In the arms of the Angel,
fly away from here
From this dark, cold hotel room,
and the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie
In the arms of your Angel
May you find some comfort here
"RAINY DAYS & MONDAYS"
BY NanM
Lord, he hated rainy days.
It wasn’t supposed to rain in LA in July.
An early-season hurricane stalled off the coast of Baja had saturated the skies over Southern California with sultry summer weather. Rain clouds the dingy-gray color of dirty dishwater hung oppressively low, stifling the air like a wet woolen blanket. Unusually high humidity was the topic of the day, as everyone waited for the unseasonable tropical moisture to move on.
He wondered where the rain had been when they’d needed it two weeks ago. It was too late to do any good now.
Mondays weren’t the bane of life to firefighters that they were to people with nine-to-five weekday jobs, but it had been two weeks ago today -- on a Monday -- that everything at the station had changed … changed forever in the blink of an eye. The day was mentally added to the growing list of things he hated.
Hangin’ around, nothin’ to do but frown, rainy days and Mondays always get me down....
He hated it when songs got stuck in his head like that. Especially when it was a song he hated. He was beginning to wonder if there was anything he didn’t hate.
“John?”
Stirred from his thoughts, he hesitated.
“Yeah?”
“You’ve been staring out that window for ten minutes now.”
Johnny glanced over his shoulder, briefly meeting Rick Wilson’s eyes with his own, before turning his head to look out the window again. His fingers toyed absently with the cord of the mini-blinds as he watched the gloomy morning rain drizzle down. Sighing deeply, he pushed his hair away from his forehead, only to have it fall back again.
“You remember the first time I came here to see you, Rick?” he asked quietly
“It’s been a while…, but yes, I do.” The chaplain calmly leaned back in his faded leather chair. Chewing softly on the end of his favorite pen, he gave Johnny all the time he needed to continue.
“The first thing you asked me was if I believed in God.”
Wilson remembered the conversation clearly. “I seem to recall you never really answered that question. You only asked if it mattered.”
“Well, I have an answer for you today. I don’t. I don’t believe in anything. And, it… it doesn’t matter.” Bitter disillusionment burned like bile in his throat. “Nothin’ really matters anymore.”
“John....”
Turning from the window, Johnny grabbed the jacket he’d flung over the back of the visitor’s chair earlier, and headed for the door. The walls suddenly felt like they were closing in all around him, squeezing the air from his lungs. He questioned why he had come here today, but deep down he knew the answer. There was nowhere else to go.
“I- I need to go for a walk.” His words came out in a raw-edged whisper.
“I understand,” came the patient reassurance, “we can talk when you get back.”
Rick’s tone conveyed a gentle compassion and a genuine fondness for the young man who was about to flee his office. From the moment of their first meeting several years earlier, Rick had admired the inner strength John Gage had shown in the face of adversity. Today, it seemed that strength had all but disappeared. He was a man claiming to believe in nothing… a man who thought he’d lost everything… a man on the brink of losing himself.
Rick Wilson’s personal concern wasn’t lost on Johnny, who felt his anger dissolve once again into dark despair. Resting his hand on the doorknob, he paused for a moment and gathered his composure.
“Don’t wait. I… I’m not comin’ back.”
He was far down the hallway before the door softly clicked closed again.
Johnny started briskly up the driveway from the headquarters building toward the training center, then stopped and looked around, unsure of his destination. Finally wandering to the chain link fence that ran along the edge of the asphalt parking lot, he curled his fingers through the open spaces in the wire, and pressed his forehead to the cool, bare metal.
He looked down the hill toward the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department headquarters and shooting range, where the usual pop-pop-pop of firearm practice was absent today. In-between that and where he stood, he saw nothing but random patches of olive-drab scrub brush, and a few bent and withered old trees with washed-out leaves that hung limp and lifeless from their branches. The small stretch of land looked as godforsaken as he felt.
On an impulse, Johnny scaled the fence, then made his way down the steep hill, slipping and sliding as the damp, soft earth readily gave way under his shoes. He was seeking a place to be alone, seeking a peace he couldn’t find. Halfway down the slope, Johnny stopped and rested against a large, solitary rock, trying hard to convince himself he could deal with this on his own. He didn’t need his friends, he didn’t need Shannon, he didn’t need Rick Wilson… and, he sure as hell didn’t need a God he couldn’t understand.
Faint thunder rumbled. The rain fell harder. Johnny raised his face to the darkened sky, wishing the water could somehow wash away the emptiness he felt, while wondering for the hundredth time if he would ever be able to put the memory of that day from his mind.
It was a day that had begun like any other....
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“ … and so, there we were, wonderin’ how we were supposed to get this crazy dame down off the ladder without any of us getting killed in the process....” Kelly interrupted the recounting of his most recent experience to Lopez and Stoker long enough to say good morning to Roy and Johnny when they came in for coffee.
“You must’ve worked overtime at 60s again, huh?” Roy asked, holding out his cup for Johnny to fill.
“Yeah, you know they have the weirdest things happen over there. Remember that time I told you I saw that troupe of little midget mimes? Anyway, as I was saying, there we were… just standin’ there....”
Johnny rested his back against the counter, coffee cup in hand, listening to Chet for a while. With a widening grin on his face, he tilted his head in Roy’s direction. “You know the difference between a fairy tale and a firefighter’s tale, don’t you?” he whispered.
“No.” The smile in Roy’s eyes matched the one on his face when he whispered back, “ … but I suppose you’re gonna enlighten me?”
Johnny leaned a little closer, trying to keep his voice low. “One begins ‘Once upon a time,’ and the other one begins, ‘No shit. There I was....’”
Hank Stanley walked into the rec room from the apparatus bay just then, pausing in the doorway to take in the familiar scene before him. Roy and Johnny standing side by side, sharing a private laugh. Marco and Mike sitting at the table with patient smiles on their faces, listening to Chet embellish yet another story. Not a shift went by that the captain didn’t thank his lucky stars for this group of men he’d inherited when he transferred to 51s six years ago. He would always think of them as family, though it was obvious they’d soon be going their separate ways.
Seeing the intent look on Stanley’s face, Johnny stood up a little straighter, and nudged Roy with his elbow. “What’s up, Cap?” he asked, as everyone quieted and turned their attention to the man in charge.
Stanley quickly got down to business. “I just got off the phone with Headquarters. Seems a brush fire’s been reported in a remote area near Tujunga Canyon. The forest service has a spotter plane in the air, assessing the situation right now. As dry as it’s been all spring, this could turn out to be a bad one.”
“Any chance we’ll get called out for it?” Roy queried his captain, while the others exchanged looks of eager anticipation.
“Looks that way," he said. "I was told to expect to get toned out pretty soon. If it’s anything at all, they’ll be calling for mutual aid -- the County, city task forces, the National Forest Service. They want to get a handle on it before it spreads too far.”
“Man, that’s pretty rugged terrain in those hills.” Johnny whistled softly to underscore his point. “I was up that way a couple weeks ago. The brush and undergrowth was thick and dry as a bone. It’s gonna be tough to contain a fire in that area.”
Hank Stanley readily agreed, then suggested they busy themselves making sure everything they would need was stowed away, and family members called. There was every possibility they’d be gone for several days. Watching his five men hurriedly file out of the room, Stanley shared the crew’s excitement, but he’d been around long enough to feel an added sense of apprehension at the formidable task they were about to face.
Fighting a wild fire in the foothills and canyons was as dangerous and tough and demanding as it got in their profession. Yet it was in their blood -- it was what all firefighters lived for… and some died for -- a chance to fight the big one.
