The Green Monster
By Pat Embury

Craig Brice cried out as he sat bolt upright in bed. Lightning flashed outside his window, momentarily illuminating the tiny bedroom of his apartment. A loud rumble of thunder shook the room. It’s okay. I’m alive. He tried to catch his breath while he frantically palpated his chest. His heart pounded against his fingertips. Craig put his hand beneath the undershirt that clung to his clammy skin and lifted it over his head. He used it to wipe the sweat that beaded on his forehead. Man, that’s the third time this week I’ve had that dream. That...thing. The image of a large, scaly green monster lunging at him with bolts of a searing white light flashing from its fingertips, replayed in his mind. Craig shuddered. It’s coming to get me. Sighing, he squinted at the clock. Two thirty. He disgustedly tossed the shirt into the corner of the room. Craig swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked over to the open window. The breeze made the blinds clatter against the sill.

Craig pulled the blinds away from the window and felt the spray of the rain coming through the screen. He squinted as lightning briefly illuminated the small patch of grass behind his apartment building. But why would I be dreaming of monsters? I did when I was little, but now? They say dreams represent something in your subconscious, but what would a monster signify? He closed the window, and let the blinds fall back into place. Craig lifted the waistband of his boxer shorts and let it snap back against his skin. The plush fibers of the brown shag carpet tickled his toes as he made his way back to bed.

Well, it was a green monster. Maybe there’s something to the color? What would a green monster signify? There is the Green Monster at Fenway Park. Craig pulled the sheet over his shoulder and turned onto his side. But, why would the Boston Red Sox be chasing me? Granted, they’re having a great year, but in the dream, I’m not holding a pennant flag or World Series ring. I’m not a bad baseball player, but I’m definitely not professional caliber.

Hmmm. A green monster is often a euphemism for jealousy. But who would I be jealous of? Bellingham? Sure, he just bought that new truck, but I like my Mustang better. Gage? I doubt it. He thinks he’s a hot-shot ladies man, but I got a date with Stephanie, that new evening nurse at Rampart, instead of him. Nice girl. I hope she enjoys the movie Saturday.

Craig yawned and scratched his back. The thing is, in the dream, it’s not the monster I’m afraid of. I don’t know why I’m so scared of the lightning trying to reach me. I can’t turn to the left or to the right. I’m too scared to run and I’m too weak to fight. I don’t care. It’s all psychobabble rap to me. Psychobabble, all psychobabble. Craig opened one eye and peered at the clock. 2:45. Great.

I hope I can get back to sleep. One more day at 51’s. Craig punched his pillow to fluff it. I certainly hope DeSoto recovers from his visit with his mother-in-law. He scrunched down beneath the covers and closed his eyes. This dream must mean something. But, what?

*********

"So, Gage," Chet Kelly stirred his coffee in the kitchen of Station 51. "Are you happy this is Brice’s last shift?"

Johnny shrugged noncommittally as he picked up the Sports section of the morning paper. He set his coffee cup on the table. "It hasn’t been that bad, Chet. I’ve only worked with him what, two, three shifts? Besides, he volunteered for the overtime."

"Oh?" Chet asked curiously. "I thought you were gonna rip your arm off when you tried to get the drug box outta the squad at that house fire the other day. I heard those choice little words you muttered."

Johnny glared at the stocky firefighter. "It’s going just fine. I just...forgot about the locked compartments. There are certain...adjustments you have to make when you work with somebody new. I’m sure Brice’ll be just as happy to get back to 16’s tomorrow."

"What?" Chet leaned back in his chair, his hand covering his heart. "Did I hear what I thought I just heard? Did John Gage finally admit that he’s not the easiest guy in the world to work with?" A wide grin plastered itself on his face.

"I never said that, Chet," Johnny said disgustedly. He opened the paper and studied the baseball scores. "Though, I’ll admit, I have enjoyed driving the squad for more than an occasional follow-up to Rampart." He flipped the page.

"Good morning, Gage, Kelly," Craig walked into the kitchen. He stifled a yawn as he poured a cup of coffee.

"Mornin’, Brice," Johnny murmured as he continued to read. "Aww, man," he said disappointedly.

"Something wrong, Gage?" asked Craig. He put his mug to his lips, and took a sip of the steaming liquid.

"Says here tonight’s Dodger’s game won’t be televised." Johnny looked up from the paper. "It’s supposed to be a good one, too. Messersmith is pitching, and he’s having a great year." He sighed and continued reading.

"Hey," Chet brightened. "Since the game’s not on, we can watch the movie."

"What movie?" Craig asked curiously. He walked over to the table and glanced at the headlines.

"It’s one of my favorites," Chet said enthusiastically.

Johnny lowered the paper, and exchanged a skeptical glance with Craig.

Craig shrugged. "Really?" he asked curiously. "What’s the name of this cinematic treasure?"

"It’s The Cockroach that Ate Cincinnati." Chet grinned. "It’s a classic."

Craig nearly choked on his coffee. "I’m sure it’ll be very...interesting, Kelly." He sat down beside Chet, then picked up the front section of the paper.

Johnny rolled his eyes and shook his head. He looked up as the tones sounded.

"Squad 51. Possible heart attack. 1501 South Woodard. One-five-zero-one South Woodard. Cross street Alameda. Time out: 8:00."

Johnny dropped the newspaper onto the table and followed Craig to the apparatus bay. The two paramedics climbed into the squad. Johnny took the run slip from Captain Stanley, then handed it to his temporary partner. He narrowed his eyebrows as he glanced at Craig. "You okay? You look a little..."

"Tired, Gage," Craig replied crisply. "I’m just tired. It’s nothing serious. That thunderstorm this morning woke me up, and I had a hard time falling asleep afterward." He smiled at Johnny.

"Oh," replied Johnny as he shifted the squad into gear. "I thought I heard something, but I must’ve slept through the worst of it." He pulled into traffic. "I didn’t get much sleep the night before, so I must’ve been makin’ up for it."

"Big date?" asked Craig.

