A Sight to Dream of, Not to Tell
Roy stood back as Brackett and Early worked feverishly, trying to resuscitate the blood-covered child. The EKG continued to show a flatline. It was apparent there was nothing within their power they could do to save the boy, but they kept trying.
Finally, Brackett turned to Roy, the anguish plain on his face. “I’m so sorry Roy, there was nothing we could do.”
Roy walked over, grief-stricken. He picked up the child, clutching him to his chest. Roy closed his eyes and hugged the tiny body tightly, “Oh Chris, I’m sorry, son, so sorry.”
He felt a shake on his arm and heard Dixie saying, “Roy...Roy……...ROY!”
Roy opened his eyes, disoriented for a moment. Joanne was shaking his arm. “Roy…Roy, don’t you hear the alarm?” she asked.
“What…ah…yeah,” said Roy, trying to collect his thoughts. He reached over to the nightstand and turned off the alarm. “Sorry, Honey.”
“You were dead-to-the-world. Are you okay?” she asked a little worried.
“Yeah, Honey, I’m fine, just dreaming, that’s all,” said Roy, still trying to collect his thoughts.
Joanne looked at him for a moment, “You want to talk about it?” she asked.
“No, I’m fine. It was just a dream,” said Roy, not wanting to upset her with the contents of his nightmare.
She gave him a long look, but decided to drop the subject since he obviously didn’t want to talk about it. “Eggs okay this morning?” she asked, beginning to get out of bed.
Roy put a hand on her arm, “Nothing this morning, Honey. I’m running late.” When she started to protest, he broke in, “I’ll pick up something on the way, I promise.”
“All right then,” she said, her tone suggested that he’d better…or else. She got back into bed, trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep before she had to get the kids up.
Roy got up and dressed. On his way to the bathroom, he couldn’t resist the need to peek into Chris’s room. He opened the door softly. The child was sleeping sweetly, clutching his most prized possession, a baseball glove Roy had given him his last birthday. Roy watched his son’s gentle breathing for a moment, then quietly closed the door and went to shave.
***
“Mornin’,” said Johnny chipperly as he strolled into the kitchen. Everyone returned his greeting with equal cheerfulness except Roy, who was sitting on the couch, staring into space, absently stroking Henry’s ears.
“What’s wrong with him?” Johnny asked Marco, while pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“Dunno,” shrugged Marco.
Johnny took a sip of his coffee, then grabbed an extra cup and the near empty pot and walked over to where Roy was sitting, “Coffee?” he offered.
“What?” asked Roy, startled out of his thoughts. He saw Johnny standing there with a pot of coffee and two cups. “Yeah, thanks,” he said, taking Johnny’s full cup.
Johnny gave him a scowl, then plopped down and poured what remained of the coffee into the other cup for himself. He studied Roy a moment, “What’s wrong?” he asked, sensing that something was really bothering his partner. He knew Roy didn’t get upset often.
Roy opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it. After a moment he replied, “Nothing. Nothing important.”
Johnny knew it to be a lie and was preparing to wheedle the truth out of Roy when the claxon went off.
The dispatcher’s voice was heard throughout the station, “Station fifty-one, traffic accident, corner of Walton Way and Washington Road, Walton Way and Washington Road, time out: eight-fifteen.”
“Station fifty-one, KMG-365,” replied Stanley into the microphone.
***
The squad and engine arrived at the scene, sirens blaring. “At least three vehicles,” thought Roy as they pulled up. One of the cars was already engulfed in flames, threatening a second. The police had arrived and were trying to both direct traffic and keep the onlookers at a safe distance. Vince came jogging up.
“Marco, you and Chet get an inch-and-a-half on that,” said Stanley, indicating the burning car and the one beside it. He turned to Vince, “Anyone in those?” he asked.
“No, we’ve got the drivers of those two cars over there on the curb,” said Vince, indicating two people sitting about twenty yards away. “They don’t seem to be seriously injured, but you’d better check on that guy,” said Vince pointing to a banged-up four-door sedan that sat facing the wrong direction in the opposite lane. It far enough away that it wasn’t endangered by the fire.