* * * * * * * *
With his hands shoved deep in his pockets, Johnny watched the engine drive away. Thick brown clouds of dust churned up by the tires almost obscured the back end long before it disappeared down the hill.
Standing beside him, Roy could see the restlessness in Johnny’s eyes as they followed the path of the departing rig. He had been silent witness to his partner’s growing discontent for some time now.
Johnny looked at the ground and scraped the dirt with the toe of his shoe. “You know, Roy, I… I know I’ve said I never wanted to go back, but it’s times like this I really miss working on an engine.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Roy concurred, but mindful of Johnny’s unsettled mood, quickly added, “but, it’s not like we don’t get more than our share of the action most of the time.” Roy watched the road for a moment, disappointed, too, at once again being relegated to work the first aid station at the command center. “I guess we’d better finish getting things set up inside. Gotta be ready, just in case… you know.”
With one last look in the direction of the fire, Johnny reluctantly followed. They spent the next ten minutes working quietly, listening to the never-ending stream of urgent radio transmissions that relayed the growing intensity of the situation in the canyon. They heard Mike Stoker’s voice advise the dispatcher that Engine 51 had reached its assigned destination.
It gave Roy an opportunity to break their self-imposed silence. “Hard to believe that Mike will be leaving 51s in just a couple of weeks, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. He’s gonna make a great captain.” Johnny shook his head and laughed softly. “Course, I keep tellin’ him he’s gonna have to let me teach him how to talk a little a more, but he’ll do real good.”
The wistful look on Johnny’s face didn’t go unnoticed by Roy. “You… uh… you still plannin’ to take the captain’s exam next month?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I am. I haven’t changed my mind. What about you?”
“I need to decide soon. Joanne and I talked about it again. I think she wants me to take it, but like always, she says the decision’s up to me. You know, every time I… I turn around these days, it seems like the kids need something, so I can’t say the extra money wouldn’t come in handy.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve heard you say that before, and yet you’ve passed on other opportunities,” Johnny reminded him. “I know it’s not about the money for you. I don’t know why you won’t just tell me the real reason you’re balking.”
“I’ve told you before. Even after all these years, I still have a… a hard time thinking about giving up being a paramedic. We’ve worked so hard for so long to earn respect for what we do, and it’s just… it’s just something I love doing. I can’t imagine not doing it.”
“Well, we have worked hard. Real hard, and we’ve accomplished a lot. But…, don’t you think it’s time to move on and let others do the job? I don’t want to be doing this when I’m forty. It’s already wearin’ me down, and I’m not even thirty yet.” Johnny couldn’t keep the yearning from his voice. “I need a change, Roy. Nothin’s changed in six years… six years, and I feel kinda-- I don’t know-- kinda stale, at a dead-end, you know?”
“Yeah. I guess I do know.”
They’d had many variations of this conversation in recent months. Roy understood what Johnny was saying, but wasn’t sure he shared the sentiment. He was comfortable where he was. Change simply didn’t come as easily for him. Johnny couldn’t seem to accept that, arguing it was an excuse, insisting there had to be another reason. There was, but Roy knew it couldn’t stand in the way of the inevitable, so he kept it to himself.
The two of them had shared an instant rapport from the moment they met, and had built a friendship and a loyalty that had withstood the test of time. That friendship meant a great deal to both of them, but Roy, in particular, didn’t want to lose the close bond that existed between them.
He had seen Johnny mature a lot in the last six years. Still a little crazy at times, there was the other side that surfaced whenever the klaxons sounded. A serious side, a confident, professional side that more and more often took the lead in the field -- and, occasionally a quick-to-anger side, tempered by one of the most compassionate personalities Roy had ever known.
But, the last six months had taken their toll on Johnny in a lot of ways, though he never really said much, or let on to the others what he was feeling. From a distance, Roy had watched his inner turmoil with growing concern. Johnny had privately admitted that he and Shannon were drifting apart, and that a future together seemed less likely as time went by. He began questioning how much good they were doing. The senseless death of a tiny infant had been a turning point. Since then, unpredictable pessimistic moods often interchanged at the drop of a hat with his ordinarily exuberant personality. Sleepless nights at the station had added an edginess that even had Chet backing off sometimes.
In the wake of some health issues, and another job-related injury a few months ago, Roy hadn’t been surprised when Johnny told him that he had decided to take the captain’s exam the next time it came around. While never interested in being an engineer, he’d grown tired of hoping the rules about paramedics and promotions would change, and had encouraged Roy to think about taking the exam, too. It seemed important to Johnny that they do this together, that they move on at the same time, knowing neither one would ever be able to call another man “partner.”
The first of the exhausted firefighters coming in from the battle lines began to show up, and there was no more time to give these things any more thought.
It would be sundown before they were to get their first real glimpse of the fire.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Rick took note of the dark circles under Johnny’s eyes. “Have you gotten much sleep lately, John?”
“Some.”
For the second day in a row, a sullen and uncommunicative John Gage was in Rick Wilson’s office. Though there of his own free will, getting him to talk was proving to be a daunting task. Instead of gazing out the window at another dreary, wet July morning, Johnny sat sprawled in a chair, staring blankly at some nonexistent spot on the opposite wall.
The chaplain was fortunately blessed with an abundance of patience, and knew he’d need every bit of it. Rick knew that despite his bitter denial of believing in anyone or anything, Johnny was desperately in need of the friends he’d pushed away. Rick sensed he was searching for something, looking for answers… answers he would only find from within.
“Have you been back to work since…?” Rick let the rest of his sentence go unspoken as he watched Johnny shift uncomfortably in the chair.
“Yeah. We all have. Duty, and all that.”
“I’m sure you could have taken some extra time off.”
“What for? Better to keep busy. At least… that’s what they say.”
“What do you say, John?”
“Me? Nothin’. We’re firefighters, you know? These things happen. It’s part of the job. We accept it, and go on.”
“Is that what you’ve done? You’ve accepted it, and you’re okay now?”
“It… it’s not like I have a choice, is it?” Johnny shrugged listlessly. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m fine.”
Rick Wilson carefully masked his frustration while trying to think of a way to dismantle the barricade Johnny had constructed between himself and his own emotions, and everyone close to him. It was obvious the man was carrying around a heavy load of hurt and anger, and a lot of misplaced guilt, but the reasons weren’t clear. Here because he wanted help, Johnny wasn’t making it easy to give it. Rick hoped to find a way to reach him before something went wrong.
Stanley had confided to Rick that there had already been one incident between Gage and the new man since they’d returned to work, that, as an understanding friend, he had excused. As a captain, he wouldn’t be able to overlook a second one. The entire shift was having difficulty adjusting, but they shared concern for Johnny. His unexpected reaction that night had stunned them, and his subsequent withdrawal and dark mood had left them confused and worried.
Each man had dealt with the loss in his own way. In the days that followed, they had drawn closer together, except for Johnny, who was keeping them all -- even Roy -- at arm’s length. He made it clear he wanted nothing to do with them, wanted nothing from them, and ignored their overtures. He stubbornly refused to talk to anyone about what had happened that night in the canyon.
Rick Wilson settled in, and prepared himself for a very long day.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As nightfall blanketed the canyon, the ambulance sped down the dusty road with the lost hiker safely on his way to the hospital with only minor injuries. The smoke-filled skies to the east of their location glowed with shades of crimson, amber and gold, a reflection from the fire now raging out of control a short distance away. A foreboding stillness descended, and darkness shrouded the landscape. As they got back into the squad, Roy and Johnny heard a rumbling that rapidly escalated into a sound reminiscent of a thundering stampede of frightened cattle. A sudden flash of light erased the darkness. Startled, they looked eastward.