"No," Johnny shook his head, and his lips curved upward in a slight smile. "My neighbor across the street called me around ten-thirty. Turns out his dog was having puppies, but ran into trouble. His vet hadn’t called him back, so he called me."

"Take the next right," directed Craig. "What was wrong?"

Johnny turned the squad down the street. "The dog had delivered three pups, and it had been about an hour since the last one had come out. They were expecting six, so they were getting nervous."

"Next left," directed Craig. "So what did you do?"

Johnny shrugged as he made the turn. "It happens some time. We just took her for a walk to try to get her goin’ again."

"Did it work?" asked Craig.

Johnny nodded. "Yep. A little while later, the rest of the puppies were born. The last one was pretty small, and wasn’t breathing."

"What did you do?" asked Brice. "There. That must be it," he pointed to a police car parked in front of a small house about half way up the block.

Johnny pulled behind the police car. "I just cleared its nose and mouth, then rubbed it with a towel. It came around pretty quickly." He got out of the squad, then grabbed the oxygen and walked to the other side of the squad. "Momma dog and my neighbor’s kids were thrilled."

"Of course they were, Gage," replied Craig as he handed the drug box to Johnny. "Dead puppies aren’t much fun. They don’t come when you call. They don’t chase squirrels at all." He grabbed the biophone and the heart monitor, then headed towards the house.

Johnny’s jaw dropped as he watched Craig walk up the driveway. He shook his head and followed his temporary partner into the house.

*********

Craig walked out of the treatment room, the cardiac monitor and drug box tucked beneath his arm, biophone in hand. He spotted Dixie McCall at the nurse’s station, jotting notes in a chart. I wonder if she could help me? She might know something about dreams. Craig peered down the corridor. He spotted Johnny deep in conversation with Dr. Brackett. It should be safe. He’ll be a few minutes. He strolled to the nurse’s station and set the equipment beside the desk. "Good morning, Miss McCall." He stifled a yawn as he poured a cup of coffee.

"Hi, Craig," Dixie McCall smiled at the paramedic. "Late night?"

Craig nodded. "Unfortunately." He paused for a moment. Should I take a chance? I wonder if she’d think it was stupid? I mean, dream interpretation? Sounds like one of those hippie-type things. But, what have I got to lose?

"Are you okay, Craig?" Dixie asked curiously. "You’re a million miles away."

"Sorry." Craig pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, then took another sip of coffee. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Dixie smiled. "I can’t guarantee I’ll have an answer, but I’ll be happy to give it a shot."

"Do you think our dreams mean anything?"

A surprised look briefly crossed Dixie’s face. "Hmm," her expression turned serious. "I guess it depends on the dream. I know people who believe that dreams can foretell the future." She looked thoughtfully at Craig. "My cousin is like that. Once she dreamed that she fell off the roof. The next day, it happened." Dixie snapped her fingers. "Just like that."

"What was your cousin doing on the roof?" asked Johnny as he walked into the nurse’s station.

"She climbed up to get her son’s Frisbee. He and some of his friends were trying to see if they could toss it over the house and into their pool." Dixie grinned at the paramedics. "It didn’t quite make it."

Johnny leaned on the counter. "How badly was she hurt?"

"She broke her leg in two places, and spent a few weeks in a cast," replied Dixie. "She’s fine now." She turned her attention to Craig. "Did that answer your question?"

Craig nodded as a three beep tone sounded over his H.T.

"Squad 51, what is your status?"

Craig placed the mug on the counter and activated the H.T. "Squad 51, available."

"Squad 51, stand by for a response."

"Thank you, Miss McCall," replied Craig as he picked up the biophone. "You’ve been immensely helpful." He ignored a puzzled look from Johnny as the H.T. sprang to life.

"Squad 51, Engine 51. Traffic accident, with injuries. Avalon Boulevard at East Del Amo. Avalon Boulevard at East Del Amo. Time out, 9:15."

*********

"You can head down Carson Avenue," informed Craig as he read the small map. "Then hang a left at Avalon."

"That’s what I intended to do," Johnny replied evenly.

"Sorry, Gage," apologized Craig as he stuffed the map book into the glove compartment. "Although I worked those shifts with DeSoto after you got hit by that car, I’m still somewhat new to your territory. I want to make sure I’m oriented to our location."

"I understand, Brice." Johnny quickly glanced at the paramedic, who held his glasses in one hand, while rubbing his eyes with the other. "Are you sure you’re not sick?" He returned his attention to avoiding the morning traffic. "You look a little...pale."

"I just didn’t sleep well, that’s all, Gage." Craig sighed as he put his glasses back on. "I’m not ill." He studied Johnny carefully. I wonder if I could ask Gage without him thinking that I’m trying to make fun of him, or insult him. I really don’t know what to think about Dixie’s answer. I know I’m not a psychic.

Craig looked out the window as the squad entered the intersection. A green late-model sedan sped towards them from the right side. His eyes widened as the car made no effort to slow or swerve. "Look out!" Craig attempted to brace himself as the sedan slammed into the squad.

Pain lanced through Craig as the rescue squad spun around. He ricocheted off of Johnny, then lurched back into his side as the squad’s momentum ceased. He clutched his chest and blinked furiously. He painfully gulped breaths of air. A faint humming echoed in his ears. Grasshoppers. It’s getting late. If we don’t hurry home, we’ll miss dinner. Craig shook his head to try to lift the fog that rapidly settled in his brain. He peered out of the windshield. Wow. A 180-degree turn! We just came from that direction. He studied Johnny curiously as the sound of squealing brakes reached his fading awareness. Doing doughnuts with the squad must be against regulations. Hell, all the fun stuff is.