“I’ll take the car,” Johnny said to Roy, grabbing equipment and jogging toward the sedan.
Roy made his way to the injured drivers sitting on the curb. A police officer was standing behind the victims, trying to keep the crowd off the street. “Rubberneckers,” said the frustrated officer unkindly, under his breath.
Roy pretended not to hear but he sympathized with officer. He put down the trauma box and knelt by the first driver who was holding her arm against her chest, “Are you hurt, ma’am?”
Johnny peered through the broken passenger-side window. Inside he saw a middle-aged man, unconscious and obviously severely injured, and another, younger man, holding a pressure point on the victim’s arm. “Are you injured,” Johnny asked the young man, attempting to analyze the situation.
“No, I wasn’t in the accident,” he replied. “I just stopped to help.”
Even from the outside of the car, Johnny could see that the older man had severed an artery in his arm. The only thing that had kept him from bleeding to death was the good samaritan.
“I’ve got to get in there,” said Johnny. “Do you think you can squeeze between the seats into the back without letting go?” he asked.
“Yeah,” replied the samaritan, and proceeded to slip into the back seat out of Johnny’s way.
“You a med student?” asked Johnny, indicating the pressure point while examining the victim.
“No way, I hate doctors!” laughed the man. “Believe it or not, that first-aid merit badge really did come in handy.”
“Oh yeah,” said Johnny, distracted but amused.
“Is he going to be okay?” he asked concerned, coughing a bit as smoke from the now-extinguished car wisped in through a broken window.
“I don’t know,” replied Johnny, checking the man’s blood pressure, “But he’ll certainly have you to thank for it if he is...”
“Jeremy,” replied the young man, in a manner of introduction.
“John Gage,” said Johnny as he pulled out a B.P. cuff.
“I couldn’t let him bleed to death, could I?” coughed Jeremy.
Johnny glanced at him, concerned. There was only a very minor amount of smoke drifting in. “Do you have asthma?” he asked, while pulling out his flashlight to check the victim’s left eye.
“No,” replied Jeremy, still coughing mildly.
“Something in the smoke seems to be affecting you,” replied Johnny distractedly as he switched to the victim’s right eye. He caught a glimpse of Marco and Stanley approaching the car out of the corner of his eye as he continued to examine the victim.
“Need a hand?” asked Stanley.
Johnny clicked off the penlight and put it in his pocket. “Yeah, see if Marco can take Jeremy’s place,” suggested Johnny indicating the coughing young man, “And get him away from the smoke.”
Marco slid into the back seat and relieved Jeremy, who crawled around Marco and out of the car, still coughing. Stanley lead him over to the squad, away from any hint of the haze. “You all right?” he asked Jeremy.
Jeremy nodded. “Smoke just got to me a bit, I’ll be fine in a minute,” he said between coughing fits.
“All right,” said Stanley, he walked a few feet to the engine to use the radio.
“LA, this is engine fifty-one, the fire is out at our location…engine fifty-one out fifteen minutes…squad fifty-one out one hour.”
“Ten-four, engine fifty-one,” came the tinny reply.
Stanley turned to check on Jeremy. He appeared to have stopped coughing and was leaning his forearms on the hood of the squad, head down and something didn’t look right. Stanley jogged over, “You all right?” he asked Jeremy.
Jeremy lifted his head, he was pale and sweating and struggling for breath. Stanley took his arm, “Sit down,” he said, lowering the man to the ground. He glanced towards Johnny, but he and Marco were busy extracting the injured man from the car. He looked over to see Roy and Chet putting a splint on the arm of one of the other drivers.
“ROY!” he shouted.
Roy looked up and handed Chet the splint. He ran over to Stanley. “What happened?” he asked Stanley, who was getting oxygen out of the squad.
“I don’t know, something in the smoke I think,” replied Stanley, handing Roy the oxygen. “He was coughing a minute ago, now he can’t breath.”
