing the blankets up around his shoulders, refusing though to fall asleep again.
* * * * * * * *
Roy was sitting on the bench with his head down, tying his shoelaces, when Johnny raced into the locker room. He was running later than usual, and flung open his locker door, while quickly pulling his shirt off over his head. He had just passed Hank Stanley in the rec room, and figured with the mood the Cap was in, he'd better be dressed in his uniform in record time.
Finished with his shoelaces, Roy stood up and pushed his own locker door closed, then reached over and pulled Johnny's open a little wider to get a look at him. John shot him a quick smile as he yanked a clean blue shirt off the hanger.
"You look a lot better today, Johnny. I take it you got some rest?" Roy inquired, seeing it was obvious he looked refreshed and relaxed. "I was gonna call you, but I didn't want to disturb you in case you finally managed to stay asleep."
John nodded as he buttoned his shirt. "I took one of those dumb pills when I got home, and ended up sleeping for almost eighteen hours. Man, I felt like crap when I finally woke up, though. It was like I had the worst hangover of my life, and it took me hours to get over it and function normally again. But after that, everything was fine. I ended up taking a drive up the coast for a change of scenery to kinda clear my head, you know? I met this girl, and... well.... Let's just say I had a great time the last two days. I have no idea what my problem was, and I'm glad I'm over it… but I can tell you one thing, I'm never taking any more of those damn sleeping pills again, no matter how much I need to sleep."
It was almost like a faint echo in his mind.... There was something strangely familiar about standing in this spot, having this conversation. "You know Roy, I have the weirdest feeling...."
He was just jamming his shirt into his pants when they heard the summons resonate from the apparatus bay.
"All right, you guys! Roll call!" yelled Captain Stanley, not quite tapping his foot impatiently. He glanced at his watch.
Roy traveled the short distance to the door before realizing Johnny wasn't behind him. He turned around to see him still standing next to his open locker, his face clouded with confusion. Johnny literally jumped when Roy called his name, then shook his head, closed his locker door and followed Roy into the bay.
The quiet station house fairly exploded with pounding and skittering feet as Station 51 clamored to the closet to pull out their hats. Chet and Johnny grabbed the same one, with Johnny pulling harder.
"Will you let go of my hat!" said Johnny through tightly clenched teeth.
Chet let it go reluctantly, and reached for the remaining one. "This isn't mine!" he said indignantly. He was left standing at the closet as the others were already sliding into the lineup.
"Kelly!" bellowed Stanley.
"Coming, Cap!" answered Chet as he scooted around the corner of the squad and elbowed his way between Johnny and Marco. More elbows flew with accompanying grunts.
Stanley looked up from his clipboard and glared.
Station 51 finally settled down.
I'm running a camp of ten-year olds, thought Stanley. He managed to keep from rolling his eyes and maintained his stern demeanor.
"Okay. Glad you could join us, Chet."
Chet smartly decided to just nod to that.
"Marco, dorm. John, Roy, kitchen/rec room. Mike, apparatus bay. Chet, latrine. Now, today's going to be a real ball buster. We've got to do the hose test on that new hose we got last week," said Stanley.
He waited for the groans to die down. Stanley did a double-take when he looked at Gage. He could have sworn the man's complexion just turned five shades lighter.
"Uh, huh. That's what I thought you'd say. I say, the sooner we start, the sooner we get done. So everybody out back."
Stanley strode into his office and stowed his hat and clipboard. Then, he headed to the rear door, passing his crew as they filed past the closet returning their hats. Stanley hit the door controls and ducked under when it cleared high enough for his tall frame. Everyone else slowly made their way outside. Johnny hung back a little, prompting Roy to turn back questioningly.
Johnny looked like he had just seen a ghost, and was as white as one; his face was bathed in perspiration, and he was having trouble breathing. Roy got to him just as he began to slump to the floor, catching him as he fell against his chest. Roy struggled with John's dead weight to keep from falling himself.
“Cap!” He shouted. “I need some help in here!”
Hearing the anxiety in DeSoto’s voice, Stanley rushed back in, the other men right behind him, to see Roy carefully trying to lower a limp and barely conscious Johnny into a prone position on the floor.
“Good lord, Roy, what happened?” he questioned as he helped Roy lay Johnny flat. “Mike, call in a still alarm....”
“I don’t know, Cap. He seemed fine just a few minutes ago in the locker room.” Roy was already counting respirations. Johnny appeared to have hyperventilated himself in world-record time.
Roy quickly issued orders. “Marco, go in the kitchen and see if you can find a small paper bag. Chet, get the drug box off the squad for me, then get a cold wet towel and bring it here.”
“What can I do, Roy?” Stanley asked.