Craig peered over at Johnny again as he adjusted his glasses. Wake up, Gage. A police car, lights flashing, loomed outside of Johnny’s window. Uh-oh. More cops. We’d better split. The sound of crunching metal replaced the ringing in his ears. A bolt of white hot pain seared through him as he was tossed against the passenger side door of the squad. Craig gasped as everything faded to black

*********

Deputy Andrew Carmichael stopped his cruiser at the edge of the intersection. He slapped the steering wheel angrily as he surveyed the scene. Great. Toby ran our perp, and himself right into a rescue squad. Why didn’t they see him, or hear Toby’s siren? He got out of the police car and trotted over to the green sedan. Its crumpled front end rested snugly against a utility pole at the northeast corner. Deputy Carmichael bent his tall frame to peer inside the shattered window.

An unkempt, middle aged man was slumped over the steering wheel. A stocking cap lay on the seat beside him.

"Can you hear me?" Deputy Carmichael grimaced at the blood trickling down the driver’s face as he reached in to feel the man’s neck. A rapid, but weak pulse throbbed against his fingertips. He’s out cold. He looked up as the sound of approaching sirens reached his ears. He could see two sets of flashing lights approaching from the East. Here come the backup units.

Deputy Carmichael activated his portable radio as he trotted over to the damaged squad. The impact of the police car had spun it so that it faced northward. The suspect’s vehicle had struck the squad on the passenger side. The headlights were broken; the front bumper was pushed inward and downward; the hood was sprung and tented. The front quarter panel was crumpled. "Dispatch, this is 240-David. The suspect vehicle being chased by 110-Robert has been involved in a multi-vehicle accident with injuries. Be advised that 110-Robert, and County Fire Department Rescue Squad 51 have also been involved in the collision. Respond the fire department and three ambulances to the intersection of Main Street and East Carson."

"10-4, 240-David."

Deputy Carmichael crouched beside the squad’s passenger side, and peered in. Both paramedics were unconscious. Brice? Gage? Where’s DeSoto? That’s right! His vacation. He told me about it after that house fire last week.

Craig leaned heavily against the door frame, his helmet tipping off his head. He moaned slightly as Deputy Carmichael felt his neck.

The pulse was rapid, but strong. Phew, he’s alive. Deputy Carmichael leaned over Craig to palpate Johnny’s pulse, but couldn’t reach Johnny’s neck. At least he’s breathing. He ran around to the driver’s side of the squad as another police car squealed to a stop.

Deputy Carmichael inhaled sharply. The impact had pushed the door and the wheel well in, so that the tire was bent on its axle. He tried to open the door, but couldn’t. He reached through the open window and pushed Johnny’s helmet back onto his head. Deputy Carmichael placed his fingers on the paramedic’s neck. Rapid pulsations throbbed against his fingertips. Geez, Johnny. Roy will never let you drive after he gets back. This thing is totaled.

Deputy Carmichael sighed as he stood upright. He noticed that the lightbar on the squad was still flashing. Ahhh. He nodded. Probably on a call. He jumped when he felt a hand clap him on the shoulder.

"How bad is it, Andy?" asked Vince Howard. "I’ve got Reilly directing traffic."

Deputy Carmichael pushed his helmet up. "Bad." He gestured to the patrol car. "I haven’t checked Toby, yet." He studied the battered squad. "These guys must’ve hit the intersection a few seconds before the perp." He looked at the position of the wrecked police car. "Looks like Toby tried to stop, but couldn’t." He gestured to the squad. "They’re both alive, but unconscious. So’s our boy." He jerked his head towards the battered sedan. "I’ll have you guard the perp."

Vince nodded, then glanced at the squad. "Is that...Gage?"

"Yeah, it’s Gage and Brice," replied Deputy Carmichael. He shook his head.

"All this for a few lousy bucks from a gas station till," sighed Vince.

"Yeah," replied Deputy Carmichael flatly. He jogged over to the wrecked patrol car and looked inside. "Toby?"

The officer rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "An...Andy?" He squinted up at Deputy Carmichael.

"Take it easy, Toby," soothed the deputy. "You had an accident. How do you feel?"

"Gotta headache." Toby rubbed his eyes. "Kinda...woozy." He put his hand on his chest. "Sore." He looked out of the windshield at the battered squad. "Couldn’t...stop." He looked up at Deputy Carmichael. "I thought I could avoid it, but couldn’t."

"Just lean back and relax," replied the deputy. He saw a rescue squad and a fire engine pull up at the edge of the intersection. "Help’s here. They’ll take good care of you." He gently patted the injured police officer on the shoulder, then jogged over to speak with the captain.

*********

Craig groaned. Pain shot through his head as a bright light flashed before his eye. He raised his hand to swat the offending light source.

"Brice?" asked Dr. Early. "Open your eyes for me."

Craig opened his eyes. He squinted to make out the blurry shapes standing above him. "Wha...what happened?" He tried to look around the treatment room, but something hard and plastic prevented him from moving his head. His right arm felt like lead, and something poked him in the chest. His leg throbbed. Craig started to rise, but a piercing pain shot through his chest and arm. A groan escaped his lips as he lay back down.

"You were in an accident," replied Dr. Early. "Tell me where you are right now."

"Rampart," Craig replied. The image of the sedan lunging at them flashed in Craig’s mind. "Got...hit. How...bad?"

"We’re still trying to figure that out," replied Dr. Early. "So far, you’ve got fractures of your right humerus, elbow, femur, a few ribs and a punctured lung. Plus, you’ve got a mild concussion. Does your neck hurt?" he asked as he unstrapped the cervical collar.

Craig thought for a moment. "No more than...any other part of my body. Everything’s pretty...painful right now. May I?" Craig licked his dry lips. "Could I have something for the pain?" He paused to catch his breath, then squinted up at Dr. Early. "Do you...have my glasses?"

"Sure, Craig," Dixie replied warmly. "I’ve got them right over here."

"Dix, can you get X-ray back here for flexion and extension spine films?" asked Dr. Early. "And give him 30 milligrams of Codeine, I.V."

Dixie nodded and walked over to the wall phone.

Craig absently scratched his chest. He felt along the edges of a large bandage, and entangled his fingers in something thick and rubbery. He lifted it up, and squinted at the flexible yellow tubing that seemed to sprout from the right side of his chest. "Pneumo...pneumothorax?"