Roy knelt down and put the oxygen mask over Jeremy’s face. “This should help,” he told him. Jeremy nodded his understanding.
“How much smoke did he inhale?” Roy asked, looking up toward the smoldering vehicle.
“Hardly any,” replied Stanley.
“Have you ever had anything like this happen to you before?” Roy asked Jeremy. Jeremy shook his head. “Do you have asthma?” He shook his head again. Roy pulled out his stethoscope and listened to the man’s lungs. “Any other respiratory problems, like bronchitis? Anything like that?” Again, Jeremy shook his head. “All right, hang in there,” said Roy, putting his hand on Jeremy’s midriff to check his respiration.
Roy nodded his thanks as Chet came jogging up with the biophone and drug box and put it on the ground beside Roy before returning to the injured drivers.
“Are you on any medication,” asked Roy. Jeremy didn’t respond. Roy glanced at Stanley, “Do you know his name?”
“Jeremy, I think,” replied Stanley.
“Hey, Jeremy,” said Roy sternly, giving the young man’s arm a little shake. Jeremy opened his eyes. “Are you taking any medication. Any drugs at all?” Jeremy shook his head weakly. Roy picked up the phone, “Rampart, this is squad fifty-one.”
“Go ahead, fifty-one,” Early replied.
“Rampart, we have a fourth victim at our incident. A male, about twenty-two years of age suffering severe respiratory difficulty.”
“Was the victim injured in the accident?” came Early’s voice.
Roy glanced at Stanley, who shook his head, “Negative, Rampart. The victim apparently inhaled a very minor amount of smoke, and started coughing approximately three minutes ago. He is now diaphoretic and cyanotic. Respirations are ten with bilateral ronchi. We have him on six liters of O2.” Roy pulled out the B.P. cuff, and put it on Jeremy, who was sitting against the squad, eyes closed, sweating, as he struggled to breath.
Early’s voice came through the biophone, “Did you say onset took three minutes, fifty-one?”
Roy looked to Stanley for confirmation. Stanley nodded. “Affirmative, Rampart. B.P. is ninety over sixty, respirations are down to eight, pulse is weak and rapid.”
Early thought for a moment. He didn’t like it. It sounded like anaphylactic shock. It would be unusual for a man of that age who had never suffered any respiratory systems to have such a severe reaction so suddenly. “Does the patient have a history of any respiratory problems,” asked Early.
“Negative,” came the reply.
“Is the patient on any medication?”
“Negative, Rampart. B.P. is now eighty over forty.”
Early didn’t have a choice, “Ten-four, fifty-one. Start an I.V. with D5W. Give the patient two milligrams of epinephrine followed by thirty milligrams benadryl, I.V. push.
“Ten-four, Rampart. I.V. D5W, two milligrams epinephrine, thirty milligrams benadryl, I.V. push,” confirmed Roy, as he proceeded to carry out Early’s instructions.
Stanley handed Roy the I.V. bag. Roy glanced to be sure it was the correct one, then started the I.V., injecting the epinephrine and benadryl. He waited, looking at his watch, then took a B.P. again. It had risen to one ten over sixty, “Much better,” he thought, relieved. He reached for the young man’s wrist to take a new pulse.
Jeremy opened his eyes at Roy’s touch. “Feeling a little better?” Roy asked him, still taking the pulse. When Jeremy nodded, Roy said, “Just keep trying to take deep slow breaths.” Jeremy closed his eyes and nodded again.
Roy picked up the phone, “Rampart, the patient is much improved, B.P. is now one ten over sixty, pulse is one hundred, respirations are fifteen.”
“How about the ronchi?” asked Early.
“Stand by.” Roy listen to Jeremy’s lungs with the stethoscope for a minute. “Greatly decreased, Rampart,” he replied into the phone.
“Ten-four, fifty-one, keep me informed,” replied Early.
“Ten-four, Rampart,” acknowledged Roy, putting down the phone.