The wall of flames topped the ridge with frightening swiftness, easily two hundred feet high. It looked even more impressive as the flames divided the blackness of the mountains and the sky.
“Man, will you look at that!” came an astonished outburst from Johnny.
“Squad 51, what’s your status?”
“Squad 51, available,” responded Johnny, after jumping out of his skin. He had been totally mesmerized by the intensity of the inferno and the surrealness of the flames reaching upward to the stars, trying to devour them too.
“Squad 51, man down over cliff. Tujunga Canyon. Meet Engine 51 at location.”
“Squad 51, ten-four,” acknowledged Johnny. He paused a moment, then began, “Lord, you don’t think…?”
“Let’s just wait until we get there,” said Roy.
They exchanged a brief look before Roy turned the key in the ignition. As soon as they reached the main road that led through the area, Johnny switched frequencies and tried to raise the engine.
“Engine 51, this is Squad 51.”
They waited impatiently for a response that didn’t come.
Engine 51, this is Squad 51.” Johnny anxiously repeated. “Can you give us your exact location?”
They stared straight ahead as Roy drove on toward Tujunga Canyon.
“Squad 51, this is Engine 51”. Stoker’s voice finally came over the radio, clear and steady, and both men exhaled in relief. “We’re a half-mile south of Big Tujunga Canyon Road on La Paloma Canyon Road.”
“Ten-four, Engine 51.” Johnny checked his watch out of habit. “Our ETA should be about… ten minutes.”
“Ten-four, Squad 51.”
The paramedics traded puzzled glances, waiting for details. Johnny keyed the mic in his hand. “Uh… Engine 51, this is Squad 51 again. What’s your situation?”
This time, Stoker’s voice wavered when he responded. Roy flipped on the siren and the lights, and put the pedal to the floor. Johnny sat rigid and tightlipped, the knuckles of his right hand turning white as he squeezed his fingers around the mic.
The fire had raced through this area earlier, done its damage, and was long gone. The headlights of the squad picked up the view of charred brush as it rounded each curve in the road. A fine white ash covered the ground, and floated in the air, reflecting in the beam of the lights like snowflakes falling from the sky. But, there was nothing about what they saw that suggested the beauty and tranquility of a snow-covered hillside.
On the contrary -- it had the look of death.
They finally spotted the revolving red light atop the engine, parked where the fire road dipped down toward the canyon. It was sitting at an angle, with all lights blazing. Its spotlights traced a pathway down the side of the hill. Two ropes were already tied off on the front of the rig, and Stoker was securing two more as the squad skidded up, grinding to an abrupt halt near the edge of the road.
“Johnny! Wait!” Roy shouted in vain, watching him disappear over the side of the hill in the dark without his safety belt or ropes.
Roy switched on the squad’s spotlight to help light his partner’s way. Grabbing his own safety belt and gloves, he rushed over to the front of the engine. Mike was kneeling now on the side of the road, watching Johnny scramble toward the bottom of the rock-studded ravine. He turned a grim, sooty face to Roy and shook his head.
“What happened, Mike?” Roy’s heart was hammering so loudly against his chest, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hear the reply.
Mike stood, methodically brushing the dirt off his knees without even thinking about what he was doing. Trying his best to remain focused and in control -- and, at least outwardly succeeding, he answered Roy’s question.
“We were on our way back to the command center. When we reached this spot, there were a couple of rocks that had rolled down the hill onto the road. They were just big enough that I- I didn’t want to run over them and risk blowing a tire out here.”
Stoker stopped talking and looked down again when he heard their voices. He could barely make out their forms in the darkness from his vantage point, but in the dim circle of illumination from their flashlights, Mike could see that Johnny had joined the other two.
Roy was buckling the belt around his waist, urging Mike to continue, trying to keep a tight rein on his own emotions. He wanted to believe they were wrong, knowing all the while they weren’t.
Mike slowly turned back to Roy. “Chet jumped out to pick up the rocks and toss them over the side. The next thing we knew, the berm gave way and he went down. He was there one second and… and gone the next.”
“Cap and Marco are down there now?” Roy didn’t know why he asked. It was obvious they were. Conversation was all that was keeping reality at bay for now.
“Yeah. Marco went first with the handi-talkie. He said Chet was unconscious and not breathing when he got to him. Cap went down right away to help.”
“How long ago?” Roy reached for the rope to attach to his belt.
“About ten or fifteen minutes, I guess. When we first called for help. Roy....” Mike grasped Roy’s arm with his hand. “… Cap said… Cap said from the look of it… it must have happened quick.”
Roy pulled on his gloves and grabbed hold of the rope.
“I’m going down,” was all he could think of to say.
* * * * * * * *
Johnny had ejected himself from the seat of the squad and charged down toward the bottom of the steep ravine without thinking for one second how dangerous his actions could be for all of them. With the brush and undergrowth destroyed, there was nothing to keep the loose, sandy soil from sliding away under the slightest bit of pressure. Dirt and small rocks tumbled down as he quickly closed the distance. His only goal was to get to Chet.
His pace slowed the last few yards, to avoid bringing down any more dirt than he already had. Hank Stanley stood up and moved out of the way when he reached them. Chet’s jacket and uniform shirt laid open. Marco was kneeling with his friend’s head cradled in his hands, softly reciting a prayer in Spanish. Even in the faint light, Johnny could see the tracks left by the tears that were slowly rolling down Marco’s smoke-smudged face.
On his hands and knees in an instant, Johnny pressed an ear to Chet’s chest, listening for the faint heartbeat he knew would still be there. It had to be there.
But, it wasn’t.
He immediately began doing chest compressions, and angrily demanded Chet’s attention, demanded that he listen. “Chet. This isn’t funny. Open your eyes for me.” Johnny stopped and pressed his ear to Kelly’s chest again, then started all over. “Damn it, Chet. This isn’t a game. Open your eyes.”
Hank Stanley clasped his hands on Johnny’s shoulders and tried to pull him away. Johnny just shrugged him off, and continued CPR. “John.... Don’t,” he begged. The captain’s usually steady voice faltered and broke as he listened to Marco finish the prayer. He closed his eyes, and privately added his own whispered “Amen.”
Ignoring him, Johnny felt for a pulse and listened again for the heartbeat. He was sure if he’d had a stethoscope, he would hear it. His arms already tiring, he tried a third time. He blocked everything out, concentrating solely on counting his compressions.
Roy’s voice finally broke through to him. “Johnny, STOP.” It was both a plea and an order.
Johnny did as he was asked, and sat back on his heels, staring at Chet. No one said a word while they waited for him to accept what they all knew to be true.
“No,” he whispered fiercely and started to lean over Kelly again, only to be roughly hauled to his feet. He spun around and faced Roy with a savage look of defiance in his eyes.
“Johnny. He’s gone,” Roy said as gently as possible. “Chet’s gone. There’s nothin’ we can do.”
Johnny’s fist would have solidly connected with Roy’s jaw, if Hank Stanley hadn’t seen it coming and grabbed his wrist at the last second. Johnny furiously wrenched his hand free, and raised it again.
Stanley wrapped his arms around him from behind, pinning Johnny’s arms. The captain held him tightly, pulling him away against his will, blocking his view of Chet, as an obviously shaken Roy knelt beside their fallen friend. Then as suddenly as Johnny’s rage had ignited, it evaporated. Stanley’s grip relaxed when Johnny stopped struggling, but he didn’t release him right away. Not ready to let go, he wanted another minute to… feel… before he resumed his uncoveted role as the one in command.
Johnny sagged back against him. “Cap. You can let go now.” His voice was filled with defeat, the fight gone.