"Yes," replied Dr. Early. "Actually it was a hemothorax. So far, it looks like the bleeding has stopped, so we don’t think we’ll need to operate." He patted Brice on the shoulder. "Don’t worry, we’re going to keep a close eye on it."

"Thank you." Craig let the tubing drop. He shivered slightly at the coolness of the room.

Dr. Early returned his attention to the injured paramedic. "I want to take some more films of your neck to confirm that your spine hasn’t been fractured. The lateral views were clean, so I’m confident we’ll have you out of this collar in no time." Dr. Early lightly patted the collar after he refastened it. "Dr. Evans from Orthopedics will be down to talk to you about the surgery they’ll need to do on your leg."

"Okay." He swallowed hard as the vision of Johnny’s limp form flared in his mind. "Gage? How...how’s Gage?"

"Dr. Brackett’s still working on him," Dixie smiled as she placed Craig’s glasses on his face. She gently squeezed his hand. "Would you like me to see if there’s any news?"

"Thank you, Miss McCall. I’d appreciate it." Craig closed his eyes as he waited for the pain medication to give him some relief from the throbbing in his arm, chest and leg. Why didn’t I see that car?

*********

"Well," Dr. Brackett studied the chest x-ray mounted on the viewer box. "Looks like he’s got a pulmonary contusion on the right, to go along with the broken ribs on the left." He strolled over to Johnny’s bedside and examined the paramedic’s chest. "How does your breathing feel?"

"Kinda...short, Doc," Johnny winced at the effort. Tiny beads of sweat glistened on his face and chest.

"Look at that bruising, Kel," Dr. Morton pointed to Johnny’s chest. "Amberson said the squad took two good whacks." He started to palpate the paramedic’s chest.

Johnny gasped. "Easy, Doc," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Sorry, Johnny," replied Dr. Morton. He moved down the side of the gurney and examined the paramedic’s splinted left leg. "Wiggle your toes for me."

Johnny picked his head up slightly and peered down at his moving toes. He grimaced as a wave of pain seared through his chest and abdomen. He quickly put his head down, and squeezed his eyes shut. Johnny tried to catch his breath. "Man," he panted. His eyes widened as he gulped for air. "That...really...hurt." He ran his right arm limply across his abdomen. "Need...somethin’."

"Sure, Johnny," Dr. Brackett replied. He took the stethoscope from his pocket. "Betty, can you give Johnny 30 milligrams of Codeine, IV?"

"Right away, Doctor," Betty patted Johnny on the shoulder as she headed out of the room. She smiled at Dixie as she passed her in the doorway.

Dixie McCall walked into the room and approached the gurney. She smiled down at Johnny. "Good to see you awake." She directed her attention at Kel and Mike. "Craig Brice wanted to know how Johnny was doing before he went to surgery."

"Surgery?" asked Johnny. Great. I almost killed Paramedic Perfect. He closed his eyes and sighed. "How...how is he?" He ran his tongue over his dry lips and looked up at Dixie.

"He should be just fine. He’s pretty banged up, and has a broken leg that’ll need a surgical repair," replied Dixie. "But he should be up and around in no time." She placed her hand on Johnny’s forehead and brushed a few matted strands of hair away from his face. She wiped the damp coolness from her fingertips with growing concern. Dixie glanced at the flow sheet, then inflated the blood pressure cuff on Johnny’s arm.

"Doc," gasped Johnny. He swallowed, eyes open wide. "Can’t....can’t breathe." His chest rose and fell in short, irregular intervals. His eyelids fluttered as he struggled to stay conscious.

"Kel," The serious tone to Dixie’s voice was unmistakable. "BP’s 80 over 40."

"Stay with me, Johnny," commanded Dr. Brackett as he leaned over the bed. "Where do you hurt?"

"Chest," rasped Johnny. He closed his eyes. His chest and neck muscles retracted with each breath.

"Dix," said Brackett. "I want a chest tube tray and an anesthesiologist here to intubate, stat. Plus I want another liter of Ringer’s, and send another blood sample for a blood count." He placed the earpieces of his stethoscope in his ears, and intently listened to Johnny’s chest.

Betty walked into the room and shot Dixie a curious look.

"Pressure’s down," informed Dixie as she rushed to the phone. "I’m paging anesthesia, and respiratory. Can you get another IV in and hang Ringer’s?"

Betty nodded and headed for the supply cabinet.

Mike Morton removed the nasal cannula from Johnny’s face and replaced it with the mask attached to an Ambu bag. "Johnny?" He held the mask firmly over Johnny’s face.

Johnny’s eyelids fluttered, and he let out a muffled moan.

"Minimal breath sounds on the left, he’s probably bleeding there too," Brackett said grimly as he straightened up and removed the stethoscope from his ears. "Let’s get this chest tube in, now." He twitched his mouth as he removed his lab coat. "We may have to do an emergent thoracotomy, which means fixing his leg will have to wait." He rolled up his sleeves and donned sterile gloves.

"Hi, Kel," greeted the tall, burly anesthesiologist. He set a gray tackle box on the counter and opened it. "What’ve you got?"

"Hi, Tom." Dr. Brackett filled the anesthesiologist in about Johnny’s condition as he deftly inserted the chest tube.

"I got it, Mike," Tom tilted Johnny’s head back. He gave the paramedic several breaths with the Ambu bag, then handed it to Betty.

Dr. Brackett watched the blood trickle through the tubing into the container below the gurney.

"We’re in," announced the anesthesiologist. Betty handed him the Ambu bag, which he attached to the end of Johnny’s breathing tube. He squeezed the bag regularly, watching the rise and fall of Johnny’s chest.

"Good placement," reported Dr. Morton as he moved the stethoscope over Johnny’s chest. He removed it from his ears and stuffed it into his pocket. "Let me do that," he offered as he took the Ambu bag from Tom.

"Kel," Dixie said as she helped Betty secure the breathing tube to Johnny’s face. "What do you want me to tell Craig Brice?"