“Should I call another ambulance?” Stanley asked Roy, not sure if two were enough for the four victims.
Jeremy pulled down the oxygen mask. “Not for me, I’m not going,” he said weakly.
“You need to go to the hospital,” Roy told him in the same stern fatherly tone he used with his kids, “And keep that oxygen mask on.”
“You can’t force me to go against my will,” replied Jeremy defiantly, but he replaced the mask.
Roy looked at Stanley. Stanley shrugged. It was the law. If someone refused treatment, you couldn’t force them to accept it. Roy sighed and picked up the phone, “Rampart, the respiratory distress victim is refusing transport to the hospital,” he saw Jeremy pull out the I.V. needle before Stanley could stop him, “And has removed his I.V.,” Roy finished, a bit irked.
“Fifty-one, I want to examine that victim,” said Early, “Convince him to change his mind.”
“Ten-four Rampart,” sighed Roy, without the slightest idea how to accomplish it. Johnny came jogging up, “Everything okay?”
“Not really,” replied Roy, giving an annoyed glance toward Jeremy, “But nothing you can help with. How’s yours doing?” he asked, seeing Johnny’s victim being loaded into the ambulance.
“He’s hanging in there. Look, I’m going to ride in with him,” said Johnny, “Can you handle it by yourself?” he asked.
“Yeah,” replied Roy, “I think we have it under control, you need the biophone?” Johnny nodded. “All right,” said Roy, “We’ll take care of the rest. We’ll use the radio in the squad if we get into trouble.”
“Okay,” replied Johnny. He grabbed the biophone and trotted over to the ambulance. He handed the ambulance attendant the equipment, then joined him, closing the door behind them. It drove off, sirens wailing.
By this time, Jeremy had risen shakily to his feet and removed the oxygen mask again. He was still leaning on the squad for support though.
Roy walked over to him. “Look,” said Roy, “you’ve just had a very severe reaction to something. You really need to have the doc check you out.”
“I feel fine,” lied Jeremy, shakily.
“Will you at least stay here a minute and rest?” asked Roy, trying to buy some time. “I’ll be right back.”
“All right,” replied Jeremy.
Roy trotted over to the other victims. Neither was seriously hurt. One had a probable broken wrist. The other, just few bruises and abrasions. There was no reason Roy had to ride with them. “You want to get into the ambulance so we can take you to the hospital to get you checked out?” Roy asked.
He and Chet reached down to give them a hand up and helped them into the ambulance, making sure they were seated. Roy shut the ambulance door and slapped it twice with his hand to let the driver know all was secure. It left, more slowly than the other.
Roy returned to Jeremy, hoping a more casual attitude might prove helpful. “Look,” he said, using his best let’s-be-reasonable tone, “You don’t know how you’re going to feel once the medication wears off. Why don’t you just ride in with me, in the squad here,” said Roy, hoping Jeremy would find less formal transportation a little more agreeable. Jeremy eyed the squad uncertainly. Vince walked up, he and Stanley had a quiet conversation with occasional glances toward Roy and Jeremy. Roy continued, “You don’t have to see a doctor once we get there if you don’t want to,” he wheedled.
“I don’t know,” said Jeremy, “How will I get back to my car?”
Vince, overhearing the conversation, stepped in, “I’ll have one of my officers bring it by the hospital for you if you give me the keys.” Roy gave him a gratefully look for the support. Jeremy still looked hesitant. Vince continued in a serious tone, “Even if you don’t go to the hospital, I can see you’re in no condition to drive. We wouldn’t allow you to take your car anywhere.”
Jeremy considered things a moment. “Okay, I guess,” replied the young man, “The keys are still in the ignition.” Roy took his arm and led him over to the squad.
“Thanks, Vince,” said Stanley.
“Don’t mention it, Hank,” replied Vince, returning to his duties. The tow trucks had arrived and he was looking forward to getting the mess cleared up.