Relinquishing his hold, Hank Stanley’s arms dropped to his sides. He watched Johnny stagger a few yards away and sink heavily to the ground, before turning back to where Roy and Marco were quietly talking. Back to where Chet was resting so peacefully.
Stanley picked up the handi-talkie and radioed Mike Stoker, who had remained up top. Finishing their brief conversation, he moved to stand between Roy and Marco. Laying a comforting arm across each of their shoulders, all three stood mutely while the irrevocable finality of the moment sank in.
Johnny sat alone on the side of the hill. Dirt slid noiselessly under his feet as he pulled his knees up and dangled his hands loosely over them. Stillness surrounded him, empty nothingness stretched endlessly in front of him. The fire was several ridges over, and the haze-filled sky directly above was black and starless, the moon nowhere to be seen. The pungent odor of spicy smoke from the charred chaparral filled the air, so overpowering it almost made him sick to his stomach. Johnny closed his eyes and blocked everything out again. Everything… except the words his grandmother used to say to him when he was little.
Be careful what you wish for....
Nothing had changed in six years -- and suddenly… nothing would ever be the same again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“John, I know this is hard for you, but I can’t help if you won’t talk to me.”
“I know. Maybe this is a… a mistake.”
Rick tried hard not to let his relief show. Johnny may have sounded like he still wasn’t convinced, but he made no attempt to get up to leave. If anything, he had settled deeper in the chair.
“I don’t think you believe that any more than I do, or you wouldn’t be here. Nothing you say is going to leave this room. You know that.”
Johnny’s eyes studied those of the man sitting across the desk for a long time. He didn’t know where to begin.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Johnny?” Roy crouched down beside him and lightly touched his shoulder, still wary of his reaction. “I need your help. It’s time to go.”
Johnny opened his eyes and gazed blankly into space for a few seconds, then stood up and looked around. Marco and Captain Stanley were gone. He’d been sitting there the whole time, but had never heard a sound. The others had carefully placed Chet’s covered body in the stokes that Mike had lowered. Johnny hadn’t heard Hank Stanley call to him, hadn’t heard Roy say that he’d handle it.
“Cap and Marco went up to help Stoker with the ropes.” Roy explained. “They’re gonna bring us up together.”
Johnny didn’t acknowledge him. Brushing past to reach for one of the safety belts, he buckled it on, while Roy did the same. Each with one hand on a rope, and the other gripping either side of the stokes, Roy shouted up they were ready.
It was the longest climb they’d ever had to make.
Everything after that was a blur… the slow drive back to the command center, the looks of sympathy and words of consolation, the statements that had to be given to the coroner. A department chaplain arrived, and said a blessing over Chet’s body while others gathered ‘round, with helmets in their hands and heads bowed in solemn respect. Johnny turned his back and walked away, standing apart from them, unable, unwilling to listen to the prayer.
The area was still a whirlwind of fervent activity. The brush fire continued to blaze out of control, and the operation couldn’t stop to mourn the loss of one of their own. That burden fell squarely on the shoulders of the remaining members of 51s A-shift. The engine and the squad had been stood down, and they had been told to go home.
The long trip back to Carson was made in silence. Suppressed emotions roiled under the surface, emotions so raw and so powerful, they couldn’t voice them yet. When they arrived at the station, Stanley went straight to his office and closed the door. Three of the men headed for their cars to disappear into the night. One man stayed behind to help.
He would wait, though, until Hank Stanley was ready.
* * * * * * * *
“Roy?”
She sat up in bed, instantly awake, her heart racing with anxiety. He wasn’t supposed to be home at this hour, on this night.
Joanne nervously reached over and switched on the small bedside lamp. Roy was standing in the doorway to their bedroom, one arm braced against the frame, the other hanging at his side. His work shoes, polished and buffed until they shone only this morning, were scuffed and covered with dust. Soot and ash clung to his pants, now more black than blue. His blue shirt was missing, his rumpled white T-shirt was stained and damp. His face was grimy, his hair disheveled, his eyes rimmed red. He reeked of smoke and sweat.
Seeing the look of shock on her face, Roy almost regretted his decision to come straight home. In all his years on the job, he had sworn never to let Joanne or the kids see this side of his profession so up close and personal. But from the moment they had reached the station, his all-consuming thought had been to be with her.
“Oh my God, Roy. What happened?” Pushing aside her fears, Joanne flew to his side, circling both arms around his waist. He leaned heavily into her embrace as she helped him to the bed.
Roy had held it together throughout the ordeal, and it wasn’t until he had reached his own front door that it began to hit him. The simple act of coming home and putting his key in the lock had begun to unleash the emotions he had controlled in front of the others. Roy had wanted to talk to Johnny on the drive back to the station, but couldn’t, for fear he’d lose the semblance of composure he knew was expected of him, the composure he expected of himself. Further rationalizing that Johnny was in no condition to handle seeing him fall apart, Roy chose not to broach the strange, almost hostile silence between them.
Joanne sat beside him now, holding him tightly, her heart aching for her husband as she offered a guilt-tinged prayer of thanks that it hadn’t been him. When she couldn’t stand not knowing any longer, she whispered, “Who?” For Roy’s sake, please not Johnny.
Roy pulled back from her and took a deep breath. It was all he could do to blink his eyes clear of the unshed tears that clouded his vision, and swallow the lump that choked his throat. It hurt so much, he had to force himself to say Chet’s name.
“Oh, Roy, I’m so sorry.” Beyond that, words were impossible to find. Words were meaningless at a time like this. Joanne held his face in her hands, and wept openly at the anguish she saw in his eyes.
He gathered her close, feeling the warmth of her body next to his, smelling the soft scent of her hair, hearing the sound of her breathing. Holding her reaffirmed life went on. Roy no longer doubted his decision. Safe within the arms of the woman he loved, the floodgates opened at last.
They laid down across the bed together and she held him protectively, feeling his tears fall warm and moist on her neck and shoulder. Joanne knew that no one -- not their children, not their friends, not his fellow firefighters -- would ever see those rare, private tears of sorrow in the light of day.
Just for tonight, he would share them only with her.
* * * * * * * *
“Cap?” He tapped softly on the door, opening it even though there was no reply.
Hank Stanley sat in his chair with his elbows on the desk, his forehead buried deep in his hands. He glanced up briefly to acknowledge Stoker’s presence in the room, giving Mike a fleeting glimpse of a lined and weary face that had aged ten years in the last four hours.
Mike could only imagine what Stanley was going through. No captain ever wanted to see the day he would lose a man in the line of duty. Chet had been more than just a member of the crew. They were all more than just a crew. They were a family.
Repeating a gesture of sympathy and understanding -- one that he had seen Hank Stanley make countless times over the last six years -- Mike took some small comfort in the very act of giving comfort to a man he admired more than his own father. Gently squeezing his captain’s shoulder for a moment, Mike sat down in the chair next to the desk, and patiently waited some more.
* * * * * * * *
He didn’t know how she knew he was there, or how she’d even heard the news yet. He had hoped to be alone, yet when Dixie McCall sat down beside him, he was glad.
Leaving the station, Marco had felt an overwhelming need to go to church to light a candle, to offer a prayer to the Virgin Mary for the departed soul of his friend. But, it was after midnight, and the nearby churches had already closed and locked their doors, as though the grieving process could be postponed until the morning sun rose again.
The only place he could think to go was the chapel at nearby Rampart. A small and unpretentious room on the first floor, its doors were always open to those who needed a place to say thank you, or to pray for a miracle, or to meditate in peace. A room that didn’t care about a person’s denomination, its doors were always open to those who needed a place to say good-bye to their loved ones.