Dr. Brackett twitched his mouth as he taped the dressing over the chest tube. "Well, tell him that Johnny’s critical, but stable. If he presses you for details, be vague. I’m hopeful Johnny will make a full recovery if he gets over this bump in the road, but I don’t want to alarm Craig right before his surgery."

Dixie nodded. "Do you need me any more, Betty?"

"No, Dix," Betty shook her head gratefully. "I’ll be fine. Thanks for all your help."

*********

Craig shifted in his hospital bed. His right leg throbbed. He looked down at the thin tube that connected to what looked like the bulb end of a blood pressure cuff, that emerged from the upper end of the thick bandage on his thigh. Craig leaned forward to adjust the pillows his leg rested on, and immediately grimaced as a sharp twinge lanced through his chest. He braced his chest with his free arm, and blew the air out though puffed cheeks.

Craig lay back in bed, frustrated. Can’t do much with one arm, or these damn broken ribs. He peered at his arm, which was splinted and immobilized in a sling. It’s my own fault. I should’ve been paying more careful attention to traffic, not thinking about my own nightmares. Now Gage is in the ICU, on life support. He shuddered at the mental picture of Johnny laying motionless in bed, with tubes and wires that seemingly emerged from every part of his body. I sure hope he’s stopped bleeding. My accident couldn’t have been the cause of the nightmare, could it? Nah. It was probably just something I ate. A green monster, with lightning coming from its fingertips? Craig shook his head. What would that have to do with a car accident? No more late night garbage plates at Rockwell’s. He looked up as someone entered the room. "Kelly?"

"Hey, Brice," the bushy-haired firefighter let the door close behind him. "I thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing." Chet gestured to the door. "I brought the squad in for Dwyer and Davidson. The guys hope you’re feeling better soon."

"Thanks, Kelly," Craig grimaced as he shifted in bed. "Tell them that I’m doing okay. The surgery went well, and I should be discharged in approximately a week to ten days." He felt his stomach tighten slightly. "How’s Gage? Have you seen him?"

Chet shook his head. "The last I heard he was critical, but stable." He looked at his watch. "Cap told me that so far the bleeding was stopped, but Brackett had to give him some blood. I guess they’re going to keep Johnny pretty doped up, and on the machines for a few days to let his lungs heal. Then they’ll take him to surgery to fix his leg. I’m gonna stop in the ICU to see if they’ll let me in. I guess Brackett tried to call his aunt to let her know what happened, but they haven’t been able to get a hold of her.

"What about DeSoto?" asked Craig. "I’m sure he’d want to be informed."

"There’s no answer at his house." Chet shrugged. "Cap tried several times to reach him, but I don’t know when he’ll be back." He crossed his arms. "I just hate to see Johnny be alone at a time like this, you know?"

Craig nodded. "At least I have my family nearby, it must be doubly difficult for Gage." He paused for a moment. "If he’s awake, can you let him know I hope he’s feeling better? And that I’m sorry?"

"Sorry?" asked Chet. "Sorry for what?"

"My inattention to the oncoming traffic is what caused the accident." Craig rubbed his chest. "I was distracted by a silly nightmare I had last night, and I wasn’t as attentive as I should have been."

Chet shrugged. "From what Cap said, and what I heard on the news, there wasn’t anything you could’ve done to avoid it. The guy who hit you had just ripped off a gas station, and was being chased by the cops. He was going pretty fast. I guess you both hit the intersection at the same time." Chet wrinkled his brow, and smiled. "You mean to tell me, Craig Brice, the World’s Perfect Paramedic, had a nightmare?" he jokingly asked.

Craig nodded solemnly. "Yes, Kelly." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Even I, had a nightmare." He shook his head. "For three nights, I’ve had the same dream. It’s really stupid when you stop to think about it."

"Three straight nights?" asked Chet, turning serious.

"Yes, Kelly," sighed Craig. "Three consecutive nights. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, my grandmother used to say that if you had the same dream three nights in a row, whatever you were dreaming about would come true." Chet rubbed his mustache thoughtfully. "What was your nightmare about? It might not be so stupid after all."

Craig hesitated. He looks sincere. "I’ll tell you, but you’ve got to keep it a secret. Would you do that for me?"

Chet nodded. "Sure, Brice. I can keep a secret." His mouth curved up in a soft smile. "I’m not always playing jokes on unsuspecting paramedics."

Smiling, Craig inhaled deeply, and grimaced at the sharp twinge he felt in his ribcage. Guess I shouldn’t do that too much. "Well, Kelly, I had a dream that a large green monster was chasing me. It didn’t matter where I went, it kept after me. The strange thing was that I wasn’t afraid of the monster itself. It was flashing these large bolts of lightning out of its fingers, which scared me more than the monster did. Last night, it had me trapped in a blind alley, and there was no escape. It kept getting closer and closer..." Craig’s voice trailed off. "Then I woke up in a cold sweat." He picked at the sheet, then looked at Chet.

"Hmm," Chet narrowed his eyebrows and leaned against the wall. "I’m no expert, but you said the monster was green, right?"

"Yes," replied Craig.

"Well, maybe you were dreaming about the accident?" suggested Kelly. "The car that hit you was green. It was on the six o’clock news. My grandmother used to say that your dream would come true shortly after the third time you had it." He shrugged. "That’s the only thing I can think of. I can call my mother in the morning to see if she can offer any insight."

"You would do that, for me?" Craig asked in astonishment. "I thought I really bothered you."

"You can be a royal pain, Brice." Chet leaned back against the wall. "But you’ve been a bit more...tolerable this time around. Heck," he said as he rubbed his mustache, "you never batted an eye when that water bomb nailed you. Before, you would’ve gone off the deep end. Since it was meant for Gage, I do owe you one."

The edges of Craig’s mouth curled up into a thin smile.

"Besides, this dream stuff isn’t anything to mess with." Chet looked at his watch. "I’d better hurry if I want to see Johnny. I’ll stop by in the morning with your stuff."

"Thanks, Kelly," replied Craig. "Don’t forget to pass my message along to Gage."