Roy was glad they had been able to convince Jeremy to go to Rampart. Even now, he had to keep one hand on the young man to steady him as he opened the squad door. Roy helped him into the cab. The young man sank back against the seat gratefully. Roy got in and started the engine.
Stanley returned to the engine. Mike, Chet and Marco were already waiting. “What are we standing around for? Let’s go home,” he said to his crew.
They hopped in and took their seats. “What’s for lunch Marco?” Chet asked as Mike started the engine.
“Chile casserole,” Marco said, rubbing his hands together vigorously.
“Oh man, and it’s mine turn to clean the oven,” Chet complained.
“I knoooow,” Marco said devilishly.
***
Roy backed into his usual parking space outside Rampart’s emergency entrance. “We’re here,” he said to Jeremy. The young man hadn’t opened his eyes or said a word the whole trip. Roy was a little worried, the attack seemed to have completely zapped Jeremy’s strength, but at least he wasn’t having anymore breathing difficulties.
Roy got out and walked around to the passenger side, opening the door. “Come on, it’s not far, I promise,” he said. “Or I can get you a wheelchair,” he offered, even though he knew the young man would refuse.
Jeremy sighed, he didn’t even think he had the energy to walk the few steps into the hospital, he just wanted to go home and go to bed. Instead, he slid out of the passenger seat slowly, making sure his legs were behaving properly. Roy took his arm and steered him through the automatic doors. As they rounded the corner into the main hallway, Early advanced on them.
“Is this our obstinate patient,” he asked Roy, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah, Doc,” said Roy, “this is Jeremy…,” he paused, not knowing Jeremy’s last name.
“Rollins,” said Jeremy, tiredly.
“All right Mr. Rollins, why don’t you come with me,” said Early, taking his arm as Roy relinquished his grasp.
“Fine,” said Jeremy, surprisingly docile. He was too tired to resist being lead into an examining room.
“Think you can hop up on that table for me?” asked Early, his hand still on Jeremy’s arm.
“Yeah,” said Jeremy, managing to hop up on one end of the table. The other end was at a forty-five degree angle.
Early took out his stethoscope, listening to Jeremy’s lungs, “Take deep breath for me please….again please,” he moved the stethoscope to a different part of Jeremy’s back, “….and another.” Dixie walked in. “Get his vitals for me, will you, Dix,” Early said, then turned his attention back to the young man, “Once more please.” Jeremy took a last deep breath. Early took the stethoscope off, “Okay, your lungs sound pretty good, Mr Rollins, why don’t you lie back and rest a minute while our lovely Nurse Dixie finishes taking your vital signs,” he added lightly, helping the young man lift his legs onto the table. Jeremy laid back and closed his eyes. “I’ll be back in a minute,” Early said.
“Don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit,” said Dixie cheerfully.
***
Roy approached the nurse’s station. Johnny was already there, helping himself to a cup of coffee.
“Coffee?” asked Johnny, holding up the pot invitingly in one hand, his mug in the other.
“Yeah, thanks,” replied Roy taking Johnny’s cup from him. Johnny gave him another scowl and proceeded to pour himself a new cup.
“How’s your victim?” he asked Johnny.
“Looks like he’s going to make it” said Johnny, “Thanks to that good samaritan. How is he doing?”
“Early’s checking him out now. Seems to be okay though,” replied Roy absently, his mind wandering back to his nightmare now that he was at Rampart, without any victims to focus on.
“Okay,” said Johnny, putting down his coffee cup, “What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing is bothering me,” said Roy a little defensively, “I already told you that.”
“I know you better than anyone, well, except maybe Joanne, and I know if something’s bothering you, “ he nagged. “You know you’ll feel better if you tell me about it,” he added smugly.
“The last time I told you something was bothering me, it almost lead to a divorce…MINE,” replied Roy hotly.
“Look, you can’t blame me if Joanne was a little over sensitive about her cooking. I was right to give her Mike’s spaghetti recipe, you said yourself she loved it. It all worked out in the end” said Johnny, defending himself.