The whole thing still seemed unreal, a scene straight out of one of the old, late-night sci-fi flicks Chet had loved so much. Marco wiped the back of his hand at the dampness that had collected in the hollow of his eyes, and smiled sadly at a memory, still fresh in his mind. It had only been a few nights ago at the station when Chet had gotten Johnny good while they were watching a scary movie, and Johnny had sworn revenge. Marco thought now it might be a long time before anyone played another prank at Station 51.
He recalled the devastated expression on Johnny’s face in the parking lot tonight, and hoped he would be all right. Marco had been so unnerved by Johnny’s earlier actions that he hadn’t known what to say to him. So he’d said nothing, and left.
Dixie noticed the smile, then watched it fade. She reached out to gently squeeze his hand.
“Can you stay a while, Dixie?”
Her eyes glistened in tender understanding, as she let go of his hand. “I’m off duty. I can stay as long as you like.”
Marco closed his eyes and made the sign of the cross, reciting the Hail Mary, feeling his sorrow lift slightly in the benign presence of the Holy Mother and the Head Nurse.
“Did John ever tell you about the time Chet and I took his date sailing for him?”
Dixie laughed softly. “I believe he mentioned it… and, more than once if I’m not mistaken.”
“Well,” said Marco, “We never even told him the whole story. You see, there we were....”
A firefighters tale? Marco began the first of many he would tell Dixie McCall over the next few hours. Together, they laughed and they cried, but mostly, they remembered Chet Kelly the way he would want to be remembered.
As a friend, and as a firefighter.
* * * * * * * *
Daybreak was a time uniquely set apart from the rest of the day. The moment of its appearance was brief and passed swiftly, but it was truly unforgettable. In that moment, it seemed the world was filled with peace and tranquility, hope, and a promise of a new beginning. Mike decided that being out there, floating on the gentle ocean swells, was about as close to heaven as one could get without actually going there. This particular morning, he felt as though he could reach out and literally touch the sky.
Colorful sunrises as this over Southern California were few and far between. Hazy smoke drifted across the horizon, evidence of the fire that still burned inland, providing a backdrop for the morning sun as it peeked over the top of the mountains. Like an artist, the sun’s rays painted feathery strokes of pale pinks and muted yellows and soft-toned oranges -- pastels blended on the canvas of the powder blue sky.
Mike thought it was Mother Nature at her ambiguous best -- creating beauty alongside disaster. He contemplated whether she thought it was a joke, or if it was her way of offering solace in a time of tragedy. Either way, it didn’t really matter today. His comfort would come from his own beloved mother. She would be his source of strength through the coming days, even though there would be worry in her eyes. Worry for him. She wouldn’t say anything, though, for she was a firefighter’s mother.
During that difficult late night phone conversation, Chet’s brother had asked Hank Stanley for his things. Mike had offered to get them from Kelly’s locker and take them to the family later in the day. It wasn’t until he had come across the photographs that he had known what he wanted to do when he left the station. The pictures had fallen out of an envelope that had been stuck in the bottom of the locker. Looking at the photos had given him the idea of one last thing he could do for Chet Kelly.
While waiting for the right moment, his thoughts drifted to that one Saturday almost a year ago. He’d forgotten that Chet had captured it on film. The four of them -- Mike, Chet, Johnny and Marco -- had gone straight to the beach to go surfing as soon as they got off shift. Mike was an experienced surfer, and Johnny and Marco knew what they were doing, but Chet… Chet never did manage to figure out how to stand up on a board, let alone ride a wave. He had finally given up, and spent the rest of the day taking pictures with Johnny’s camera.
They’d stayed at the beach all day, playing volleyball in the sand with another group next to them, flirting with pretty girls in barely-there bikinis, surfing in the early evening when the waves built up again. They’d roasted hot dogs and drank beer… way too much beer. They’d sat in the sand around the fire ring after dark, laughing and arguing and discussing the real meaning of life. Then the beer had run out.
Marco had dozed off, and Johnny had gone for a walk along the shore with a girl he met, leaving Mike trying to explain to Chet that there was nothing in the world that compared to the feeling of riding a big wave all the way to the shore. Chet had insisted sex had to be better, and Mike couldn’t quite argue that… but had gone on to do his best to try to persuade Chet surfing was the second best feeling in the world. He had tried to describe the thrill that came from knowing you were just a heartbeat ahead of something infinitely powerful, something that could never be tamed or controlled by man. Chet had concluded that he’d have to settle for hearing about it, because there was no way he was ever going to experience it for himself.
The morning waves were picking up. Mike could see the other surfers, strung out along the coastline, shift on their boards in anticipation. It wouldn’t be long, and the first big waves of the day would appear. The right one wasn’t just something you saw coming. You felt it. You knew. The waves came in sets of three. Patience. The second wave of the second set was it.
As Mike stood up on the board, with the force of the water propelling him toward shore, that familiar rush of exhilaration coursed through his veins. He had only one purpose, only one thought.
This one’s for you, Chet.
* * * * * * * *
His wife hung back to let him have this moment to himself.
She’d never seen him look so haggard as he had when he’d arrived home in the early hours of the morning. He hadn’t called ahead, but she’d been awake, waiting for him. Even though they were miles apart, she had awakened and known something was wrong. They had stayed up and talked, then arm-in-arm, watched a spectacular sunrise announce in glorious fashion that a new day had dawned.
Hank Stanley now stood alone on the small circle of concrete. In front of him was the bronze dedication plaque affixed to the semicircular rock wall that formed the small Firefighter’s Memorial located next to the training center. There were no names inscribed, but the Los Angeles County Firefighters who had made the ultimate sacrifice were solemnly remembered there.
He didn’t think it fitting that a captain cry in public, but couldn’t hold back the tear that fell from the corner of his eye.
Stanley heard someone behind him, talking softly with his wife, then felt a hand rest on his back. He turned his head and saw his longtime friend and colleague, Rick Wilson, standing beside him.
“I just heard a little while ago, Hank. How are you holding up?”
Stanley nodded and cleared his throat. “I’ll be fine. I just wanted to do this, and then we’re going over to Kelly’s sister’s house. McConnike was there earlier, but I- I want to go talk to the family myself.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Rick understood when his offer to go along was gracefully declined. Knowing he was here for a reason, the chaplain turned to leave so Stanley could finish what he had come to do. “If there’s anything at all....”
“There is one thing, Rick.” Stanley paused, not wanting to overstep his bounds where his men were concerned. “The Kelly’s will be holding a wake in a few days. The rest of the guys will be there. I don’t know if any of them would feel the need to talk. I thought maybe, if you could be there too....”
Rick shook his head, feeling badly that he couldn’t do this for his friend. “Unfortunately, I’m leaving later today. I’ll be out of town for the next week. I’d change my plans if I could Hank, but I can’t.”
“No. It’s okay, I understand,” Stanley nodded, then hesitantly went on. “There is something else. John Gage. He left before I got a chance to talk to him after we got back to the station. He doesn’t think I’ve noticed, but he’s been walking an emotional tightrope lately. Rick, I saw something in John snap out there last night, and I have no idea how he’s handling this. Frankly, I’m worried about him. You two seemed to hit it off that other time. I don’t suppose you could… find a reason to call him before you leave?”
Rick shook his head, again wishing he could help. “That might seem a little obvious. One thing I remember about John is that you can’t make him talk about anything deeply personal until he’s good and ready. He might resent it if he thinks either one of us is sticking our nose into his business.”
Hank Stanley frowned, but agreed.
“Tell you what, though,” Rick added, “When I get back next week, I’ll call you, and then I’ll make it a point to drop by the station during your shift. You think you’ll be back to work that soon?”
“I imagine we will. I’ll let you know.” Hank Stanley shifted the things he held in his arms and looked at the wall again. He didn’t see Rick Wilson step away to say good-bye to his wife, and take the short walk back down to Klinger Center.
