FATAL REUNION – CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The bed rail made a dull, tinny sound when John tapped it and Roy looked up.

"Roy…open yours," John said, aiming a quivering finger toward his friend.

Roy stared at the packet, close-mouthed, uncertain if he had the wherewithal to open it. He rubbed a hand down his face and exhaled loudly. The thick envelope balanced on his thighs and with shaking hands, Roy picked at the tape until he could peel open the crinkled flap. His jaw dropped as he slid out a similar letter from Ben along with a stack of currency rubber-banded together- a hundred thousand dollars! Roy hung his head and chuckled softly. Joanne was not going to believe this!

"Mr. Gage, Mr. DeSoto, it seems you have some important things to do and discuss!" Dr. Marquardt laughed loudly. "This is quite astonishing, I must say; I'll wait and come by later to see you again."

He patted Johnny on the shoulder and left the room. Unable to speak just yet, a rarity in itself, Chet, Roy and John looked from the cash to each other, all with astonished grins pasted on their faces.

"I don't believe this!" Chet finally blurted. "This is...it's...I mean, I don't even know what this is!"

"Well..." Roy said, looking with raised eyebrows at John, "what do we do now?"

"I guess," John wheezed out, "I wait...and hope Dixie caught Mr. Dobson." Then a smile erupted behind the oxygen mask. "I have...a house to buy."

"Well, listen fellas, I think I'm gonna go," Chet announced, slapping his palms on his thighs. "I can't wait to tell the guys about this!"

John was getting tired, but still managed a soft goodbye, while Roy, still without words, simply nodded, his gaze fixed on the parcel in his lap.

E!E!E!

Dixie's heel slid on a discarded cigarette butt on the pavement as she skidded up to the car. She lurched forward and braced herself from falling, grabbing on to the trunk of Dobson's mud-colored Ford Galaxie.

"Mr. Dobson!" she gasped. "Mr. Dobson, wait!"

Startled, Arthur turned around. "Yes?"

Dixie tucked a few wild strands of her blond hair behind her left ear. "Mr. Gage needs you to come back right away," she breathed, "I, uh, I'm pretty sure he's changed his mind!"

She took his arm and led the flabbergasted man back to the room, explaining on the way what had happened. When they returned, she gently nudged him toward Johnny's bed.

Mr. Dobson straightened his spectacles and approached, breathing heavily and mopping his sweating brow. "You wanted me, Mr. Gage?"

Johnny smiled tiredly and nodded toward the pile of cash that still lay across his legs. "I…want…to buy…that ranch!"

Roy sat in the chair, still grinning with astonishment at the money that seemed to tease him. He wasn't imagining this, was he? How can people even have this much money to give away?

"Di-Dix..." then, clearing his throat, he tried again. "Dixie? Can you help me back to my room? I...I think I need to call my wife!"

E!E!E!

Mr. Dobson couldn't stop smiling as he assisted Johnny with the paperwork, even going so far as to hold on to John's unsteady hand, guiding it across the pages. Arthur happily tucked the money in the inside pocket of his suit coat and buttoned it closed, patting the top of it with a satisfied smile.

"Mr. Gage, congratulations!" the delighted Realtor declared, and with a flourish, returned the pen to his briefcase. "I'll be on my way to the bank immediately."

Arrangements would be made for Joanne to fetch a deposit slip from John's apartment and meet Arthur at the bank. Once the money was deposited, John would call to have a cashier's check made out for the down payment on the house.

Now and then, Johnny would raise an eyebrow and look at Mr. Dobson quizzically. Yep. Each time he closed his eyes and opened them again, Arthur was still there. It really was happening.

Once everyone else had gone and he was alone, a depleted John Gage wilted into the pillows. He swallowed gingerly, hoping it wouldn't hurt so much this time, but winced hard and made a face, realizing that swallowing slowly merely prolonged the burning. Damned vent tube! It took very little to wear him out, but with so many things for him to think about, he hoped sleep wouldn't overtake him just yet.

Johnny eyeballed the two sheet-covered hills at the end of the bed, and tried to move his feet. Was he really as weak as he felt? Just a few slow back and forth flicks made the muscles in his calves begin to ache. He raised his right arm a few inches and examined the substantial bruising that made his skin look more like someone's child had attacked him with a palette of water colors. He attempted to flex his wrists and fingers and discovered that even those small movements made the joints throb.

"Are you kidding me?" he thought, indignantly, "this is ridiculous!"

He eased his head back down and closed his eyes. How long had he been here again? Everything he could recall from the past few days along with what he had been told, went round and round on an endless replay loop.