"I won’t, Brice," Chet opened the door. "Try and get some rest. Let me know if you have the dream again, okay?"

Craig nodded and waved as Chet left the room. He looked at his watch. It was a little past eleven. He closed his eyes and tried settle himself. Was Kelly was right? Did I have a true psychic experience? His heart sank. If I did, I should’ve warned Gage to be extra careful, and I should’ve been paying better attention. Maybe he could’ve taken more effective evasive maneuvers had he been better prepared.

Craig opened his eyes, and punched his pillow to fluff it slightly. I’m not going to be able to sleep like this. He massaged his thigh and shifted his position in an attempt to relieve the cramping. He turned on the radio and cruised through the stations. He stopped when he heard the opening strains of a familiar song.

Sounds like me in a nutshell. Mr. Sensible. Mr. Logical. Mr. Practical. Craig turned the radio off and pressed the call button. And boy, do I have questions. But, Mr. Mystical? Yeah, right. Pretty soon I’ll be sounding like my grandmother and her friends did over afternoon tea. Why is it, you only think of these things when you try to sleep? The throbbing in his leg pulsed in harmony with the throbbing in his arm and side.

"Can I help you, Mr. Brice?" asked an attractive young nurse. Her nametag read Karen.

If Gage were here, he’d probably be hitting on her. Hmmm. I guess it couldn’t hurt to be nice, can it? Craig rested back on the pillows, and smiled wanly at the nurse. "Karen, my leg is really starting to hurt, and I can’t get comfortable. Can you adjust the pillows a little, and is it time for my pain shot?"

*********

Chet peered into the nurses’ station of the Intensive Care Unit. Good. Nobody’s around. He paused for a moment. Uh-oh. I hope that doesn’t mean they’re in with Johnny. He looked both ways down the long corridor, then quietly walked over to the desk. He spotted the patient roster and quickly scanned it. Gage. Gage, where is he? Ahh. Room 22.

Chet stole quietly to Johnny’s room. He looked around again, then stepped inside the darkened room. Wow. Chet paused in the doorway. And I thought Brice looked banged up. He shook his head and walked closer to Johnny’s bedside.

Johnny’s eyes were closed. His leg was in traction, the weights swaying gently at the foot of the bed as Chet passed. A bulky bandage covered a tube that snaked out of the left side of Johnny’s chest and drained into a plastic box that hung from the bed frame. A web of wires criss-crossed Johnny’s chest and another monitoring line in his right wrist. The wires were connected to a monitor that was bolted to a platform on the opposite side of the room. A plastic tube emerged from Johnny’s mouth. Blue corrugated tubing connected the tube to a ventilator beside Johnny’s bed.

Chet stared at the monitor screen for a moment. Those numbers don’t look too bad. He tentatively touched Johnny’s hand. It felt slightly cool. "Hey, Gage?" he murmured.

Come on, Johnny, open your eyes. I know Cap said you were going to be pretty out of it, but I have to see that you’re okay. Chet’s heartbeat quickened as he saw Johnny’s eyes flutter, then open.

Johnny wrinkled his brow and squinted at Chet.

"It’s okay, Johnny," soothed Chet. "You’re gonna be fine. You and Brice had an accident with the squad. That’s why I’m here. The guys wanted to be sure you were okay, especially since Roy’s not here to fill us in." He heard a noise in the hallway, and disappeared into the shadows. After a tense moment, he returned to Johnny’s bedside. "Brice’s sorry it happened."

Johnny’s eyes were closed.

I hope he heard me. Chet gently squeezed Johnny’s hand. He took one last look at the paramedic before he slipped down the corridor.

*********

Sunlight streamed through the slats of the blinds. Craig turned on the television and flipped through the different stations. C’mon, isn’t there any news on at this hour, or is it all cartoons? Here we go, KTLA. He sat back in his bed and watched the face of the morning show news anchorman fill the screen.

"Police and Fire Department officials are probing into yesterday’s collision between an armed robbery suspect fleeing police custody, and a fire department rescue squad in Carson. The suspect, identified as forty-three year old Aldous Simster, struck the rescue squad at the intersection of Main and East Carson. Ironically, the rescue squad, identified as Squad 51, was responding to a traffic accident call." Videotape of paramedics removing Mr. Simster from his vehicle played on the screen.

Craig squinted at the screen. Kelly’s right. The car was green.

The picture changed to a view of first Craig, then Johnny being extricated from the damaged squad. "The rescue squad was also struck by the police vehicle that was chasing the suspect." Pictures of a helmeted police officer bending over a stretcher bearing another officer flickered on the screen. "Mr. Simster sustained head and chest injuries, and is listed in guarded condition at Rampart General Hospital. Firefighter/Paramedic John Gage sustained multiple injuries and is listed in guarded condition at Rampart General. Firefighter/Paramedic Craig Brice also suffered multiple injuries and is listed in stable condition. Police officer Toby Brayton is listed in satisfactory condition with minor injuries."

Craig leaned back into the pillows. Who knows, maybe I am a little psychic? They say we don’t use the full capacity of our brains. I didn’t have the dream again, either. He looked at the clock. I wonder if Kelly will be back this morning, or if he was pulling my leg? The creak of the opening door drew Craig’s attention away from the television. "Hi, Doctor Early."

"Good morning, Brice," greeted Dr. Early. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," replied Craig, "but not too bad."

"Any shortness of breath?" asked Dr. Early as he removed his stethoscope from his pocket.

Craig shook his head. "It hurts to take a deep breath, but I’m not having any other problems."

"I’m glad to hear it." Dr. Early quickly examined Craig. "Things look good, Craig. We’ll probably keep everything the same today. If everything stays the same, tomorrow we’ll put your chest tube to water seal, then take it out in another day or so as long as your x-rays are okay. If it’s okay with Dr. Evans, we’ll get you up to a wheelchair in a couple of days." He stuffed his stethoscope into the pocket of his lab coat.

"Thank you, Dr. Early." Craig pulled the sheet up. "How’s Gage?"