He carefully laid Chet’s turnouts on the concrete foundation, just below the plaque. The coat was neatly folded, with his stenciled-on name plainly showing. To one side, he placed Chet’s empty boots.
Hank Stanley stood up straight and tall, and took a step back. Standing at attention, he saluted proudly.
As she moved closer to stand by his side, his wife heard him mutter under his breath, “You were one damned fine firefighter, Chester B. Kelly…”
“… you twit.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Rick Wilson was trying to find a way to jump-start a conversation -- at this point, any conversation. “How’s that young lady-friend of yours doing, John?” he asked. “Shannon, right?” The grieved expression on his face at the mention of her name made Rick feel like he was kicking Johnny when he was already down for the count.
Wordlessly lifting himself from the chair, Johnny went to stand at the window again. His tired eyes searched the cloud-filled sky for answers that simply wouldn’t come. Tiny rivers of warm summer rain slid in crooked paths down the glass… not unlike the tears he’d watched trickle down Shannon’s cheeks that night. Johnny had been far too drunk to remember much of what he’d said. He only knew that he’d made her cry. And then she was gone.
While regretting he had unexpectedly brought up another painful subject, Rick wondered if he’d finally found a key that would help unlock the door to Johnny’s continued resistance to open up to him. “I’m sorry if I said something to upset you, John,” he softly offered in apology.
Rick watched as Johnny turned away from the window, and slowly crossed the room to sit down in the chair again. His worn countenance revealed an even more profound hurt and sadness than before.
“She… she’s okay. I guess.”
“The last I heard from you she was in Colorado. Have you talked to her lately?”
“Tennessee. She’s in… in Tennessee now. Smoky Mountains.”
“I hear it’s beautiful there.”
Rick had to wait a while for another response.
“She says it is.”
“So you have talked to her?”
“Yeah. She was here last week for the… for the....”
“For Chet’s funeral?”
Johnny stared at Rick Wilson like he’d spoken the unspeakable. He wanted to get mad at him for saying it out loud, but couldn’t find the strength any longer to summon his anger. It had been all he had left -- it had been a shield against the grief he had refused to express. He fought hard to hold onto the anger, but it was slowly slipping from his grasp. Everything was slipping from his grasp.
“She didn’t stay long.”
“Why was that, John?”
“I- I don’t know. She just left. Didn’t even say good-bye. When I called her, she wouldn’t tell me why. She said… she just said not to call again until I figured it out on my own. I don’t remember much about what happened after I started....” Johnny stalled in mid-sentence, knowing he needed to talk, but not about this.
It was the longest dialog Rick had heard Johnny volunteer so far. He didn’t want to push him too hard to keep going, but didn’t want to give up too easily either. He tried to coax the rest out of him. “After you started…?”
“I had too much to drink,” Johnny answered bluntly, then regretted the harshness of his tone. “I remember… we argued, but, that’s all. I was already pretty far gone by the time she woke up and came looking for me.”
Rick sat forward in his chair, thinking it was time to push a little. “Why were you drinking so heavily that night? You told me once you rarely do that.”
“I don’t. It’s just when… when things.... I- I don’t know why. I’ve told you how it was on the Rez when I was a kid. Maybe some old habits never die.”
“Unlike people?”
Johnny grew very silent. He didn’t like where this was leading. He wasn’t ready to go there yet.
The chaplain believed Johnny knew exactly what had pushed him to seek refuge in a bottle. Sensing he was going to lose him if his next words weren’t carefully chosen, Rick backtracked a bit. “So, you think that’s why Shannon left? Just because you were drunk and you argued?”
Johnny didn’t want to go there either. He didn’t know where he did want to go, but not there. Not now.
Before answering, Johnny tried to retrieve that dispassionate inflection in his voice that he’d recently adopted. “I don’t… I didn’t come here to… to talk about my off-duty drinking habits, or about my love life.” He realized he didn’t sound very convincing, and could feel his facade of indifference begin to crumble.
“That’s fair enough…” Rick replied quietly, guessing that maybe the door had been left open just enough to finally get in.
“… but tell me , John. What did you come here to talk about?”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Shannon? Is that you?”
She turned around and smiled. “Hi, Joanne. It’s good to see you.” They shared a long hug that wordlessly conveyed their same sense of relief that it wasn’t her man, the same sense of guilt for her selfishness.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Joanne said quietly. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Johnny didn’t tell you?” Shannon sighed tiredly. “I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to make it. I just got in late last night.”
“No,” Joanne answered hesitantly, “we haven’t heard from Johnny since… since that night. Someone said he came to the wake yesterday, but we never saw him. They said he left as soon as they began the Rosary. Roy must have called the house a dozen times in the last three days, but he hasn’t been answering his phone. We weren’t even sure we’d see him here today. Roy said Johnny took it real hard. How is he?”
“I honestly don’t know. We haven’t had a chance to really talk.” The church entryway was beginning to fill with people. Shannon gestured toward two chairs, and asked Joanne if she’d like to sit for a while before they went inside. “Johnny called me from a pay phone in the middle of the night after it happened. I have no idea where he was.” Shannon’s eyes misted as she recalled the conversation. “He was alone. He needed me, and I couldn’t be with him. Joanne, he sounded so… hurt… so lost.”
Joanne reached over and squeezed her hand. “You’re here now. We’ll all get through the next few days together. I know Roy will be glad to see Johnny. He’s been worried about him. He said it was pretty rough out there that night.”
“Where is Roy?” Shannon asked. She had yet to see a familiar face besides Joanne’s. Johnny had bailed out as they climbed the steps, saying he would join her in a few minutes. That was more than ten minutes ago.
“He and Hank Stanley, and Marco and Mike are talking with the family in private before the service starts. They were hoping Johnny would be there, too. Like I said, no one could get hold of him.” Joanne paused, forcing a smile that was hard to come by. “I know the Kellys will be glad he’s here. Johnny and Chet were a lot closer than most people realized.”
“Johnny said he’s been at Kathy Kelly’s house several times in the past few days. I guess he helped with some of the arrangements. He hasn’t said anything about not seeing Roy or anyone else.” Shannon took a deep breath, more worried now. “He hasn’t said much, but I know this is really tearing him apart. I don’t understand why he’s avoiding his friends.”
“Neither do we,” Joanne assured her. “They all had to find a way to deal with it. Maybe Johnny just needs a little more time.”
“I hope that’s all it is,” Shannon agreed. “He seems a little better today. He got some sleep last night. I think it’s the first time he’s closed his eyes in days.”
“I’m sure he’s relieved that you’re here, Shannon.” Joanne glanced up to see Johnny coming toward them. “Speaking of....”
Shannon was stunned by Johnny’s aloofness toward Joanne. He was polite, but restrained. Rather than reacting to it, Joanne seemed to take it in stride, suggesting they all sit together during the service. Johnny declined, saying he just wanted to be with Shannon.
“Will you be going to Kathy’s house afterwards?” Joanne asked.
Shannon looked at Johnny, puzzled by his attitude. He nodded. Shannon whispered to Joanne, “We’ll talk some more later,” before he whisked her away.
The Kelly family had arranged for a simple funeral. No fire department fanfare. Surprising to most everyone who had known him, it had been Chet’s wish to avoid the drama. Instead, he wanted a more private traditional service, with a big party to follow to celebrate his life, rather than a procession to mourn his death.
Johnny held onto Shannon’s hand throughout. Half the time, she thought Johnny’s mind was somewhere else, in another place and time. He seemed so distant. He showed little emotion, though she could feel his hand shake from time to time. All Shannon could think is if that’s what helped Johnny get through the day, then she wouldn’t question him. They had so many things to discuss before she went back to Tennessee, but they had waited this long… they could wait a few more days.