“I hate to break up a good fight,” interrupted Early, “but I’d like to ask you two a couple of questions.”
“We’re not fighting,” responded Johnny and Roy simultaneously.
Early studied the heel of his hand, rubbing a callous.
“What’s your question, Doc?” asked Roy.
“I was wondering how much smoke our Mr. Rollins inhaled,” asked Early, returning his full attention to the paramedics.
“Hardly any at all, Doc,” replied Johnny. “Is he going to be okay? You know he saved that other man’s life.”
“Yeah, he’s going to be just fine….this time. I’d like to know what really happened though so there won’t be a next time. I doubt he’ll be lucky enough to have you two guys around if it happens again.” Early paused, then continued, asking Johnny, “And you feel fine. No ill effects from the smoke?”
“Nope, like I said, Doc, there was hardly any,” replied Johnny.
“Where was the smoke coming from?” asked Early.
“A car,” replied Johnny.
“What part of the car?” prodded Early.
“Pretty much the whole thing, Doc. Why?” asked Johnny.
“You know some of the materials they use in car upholstery emits toxic fumes when burned,” said Early, theorizing.
“Yeah, but like I said, Doc, there was hardly any smoke at all,” insisted Johnny, confused.
“Hardly enough to bother you maybe,” replied Early, “But even a small amount could cause a severe reaction in someone who was dangerously allergic to it.”
“You think that’s what happened, Doc,” asked Roy.
“I’m not sure, but it’s the best guess I have right now,” said Early, lost in thought for a moment. “Okay then, thanks you two,” he said, turning to make his way back to the treatment room.
“Oh!” exclaimed Johnny, looking down the hallway, “There’s that new nurse Dwyer was talking about. I’ll be right back,” he said, picking up the handytalkie. He saw Roy glaring at him. “You haven’t even finished your coffee yet,” he said while backing down the hallway, before he turned to run after the pretty nurse.
Roy’s thoughts drifted again.
***
“Mr. Rollins?” said Early.
Jeremy opened his eyes, “Yes?”
“How are you feeling?” asked Early.
“Still tired, but better,” he replied.
“We’d like to admit you and run some tests,” said Early.
“No,” said Jeremy firmly.
“Mr. Rollins, I believe you suffered a severe allergic reaction to some fumes that came from the burning car. It is really in your best interest if you let us run a few tests to find out exactly what it was that caused your attack,” said Early, reasonably.
“No,” repeated Jeremy and swung his legs off the table, preparing to stand. He moved too fast and clutched at the table dizzily. As he sat there waiting for the room to quit spinning he said, “I’ll just avoid burning cars, apparently I’ve managed to do it for the last twenty years or so.”
“It may not just be cars, it could be in anything synthetic. You could have the same reaction again and this time you might not be lucky enough to have a couple of paramedics handy,” persisted Early.
“I’ll take my chances,” replied the headstrong young man.
“Very well,” said Early resigned, knowing full-well he couldn’t force the young man into anything, “Will you at least rest here a few hours so we can keep an eye on you?”
“All right,” replied the young man, too tired to argue any further. He laid back down and closed his eyes.
Early shook his head.
***
“Hi there, Roy.”
Roy blinked to see Vince standing in front of him. He hadn’t even noticed him. “Hiya, Vince,” he replied, wondering how long the officer had been standing there.
“Everyone gonna make it?” Vince asked, concerned.
“Oh yeah, looks like everyone will be fine,” replied Roy.
“Well I just ask because you had the strangest expression on your face when I walked up,” said Vince, “You still look a million miles away.”
“Hiya, guys,” said Dixie, walking up to the station grabbing some papers and a pen.
“Hiya, Dix,” replied Vince and Roy.
“Look, Vince, you have kids right?” asked Roy.
“Yeah,” replied Vince.
“Can I talk to you for a sec?” asked Roy. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee in the breakroom.”
Vince looked at his watch. “Sure, I’ve got a few minutes before the deputy arrives with the car.”