"I ran into Dr. Brackett in the hallway," remarked Dr. Early. "Johnny had a stable night, and they may take him to surgery later this afternoon to fix his leg. He should be out of the ICU tomorrow if all goes well." He smiled. "Take it easy, Brice. I’ll stop back later."

"Thank you, Doctor." Craig watched Dr. Early open the door, revealing a surprised Chet Kelly. The firefighter’s mustache drooped slightly. Dark circles rimmed his eyes.

"Am I interrupting something?" Chet asked.

"Not at all," Dr. Early looked into the room. "I was just leaving."

Chet gestured at Craig. "How’s he doing?"

Dr. Early glanced into the room. "Very well, and so is Johnny from what I hear."

He patted Chet on the shoulder as he stepped out of the room.

"Come on in, Kelly," beckoned Craig. "You look beat."

"Yeah," Chet placed a brown paper sack filled with clothes on Craig’s bed. "It got pretty busy there for a while." He rubbed the side of his face. "Nothin’ major, but it seemed like the tones went off every time my head hit the pillow."

Craig nodded sympathetically. "I hate nights like that."

"How’d ya sleep?" Chet asked curiously. "Any more nightmares?"

Craig shook his head. "None." He pulled the shopping bag over and poured its contents on the bed. He retrieved his wallet and wristwatch, then placed his clothes in the bag. He looked at Chet. "Would you mind...?

"Oh, sure." Chet picked up the bag and placed it in the small closet.

"I think your hypothesis about my dream was correct." Craig winced as he leaned over to open the drawer of the bedside stand. He tossed his wallet inside and shoved the drawer closed. Craig grimaced and held his ribcage as he straightened in bed. "The news clearly showed that the car that hit us was green." His face twisted slightly. "I’m still not clear on the lightning, though."

"Well," Chet sat heavily in the chair and stifled a yawn. "I called home this morning. My mother said that my grandmother had ‘the gift’ and was always tellin’ the neighbors if they were gonna be laid off, or get sick. You know, stuff like that."

Craig nodded.

"She used to listen whenever Gram would talk to people, and she picked up on a lot of stuff." Chet rested his head tiredly on his hand. "I guess dreams are a common way to foretell the future. Ma said that she wouldn’t be surprised if the monster represented the car that hit you, but also..." He crinkled his brow, then fumbled in his pocket. He pulled out a small piece of paper and smoothed it out. He held it up and continued. "The green could also mean you’re jealous of something, or you have a need to heal or find some sort of balance in your life." Chet put the paper down. "She couldn’t tell me much more, but she did say that she’d say some extra prayers to Saint Bridgid for you and Johnny."

"Saint Bridgid?" asked Craig. "I thought Florian was the patron saint of firefighters."

"He is, and Ma’s praying to him, too." Chet pushed himself out of the chair. "But St. Bridgid of Kildare is the patron saint of healers, among other things." He shrugged. "Healing was the closest classification to a paramedic my mother could think of. Apparently, St. Bridgid fell and banged her head open on a rock." He paused for a moment. "Geez, that sounds like something Gage would do." Chet raised his eyebrows. "But, anyway, two women lying by the roadside were healed by her blood."

Craig raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Thank your mother for me." He picked at the sheet. "Speaking of Gage, did you get to see him last night?"

Chet nodded. "I gave him your message. I don’t know if he heard me, though." He rubbed his eyes. "Johnny kinda squinted at me, then closed his eyes again." He stifled another yawn. "Listen, Brice. I’m fallin’ asleep on my feet. I’m gonna get home and take a nap." He pointed at the sheet of paper. "I put my phone number there. Call me if you need anything, okay? But don’t let anybody know."

Craig raised his eyebrows.

"I have....a reputation to uphold."

"Your secret’s safe with me," smiled Craig. He studied the paper. "Thanks, Kelly." He watched the firefighter leave. Who knows, maybe it was just a psychic dream. I knew about the jealousy thing, but, I wonder if there’s something to the finding a balance, or healing meanings? He glanced at his arm and leg. The healing part is obvious. Craig chuckled. Maybe I’m just being my usual anal self and reading too much into this? Maybe I need to relax a little at work and not worry about the rules and regulations so much? He sat quietly for several minutes, unconsciously picking at the thin sheet that covered him. Nah. Craig shook his head. However, I don’t need to be so formal all of the time. It wouldn’t hurt to start calling people by their first names. Next, there’s that little matter of an apology to Gage. Oops, John. Johnny. Kelly was a faithful messenger, but this is something I have to do myself. Maybe I can ask Miss McCall, err, Dixie, if she’ll take me to see him? If not Dixie, maybe one of the other nurses will do it.

*********

Johnny blinked and rubbed his eyes as he woke up from his nap. He yawned and stretched his arms above his head. He winced and wrapped one arm around his tender ribcage. Four days since that idiot hit us. I am so bored. He shifted in bed to take some of the pressure off his backside. I’m glad Brice is doing better. He should be out of here in a couple of days, according to Brackett. Johnny spotted a gaily wrapped package and a magazine on his overbed tray. He grimaced and bit his lip as he leaned over to pull the stand closer.

Johnny picked up the magazine. The latest issue of Wheels and Gears. "Cool." He grabbed the package and tore the envelope off of the front. He opened it and pulled out a flowery card. Prayers and wishes for a speedy recovery. He flipped the card open and read the sentiment. "The Kelly Family," he said in astonishment. "Why would Chet’s family send me a gift?" Johnny shook his head. A wry smile spread across his face. "I’m no fool. I’ll bet it’s from the Phantom." He held the package up to his ear and shook it. It’s not ticking. He held it up to the light to see if he could visualize the contents. The thick wrapping paper negated any attempts to see through it. Johnny shrugged, and put the package as far away from him as his sore ribs would allow. He carefully tore one end of the paper, and pulled out a palm-sized cross made from rushes. He read the explanation on the tag that was attached to it. A St. Bridgid’s cross? He turned it over in his hand and studied it carefully. Protection from evil and want, huh? That was really nice of Ol’ Chester. I’ll have to write him a thank you note to give to his mother.