* * * * * * * *
“Johnny? What are you doing out here?” Shannon had been looking for him for a while. One of Chet’s nephews told her to try the garage. Johnny was holding something in one hand, while rummaging through a box with the other.
“Kath said Chet kept some of his stuff stored out here,” he explained. “She said if there was anything I wanted, I could take it.” When he found what he was looking for, Johnny stood up, with a wry smile on his face.
“What on earth are those?” Shannon asked, taking one from his hand to examine it more closely.
“These here are Chet Kelly’s ‘Human Fly Shoes’,” he replied with momentary amusement. “He said they were going to revolutionize the fire service.”
“And, did they?” she quizzed, unsure what to think.
“Hell, no,” Johnny said softly, his smile evaporating. “It was just a joke.”
“Why these, Johnny?”
He sat down on a tall stool and turned the shoe over in his hand. “I don’t know. Because they are Chet. I… I don’t know how else to explain it.”
Johnny looked so sad, Shannon’s heart ached for him. She dropped the other shoe, and held his face in her hands, and kissed him softly, wishing she could kiss away his sorrow. He held her tightly and responded with a kiss so intense, it caught her by surprise. They had made love last night, but it had been slow and gentle and bittersweet. As this kiss deepened, Johnny slid his hands under her skirt, leaving no doubt what he wanted. Under other circumstances, Shannon might have found a dusty old garage an interesting place to have sex, but this was a little disconcerting.
“Johnny, not here,” she whispered, as she pulled away.
“I need you, Shannon,” he answered hoarsely, grabbing her roughly around the waist.
She didn’t shy away from him. “I need you too, Johnny. Not here, though. It’s getting late anyway. Let’s say our good-byes and go home.”
‘I… I don’t want to see anyone right now. Would you tell Kath and Tom and Mrs. Kelly I’ll call them in a few days? They’ll understand.” He suddenly felt overwhelmed by a sense of urgency. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”
“Johnny, you can’t avoid your friends forever. They don’t understand. Neither do I.”
“Yeah, well, they didn’t have any trouble avoiding me that night. Shannon.... I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to… to spend time with you.”
The kiss that followed erased any hesitancy Shannon may have had about leaving so abruptly. Time and distance hadn’t diminished their hunger for each other, or their harmony in bed. Last night proved they were still so in tune with each other there, that Shannon wished it could extend to their entire relationship. She longed to tell Johnny she was tired of moving around. She was ready for a home, ready for a family. She had almost convinced herself she could finally deal with his job, but then this happened. They needed to talk. But for now, they seemed to need this more -- to be together, to love each other, to share their bodies and their souls, and to find their way back to what they once had.
Shannon straightened her skirt, slowed her breathing, and hoped the flush she felt in her cheeks would disappear on her short walk back to the house. She looked over her shoulder as she opened the door, wondering what Johnny was planning to do with those funny-looking shoes.
* * * * * * * *
After the second time, it wasn’t about making love, or even about enjoying sex. Johnny couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get close enough to her, couldn’t bury himself deep enough inside her. Gone was the tender lover. This time, it was dark, rough, impersonal.
He was a man reduced to his most primal state. Chet Kelly’s death had been a mirror to his own vulnerability, his own mortality. The subconscious drive for self-preservation combined with the drive to procreate. Deeply rooted in the psyche, the two basic instincts were virtually inseparable. It was the male version of a biological clock in overdrive. Different from a woman’s desire to bear a child, it was a primeval need to propagate the species before it was too late, a need to make sure that a part of him would live on, a need to create something of importance to say he was here, to leave his mark on the world.
Shannon had seen him like this one other time, and tried hard to understand Johnny’s state of mind. She gave herself to him and hid her tears. She knew he didn’t mean to hurt her or to use her, but he was blindly doing both. She thought if it would take his pain away, she would let him have her until he exhausted himself.
When she fell asleep in his arms, Johnny was still on edge. It had all seemed so wrong. His grief was so raw, so deep, he had wanted her to make it better, but she couldn’t. She only made it worse. He had no idea how to explain this went beyond Chet Kelly’s death. He had no idea how to tell Shannon how much he loved her, and how he would go to any length to protect her from suffering this kind of loss, from feeling this kind of pain.
Johnny stood by the side of the bed, and watched her sleep. She was so beautiful. He never wanted to hurt her again. He knew then.
It was time to let her go.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“So, you meant to make her leave?” Rick asked quietly.
Johnny shook his head. “I don’t know what I meant to do. I don’t remember what I said to her. I just know when I woke up the next day, my hangover was nothin’ compared to how I felt when I realized she was gone.”
“Can I ask you a question, John?”
“Don’t know if I can answer it,” Johnny shrugged, “but, you can ask.”
“I know how difficult it is to lose a close friend. But, it seems to me there’s something more going on here. You’re in a profession where death is a reality. You see it all the time. Maybe it’s not as personal, but you’re not a stranger to it, either. Why has this been so hard for you to deal with?”
“I- I don’t know.”
“I think you do,” Rick countered. “You’re hurt. You’re angry. That’s a normal reaction to a sudden loss like this. What I don’t understand is why you’ve cut yourself off from everyone who means something to you. It strikes me as out of character for you.”
“Let’s just say,” Johnny spoke so slowly he almost drawled the words, “bein’ close only gets people hurt. I learned that a long time ago. I guess I forgot the lesson until now.”
“Something like that line in the song, ‘If I never loved, I never would have cried’?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
“That’s a pretty pessimistic take on life,” Rick commented. “It doesn’t suit you, John.”
“I prefer to think of it as realistic,” Johnny came back, “And, it suits me just fine.”
Rick shook his head in disagreement. “No man is a rock or an island. We feel emotional pain and we cry, and then we find a way to love again. That’s realism. If God had intended for man to be alone, He wouldn’t have created a mate for him.”
“Yeah. And look where it got Adam.”
Rick smiled to himself. Johnny’s sarcasm wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was a sign he was opening up. Rick decided to take advantage of the opportunity. “You’ll have to excuse me, John. I forgot. You don’t believe in God.”
“Why should I?” Johnny snapped angrily. “I mean, Chet told me once he believed in God. What good did it do him out there that night? My mother believed in God. Where was he when she lay dying by the side of the road?”
“It doesn’t work like that. Besides, how do you know He wasn’t there with them?”
“Oh, give me a break, Rick. My mother lay there all alone in the dark, slowly bleeding to death for hours before anyone came along. Hours. All her life, she put her faith in God, and read her bible every night, and it didn’t do her one damn bit of good when she needed him most. If that’s your idea of a loving God, then… then you can have him.”
His little tirade over, Johnny sank back in his chair. He sat silent and shaken.
Rick’s heart filled with compassion and understanding. “You must have loved your mother very much. How old were you when she died?”
“I was seventeen. I lost both my parents then.”
“I’m sorry,” Rick sympathized. “Can I ask how it happened?”
“That’s not important. I haven’t talked about it in a long time. Most people don’t even know. I don’t want to talk about it now.”
“Well, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I think it might help if you did, though.”
“Help how?” Johnny demanded. “It won’t bring them back. It won’t change what happened afterwards.”
Rick ignored the fact Johnny said he didn’t want to talk about it. “What happened afterwards?”
“I was only seventeen. I had no say in anything. They acted like I wasn’t even there. No one talked to me. No one asked me how I was feeling, or what I wanted.”
“I assume you’re talking about your family? Maybe they thought they were protecting you,” Rick suggested.