“If Johnny shows up, let him know I’m in the breakroom will ya, Dix” asked Roy.
“Sure, glad to,” she replied absently, while filling out paperwork.
Roy and Vince walked down the hall and into the breakroom. Roy was happy to see that it was unoccupied. “Go ahead and have a seat, Vince, I’ll get the coffee,” said Roy. He poured Vince a new cup and topped off his own. Vince sat down, curious but patient. Roy brought the cups over and sat down, sliding one of the cups toward Vince. Vince picked it up a took a sip, waiting for Roy to speak.
“You have kids right?” Roy repeated his question.
“Yeah, a boy and a girl,” said Vince.
“Me too,” he said, smiling briefly. He paused a moment trying to put his thoughts into words. “You ever have dreams about them?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” Vince answered. “What sort of dreams?” he asked, trying to figure out where Roy was headed. When Roy didn’t reply right away, Vince said, “The kind you can’t discuss with your friends?”
“Not so much can’t,” said Roy. “But none of the guys at the station have kids,” he explained.
“What kind of dreams?” repeated Vince, trying to draw Roy out. He wasn’t exactly close to the man but had worked with him long enough to know he admired him. He knew Roy was a good person and a damn fine paramedic. He wanted to help if he could. “The world could use more Roy DeSotos,” he thought to himself.
“Well, more like nightmares,” Roy replied. Finally, just deciding to get it all off his chest he said, “I’ve been having these dreams about Chris, he’s badly hurt, covered in blood. I try everything to save him, so do Early and Brackett, but he still dies,” Roy said, choking a bit on the last word. “There,” he thought, getting it all out in the open, expecting Vince to tell him to go seek some professional help.
“Yeah,” Vince replied sadly.
Roy was surprised. “You have them too?”
“Not exactly like that, but I know what you’re talking about,” Vince said. “I think it’s part of our job. We can’t see what happens to people day after day without bringing some it home with us. Have you told Joanne about it?”
“No,” Roy said, shocked. “I couldn’t tell her something like that. I mean, I wouldn’t want her to worry.”
“You’d might be surprised,” Vince said. “Besides, it was only a dream. Chris is safe, and I bet Joanne will understand.”
“You really think so?” Roy asked.
Just then, the door swung open, Johnny stuck his head in, radio in hand, “Let’s go, we’ve got a run.”
Roy immediately got up to leave, then paused a moment, “Thanks, Vince.”
Vince smiled, “Don’t mention it.”
Roy jogged out the door behind Johnny.
***
The call was outside their normal area and it took about twenty minutes to reach the accident. There were already two engines, a squad, several ambulances, and assorted police vehicles on scene when they arrived. A tractor trailor had hit a school bus.
Roy’s heart stopped when he saw the bus, then he realized they were too far away, it couldn’t be Chris’s school or his daughter’s either he told himself. His heart started beating again. He and Johnny grabbed their equipment and waded into the fray.
***
“It’s too much like my dream,” thought Roy. Brackett and Morton worked to try and save the child’s life. He had lost a lot of blood and had been trapped almost forty minutes before the combined efforts of two engine companies had finally managed to free him. Things weren’t going well. More nurses appeared along with additional equipment.
Johnny tugged on Roy’s sleeve and jerked his head toward the door. They slipped out to make more room. “Come on,” Johnny said quietly, and headed for the squad. Roy followed.
They sat silently in the squad for a long moment. Roy made no move to start the engine. “Three kids dead, and probably two more by morning,” he said softly.
“Yeah,” Johnny replied sadly.
Roy leaned forward and turned the key.
***
Roy opened the door. “Daddy!” squealed Chris, running up to him. Roy reached down and picked up the boy, hugging him tightly. “Too hard , Daddy,” Chris squirmed.
“Sorry,” Roy replied, putting the child down. “Where’s your sister?”
“Sleepover at Becky’s house,” the little boy responded, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Girls were yucky, Chris had decided, especially when they had sleepovers. “Wanna play catch?” he asked hopefully.