John placed the cross on the table and poured himself a glass of water. Boy, the expression on Roy’s face when he came in yesterday. I’m glad Cap got a hold of him before he saw it on the news. He said the squad was totaled, but he wouldn’t tell me what it looked like. At least he won’t have to worry about working with Brice while I’m out. He sipped the water and looked up as the door opened. A crooked grin spread on his face as Dixie poked her head into the room. "Hey, Dix."

"Hey yourself." Dixie walked part way into the room. "Feel like some company? I have someone here who’s rather eager to see you."

"Sure," Johnny croaked. He rubbed his throat unconsciously as Dixie stepped out of view.

The door swung open widely as Dixie pushed Craig Brice into the room. Craig’s arm was snugly wrapped in a sling, and his leg was elevated on pillows that had been strategically placed on the leg rest of the wheelchair. Dixie wheeled Craig close to Johnny’s bed, then set the brakes.

"Hey, Brice," Johnny smiled. "How are you doin’?"

Craig nodded. "I’m coming along nicely, Johnny. It feels great to finally get out of bed. Oh, and please, call me Craig."

Johnny raised an eyebrow at Dixie. He watched her surreptitiously shrug in return. "Okay...Craig. I’m doing better. I think they’re gonna get me up tomorrow."

Dixie checked her watch. "I have to get downstairs for a quick meeting. Craig, I’ll be back in about a half an hour to take you back to your room."

A half an hour? Johnny quickly took a drink of water.

"Thank you, Dix." Craig pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, Dix," Johnny added as the nurse opened the door. "Thanks."

Dixie smiled sweetly at Johnny as she left the room.

Craig gestured to the cross on Johnny’s overbed table. "I see Chet dropped off your present. His mother sent me one, too."

Johnny picked up the cross. "It was very nice of her. I wonder why she did that?"

"Somehow I think there’s more heart to Chet Kelly than he’d like to admit." Craig adjusted one of the pillows beneath his leg. "Don’t tell anyone, but he’s been a big help to me since the accident."

Johnny cocked an eyebrow at Craig. "Really?"

"Really." Craig paused for a moment. "Listen, John, about the accident."

Here it comes. Johnny shifted in bed. What regulation wasn’t I following?

"I’m really sorry." Craig stared solemnly at Johnny. "I was preoccupied at the time, and didn’t notice the car until it was too late. If I had been paying attention, this never would have happened, and I’m ready to take full responsibility for it when the time comes."

"Huh?" Johnny asked in astonishment. He stared blankly at Craig. "Brice...um, Craig, it was an accident. It wasn’t anybody’s fault." Johnny shrugged. "Well, it was the fault of the guy that hit us." He pointed to his chest. "I never saw the car, and I was driving." He shook his head disgustedly. "Cap came by this morning. Nothing’s official yet, but the preliminary investigation showed that there was no way we could’ve avoided getting hit. In fact, Cap said that if we’d been going any faster, the guy would’ve hit your door, or one of the compartments on that side. We would’ve been hurt a lot worse, or even killed. So don’t blame yourself for something you had no control over." Johnny sighed. "I certainly don’t."

Craig sat silently for a few moments. That sounds exactly like what Kelly told me. Maybe he was correct? "Thank you, John. Although I realize it was an accident, somehow I feel responsible for our injuries. It’s something I’ll have to work through. I’m relieved that you aren’t angry at me." He removed his glasses and held them up to the light.

"I’m not angry at you, Craig." Johnny picked up the remote control and turned on the television. "If anything, I’m angry at the cops for chasin’ that guy. I know they had to do it, but what if he’d hit a school bus or something, or a station wagon full of kids? Somebody could’ve been killed." He turned the channels until he found a baseball game. "Dodgers and the Cubs."

"Should be a good one," Craig said as he wiped his glasses with the tail of his pajamas. He looked at the door as it swung open.

"Hi, guys!" greeted an attractive, tall, brunette nurse. She smiled as she walked into the room.

A surprised look crossed Craig’s face. Stephanie? His heart fell. I’ll bet she’s gonna dump me. It’ll be hard to date when I’ll be on crutches or in a wheelchair.

Johnny sat straighter in bed. A bright crooked smile lit up his face. "Hi... Stephanie, isn’t it?"

"Yes," Stephanie nodded and turned her attention to Craig. "Dixie told me you’d be here. I would’ve been by to see you sooner, but I just got back from a quick trip to see my sister in Fresno. Dixie told me all about the accident this morning." She looked between Craig and Johnny. "I’m really glad you’re going to be okay."

"Thanks," Johnny said. He turned down the volume on the television. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Anyway, Craig," Stephanie put her hands on her hips. "Don’t worry about our date Saturday. We can go to the movies anytime."

Johnny closed his mouth. Date...Saturday? The smile slowly faded from Johnny’s face. With Brice?

"Why don’t I stop by for a while to keep you company?" offered Stephanie. "I can bring a deck of cards, or a board game, or something to help pass the time." She looked over at Johnny. "It can get so boring in here."

Johnny smiled politely and nodded.

"That would be wonderful, Stephanie," replied Brice. He smiled. Yeeehah! "If you have a few minutes, could you take me back to my room? I’d hate to have Miss McCall come all the way back up here, and John looks tired. I don’t want to overstay my welcome."

"Sure, Craig," Stephanie released the brakes on the wheelchair. She turned her attention to Johnny. "I hope you’re back on your feet real soon."

"Thanks." Johnny adjusted one of the pillows beneath his leg.

"See you around, John," Craig smiled at the paramedic. "When you’re more mobile, I’m in 308. Stop on up and see me. I’d love the company."

"I’ll do that, Craig." Johnny said pleasantly. "I’ll do that." He watched the door close behind Stephanie. What’s he got that I haven’t? His shoulders slumped in defeat as he rested back on the pillows. He raised the volume on the game and shook his head.