Johnny laughed cynically. “No. That wasn’t it at all. They had each other, and I was... I had no one.”
“Just like the night Chet died? Everyone else had someone to turn to. What did you do that night, John?”
“I just drove around. Went no where. I called Shannon and told her. Then, I went home and got drunk. Sometimes a bottle is a better friend than most. At least you can always count on it to be there when you need it.”
“How long are you going to punish your real friends for that?” Rick asked gently. “I don’t think they even know what they did.”
“I’m not punishing them,” Johnny argued. “We’re all just better off this way.”
“What way is that?” Rick questioned. “You let no one get close to you, and they don’t get hurt if something happens? Or, better yet, you don’t get hurt again?”
Johnny ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
“There’s a lot wrong with that. You can’t hide from life no matter how much it hurts. You’re a passionate man, John. You can try to pretend you don’t care, but I don’t think you really want to be that way. It goes against your grain. From the way you describe her, I don’t think your mother would have wanted you to be that way.”
Johnny had no quick answer to that one. He got out of the chair and went to look out the window again. He was surprised to see it was dark outside. A gentle rain was still falling.
“When I was little,” Johnny started quietly, “my mom used to say that rain was the tears of angels in heaven, crying when a soul lost its way. And when the stars came out, it was their eyes twinkling because it found its way again. “ He turned to look over his shoulder. “I guess that sounds kinda sappy, huh?”
That brought a smile to Rick’s face. “Mothers are entitled to be sappy. I used to be afraid of thunder when I was a kid. My mother always told me it was angels bowling up there. I guess mothers and angel stories just go together.”
“Yeah. I guess they do. I haven’t talked about her in a long time.” Johnny sighed softly. “But, I think about her a lot. I miss her. She was… she was a pretty incredible woman. I acted pretty dumb for a while after she was gone. My grandfather tried to give me her bible as something to remember her by. I threw it across the room. He picked it up, and I never saw it again. Sometimes I… I wish I still had it. I don’t have anything. Just my memories.”
“Then you have a lot, John. Things you wouldn’t have if you didn’t care about people, or have people who care about you. You need to let them in again. You need to forgive them. Most of all, you need to forgive yourself.”
Johnny looked at Rick Wilson again. “Myself? For what?”
“For not being there to save her. For not being there to save Chet. I don’t know. You tell me.”
Johnny paused, knowing there was truth in that. “Chet told me once that… that Roy and I have God complexes. We think we have to save everyone. He told me that was the dumbest thing he ever heard of. He always said when it’s your time, it’s your time. I just… it shouldn’t have been his time. Not yet. We had a deal, you know. Chet and me. We were supposed to watch each other’s back and live long enough to dance at our children's weddings. I screwed up.”
“No, you didn’t,” Rick reassured him. Like Chet said… it was his time, and there’s nothing you could have done to change that. John, it wasn’t your fault.”
Johnny stared out the window for a while. “Yeah, but now that Chet’s gone, who’s gonna watch my back?”
“Sounds like maybe you need to forgive Chet, too.”
“Maybe,” was all Johnny said.
“What about your father, John? You haven’t mentioned him.”
“That’s a whole other story. He was a good man. Worked hard, and did the best he could. He and my mom really loved each other. He and I… well, we never exactly understood each other. I didn’t… I didn’t go to his funeral. I blamed him for what happened. You know, Rick....” Johnny paused for a long time. “I never cried for my father. I don’t know if I ever will. That’s as much as I intend to say.”
“I understand. I’ll respect that. If you ever do feel like talking....”
“Don’t wait for that one. I appreciate it, though.”
Rick looked at his watch. “It’s getting late. I promised my wife I’d be home for dinner. Would you like to join us?”
“No,” Johnny declined after considering it for a moment. “Thanks. I… I have some things I need to do, too. Mind if I use your phone?”
“Let me go down the hall and see if I have any messages. I’ll give you some privacy.” The chaplain paused with his hand on the door. “Are you going to be all right, John?”
“Yeah. I’m going to be all right. Thanks. For everything. I’ll stop by to see you again soon. If that’s okay.”
“Whenever you feel like it. You’re always welcome. Go ahead and make your call.”
Johnny waited until the door closed before he picked up the phone. It took him another minute before he dialed the number.
“Is Shannon there?”
“No, sorry. She’s not available right now. Can I help you with something?”
“No. No, that’s okay.”
“Do you want to leave a message?”
Johnny wanted to talk to her, not a stranger. “No. No message. I’ll… I’ll try another time.”
He hung up the phone, then picked it up again, and dialed another number.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Joanne.”
“Johnny! It’s good to hear from you. We’ve been so.... Is everything all right?”
“Yeah. Everything’s fine. Joanne… is, um… is Roy there?”
“No, he took the kids out for ice cream. They’ll be back soon. Why don’t you come over?”
“I don’t want to interrupt your family time. I can call later.”
“You wouldn’t be interrupting anything. You know you’re always welcome here. If you don’t know that, you should. We’ve missed you. Say you’ll come.”
“All right. Just for a little while. I… I have something I need to do first. Is an hour from now okay?”
“Whenever you can make it is fine. I’m glad you called. Roy needs you, Johnny. We all do.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll talk about that. And, Joanne, thanks.”
“We’ll see you in an hour then....”
* * * * * * * *
“You know, I’ve been pretty mad at you. I thought we agreed if anything like this ever happened, you and me… we were gonna go down together in a blaze of glory. Well, sure, we were drunk at the time, but you gave your word. Hell, Chet. You fell down a goddamned hill and broke your neck. Where the hell is the fuckin’ glory in that? You know, I… uh… I’m… I’m gonna miss you. I mean… who’ll annoy me from now on? I got kinda used to that after six years. Huh…six years. Man, I can’t believe we stood each other for that long. You want to know what really gets me? No? Well, I’ll tell you anyway. I never got a chance to even the score. With the pranks I mean. I had a good one for you. One of the best yet. Of course, I never got to even the score in the lifesaving department either. You always had to one-up me, didn’t you? Jesus, Chet. I’m sorry. The last thing I said to you was… well, I didn’t mean it. I know you know that, but I needed to say it. I… I gotta get goin’ now. I got some fences to mend. I just wanted to say… I wanted to say good-bye. Sorry it took me so long. I… uh… I.... You know what I mean. The Phantom always knows. And, Chet.... just… thanks… for the memories.
* * * * * * * *
Rick Wilson stepped outside and looked around. Johnny’s truck was gone. He headed for his own car, but at the last minute, decided to take a walk up the hill. It seemed fitting that he stop in at the memorial wall and pay tribute to those who had fallen in the line of duty, and to say a prayer for their loved ones and those left to deal with pain of remembrance. His somber mood lifted, and his laughter rang out when he got there.
He’d heard about those shoes from Hank Stanley. He tried to pick them up, but the suction cups were stuck like glue to the concrete. He stepped back, and gave a salute to the man Chet Kelly had been, and to the man that John Gage was.
As he walked to his car, his step a little lighter, Rick realized the rain had stopped. He looked up, and wondered if Johnny had noticed. There were stars twinkling in the sky.
* * * * * * * *
Spend all your time waiting
for that second chance
for a break that would make it okay
there’s always one reason
to feel not good enough
and it’s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
oh beautiful release
memory seeps from my veins
let me be empty
and weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight
* * * * * * * *
Author's Notes:
Dedicated to my friends, who waited for such a long time for me to finish this story... thank you for your patience.
Credits:
Sarah McLaughlin lyrics "Angel"
Tig, for the Johnny picture
Firefighters' Real Stories supplied the photo of the "original" memorial -- replaced, but not forgotten
Thanks to E!U for the use of Challenge #12.
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