“Not right now,” said Roy said, “But I promise we’ll play later, okay?”
“Okay,” the child replied.
“Why don’t you finish watching your show while I talk to your mother for a little while,” Roy suggested.
“Okay,” replied the child again and promptly launched himself onto the couch in front of the television.
Roy walked down the hallway, into his bedroom. Joanne was folding laundry on the bed. When he came through the door, she looked up, smiling, but it disappeared when she saw his face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked worriedly, standing up. Roy gave her a hug. She expected him to let go after a moment but he kept holding her. She put her arms around him tightly. She realized he was choking back tears. She was really worried now, hugging him tighter but not saying anything.
Eventually his hold loosened but he didn’t let go. “Please tell me what’s wrong,” she said. But Roy was silent. “Something that happened on your shift?” she prompted.
He let go and wiped his eyes trying to regain his composure. It wouldn’t do for Chris to come back and see him upset. He sat on the bed. Joanne sat beside him, her arm around him, not saying anything.
Finally Roy answered, “A school bus and a tractor trailer.”
Joanne understood instantly. “How many?” she asked softly.
“Three,” cracked Roy’s voice, “One was no older than Chris.” He paused, taking a deep breath, “Two more that probably won’t make it through surgery.”
Joanne eyes filled with tears as she empathized. She desperately wanted to take the awful images away from Roy, but she knew she couldn’t. “Is there something else,” she asked, knowing that he had been upset about something lately.
Roy paused. He wanted to tell her about the dreams but he wanted to spare her the pain too. He looked at her and realized that she was already in pain, worrying about him. He took a deep breath, “I’ve been having these nightmares about Chris,” he said. “He dies,” Roy said, avoiding the details.
“Go on,” Joanne said gently, sensing that there was more.
“He’s all covered with blood,” Roy heard himself saying. “I try to save him…everyone tries to save him… but no one can.” Roy kicked himself for being so weak-willed. He should have spared her this.
“And?” Joanne asked.
Roy looked up at her in surprise, “That’s all.”
“You should have told me sooner. What made you think I wouldn’t understand?” she asked gently.
“It’s not that I thought you wouldn’t understand,” Roy said, a little surprised by her response. “I…I didn’t want to upset you.”
“It upset me more, knowing that something was bothering you and that you felt couldn’t confide in me,” she replied honestly.
“So you don’t think I’m going crazy?” he asked, looking her in the eyes.
“How can you expect to do what you do, to see what you see everyday and not have it affect you. Who do you think you are, superman?” she asked seriously. “How can you not worry a little bit that some of those things could happen to us?” she paused, “But just a little bit. Deal?”
“Deal,” he replied smiling. “I’m a fool,” he said, shaking his head.
“No,” Joanne said, leaning to give him a kiss on the cheek, “You’re a wonder, considerate man,” she paused. “Wrong…but considerate,” she said jokingly. Roy laughed, hugging her tightly. “She’s too good for me.”
“Daddy,” Chris came running into the room. He stopped, sensing something.
“What is it, Chris,” Roy asked cheerfully, releasing Joanne from the embrace.
Encouraged by his father’s tone of voice Chris asked plaintively, “Can we play catch now.”
Roy and Joanne smiled at each other. “Sure, Sport, race you to the yard,” Roy said, jumping from the bed and racing out the bedroom door.
“No running in the house, boys,” Joanne yelled after them as they tore down the hallway.
She returned to folding clothes, smiling and humming to herself.
"A Sight to Dream of, Not to Tell" ©1999 Erika Bartlett. "Emergency!" and its characters © Mark VII Productions, Inc. All rights reserved. No infringement of any copyrights or trademarks is intended or should be inferred. This is a work of fiction, and any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
NOTICE: The layout and graphics on this page are the property of Two Chickies Fan Fiction. They may NOT be used on any other fan fiction site and any such use consitutes HTML theft. We urge you not to support any site that engages in such tactics, and to report any such usage to Marcia or Tangee.