Roy shook his head. “I don’t know yet if we’re going to need to call Rampart. Maybe just stay close until I see what’s wrong here. It might be a delayed reaction to something Dr. Early gave him to help him sleep.” Johnny’s pulse was racing and Stanley and Roy exchanged looks that were both puzzled and concerned.
Marco came back with a brown paper lunch bag, and Roy quickly folded the edges down and handed it to Stanley to hold over Johnny’s mouth and nose. Mike had returned to help, and Roy took the BP cuff and stethoscope he was holding out to him.
A few minutes later, some color had returned to John’s face and his breathing had slowed almost to normal. He finally started to come around and tried to sit up, but his arms were still too weak and shaky to do it on his own. Roy had Stanley help him into a sitting position, and took the towel from Chet and placed it around the back of Johnny’s neck. They leaned him back against the squad, Roy keeping a hand on his shoulder to help steady him, asking him quietly if he was okay. Johnny clutched Roy's arm and nodded slightly.
The rest of the guys relaxed a little while they stood back and watched. Johnny pulled one knee up and leaned forward to rest his head against his leg, trying to get his breathing back to normal and get the shaking to stop.
Seeing that it looked like Gage was going to be okay, and wanting to break the tension, Kelly couldn't resist throwing a barb his way.
"Geez, Gage, the Cap only asked us to test a few feet of hose. Overreacted there a little, don't ya think?"
Marco threw an elbow to his ribs, and Chet winced at the contact. "What?" he said, as he caught Mike's disapproving look.
Stanley glared at Chet, as he got Roy's relieved assurance that John was going to be okay. Johnny hadn't raised his head yet, or spoken a word.
The captain took charge again. "Okay, guys, let's give him some room to breathe. How about the rest of you get back to work, and I'll help Roy get John into the dorm." Stanley stood up as the others began to head back to the interrupted chore of testing hose in the parking lot.
"NO!"
They all stopped dead in their tracks at the desperation they heard in Johnny's voice. Roy thought he was going to start hyperventilating again and grabbed for the paper bag. John pushed it away.
Roy tried to reassure him nothing was wrong. "Johnny, they're just going back to work. Cap and I are going to help you to your bunk, and then I'm going to call Rampart and see what they want me do."
Johnny shook his head vehemently, still panting with shortness of breath. "No.... No one... goes in the... in the parking lot."
There was an undeniable look of terror in his eyes.
Thinking that John might be hallucinating from whatever the doctor had given him, Captain Stanley crouched down beside him and put his hand on his back in an effort to calm him down. He couldn't believe how badly Johnny was shaking.
"Listen, pal, there's nothing out there to worry about, but if it makes you feel better, I'll have everyone just stay here for a few minutes, okay?" Stanley spoke soothingly in his most fatherly tone.
Johnny nodded and tried to get himself under control. The drug-induced nightmare from the other night had returned to become a waking horror. Just like then, he couldn't remember exactly what it was though. All he knew was it had something to do with the parking lot and it scared the living hell out of him.
As he began to calm down and think rationally again, Johnny felt the warm tinge of embarrassment creep into his cheeks at the thought of having to explain this one. He vowed to himself that he would never take another sleeping pill… Or a drug of any kind... prescription or otherwise, ever again. It had been a really bad trip and he hoped it was over for good.
Taking a final deep breath and letting it out slowly, Johnny managed to stand up with the help of Roy and his captain, but was still pale and a little unsteady on his feet. Stanley looked at the faces of his crew, and decided the hose could wait a while.
Hank Stanley clasped his hands and rubbed his palms together, the way he always did when he issued an order -- posed as a suggestion -- to the group. "What do you say we let John get off his feet and we'll all sit down and have some coffee... then we'll see about starting this morning all over again?"
Johnny shuddered at the thought of starting the morning over again. Hadn't he already done that once?
As the men took a few steps in the direction of the rec room, they were suddenly startled by the loud horn of a tractor-trailer, stridently, urgently sounding. It was followed by the unmistakable screech of multiple tires and brakes locking up, and the sickening crunch of heavy metal objects impacting.
The six firemen momentarily froze where they stood, just inside the apparatus bay, listening as the horns and crunching sounds continued to come from the direction of the freeway.
Still holding onto Roy's arm for support, Johnny slowly turned his head and stared at the parking lot. His mind replayed the scene from the nightmare that he hadn't been able to remember until now.
He decided he would never tell Chet to go play on the freeway again.
Was it possible? It was only a dream, wasn't it?
The walls started to shake, and they heard the grinding of gears and the whine of air brakes and the scraping, popping sound of tires skidding and bouncing over rocks and gravel.
Then...
* * * * * * * *
de-ja vu:
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-the illusion of remembering scenes and events when experienced for the first time
- -a feeling that one has seen or heard something before
- -something overly or unpleasantly familiar
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Sparky