Carla had tried to kill him. His Carla...the same one who was bright, funny and as sexy as any woman could be...and what scared him most was that she almost succeeded. He knew something wasn't quite the same about her when she first came over; something that niggled at his brain and made him want to talk it over with Roy. She used to be so carefree and fun, but she came back from New York so pretentious. She looked like Carla, yet it wasn't her...not really. It was as if someone had sent back a forgery of her and kept the original. He had almost made up his mind to tell her he didn't think being together was such a good idea when all hell broke loose. Now she was dead and no one would ever be able to tell him why she had done it.

And another thing- what about all that money from her brother? Where did that come from? He'd never in his life not had to watch his pennies. Sometimes, after he got all of his bills and rent paid, there wasn't more than a few dollars left in his account. The guys all ragged on him about being so cheap and he took it in stride, but they didn't know how tight things had really been. Now he'd have his own property and be comfortably well off - something that for years had been nothing more than a pipe dream.

He sighed, "Ben...thank you. You did good, man, you did good. Be safe."

The muffled sounds of the hustle and bustle from the hallway gently lulled John to sleep.

In his dreams, Johnny wandered alone along a stretch of an unfamiliar beach. It was near the end of the day and he sat down on the dunes, curling his legs under him and turning his face toward the sun, basking in the warmth of the last of its beams. He wiggled his toes in the cool sand and sighed, smiling at the feeling of contentment washing over him. The surf swooshed onto the sand then raced back, the small waves competing to be the first to return. He breathed in the salt-tanged air and...

"Johnny?" he heard a voice whisper. Languidly, he turned toward it. Carla!

The sand scattered around him as he clambered away from her. "C-Carla?" he choked out, "Wh...I mean, how...uh..."

Carla knew she had startled him and briefly looked away as if she were ashamed. "Johnny, aren't you glad to see me, darling?"

"Uh, y-yeah...um, I mean..." His breaths came quicker and he looked around in a panic, hoping to find a way to escape.

Carla toed the sand then returned her gaze. "Aren't you happy? I came back to find you, darling!"

The Carla who stood before him possessed the voice, the eyes and the figure of the Carla Johnny knew, but now she reached out her hands to him and her fingers, gnarled and clawed, clutched his in an unyielding grasp. He looked down and attempted to free himself from her hold.

"H-Hey...Carla..." he stammered as he pulled, trying to wrench his hands free of hers.

"Johnny," she purred, "Men don't let me go...not ever. I let them go!"

Gage scrambled backwards even further and stopped when he bumped up against a rock, hidden in the shadow of the pier. He braced himself against it, using it as leverage to extricate himself.

"Unh...Carla...stop!"

He pulled as hard as he could, but her claws sunk deeply into his wrists, keeping him captive. He stared in fright as blood began seeping from the wounds she inflicted.

"Carla...let go! I didn't...no!" he grunted, still trying to wrest his way free.

Now the blood streamed in scarlet rivulets down his arms and dripped onto the sand, creating deep brown puddles near his feet. Carla merely smiled and moved in closer to John's face. She maneuvered her body next to his and nuzzled her cheek against his lips.

"Mmm, Johnny, don't fret, darling, you're a part of me now."

She forced him back and lay against him, her slender legs wrapping themselves around his like a wild vine. It seemed the more he struggled to get away, the tighter her hold became.

Johnny used his cheek to push Carla away, but she was undeterred.

"No...I-I don't...why...are you doing this...I don't...unh!"

Her body seemed to meld to his. He suddenly felt himself sinking into the sand and the tiny grains filled his ears and swallowed his body.

Carla kept her face against his and giggled girlishly, "I'm part of you, Johnny- always!"

Slowly, they sunk deeper. The darkness was closing in as the sun disappeared from his sight. Johnny couldn't move, couldn't breathe as the sand filled his ears, his mouth, his nose...air wouldn't come to him...he was suffocating...

"Johnny? Johnny, wake up!"

John's eyes flew open and he coughed and gasped for air. "Easy, Johnny," Dr. Brackett soothed, "Take a breath, easy now...are you okay?"

Johnny wheezed and gasped, still unsure if he could take in a breath. Frightened eyes closed for a bit, then opened again, coming to rest on Brackett's concerned face looking down at him. Kel reached over and upped the flow on the O2. One hand lay on John's stomach counting respirations, while the other measured Johnny's racing pulse.

"Easy, relax...take another breath..."

"Unh..." John gasped, "I...uh, I had...she's not...she's not here?"

"No one's here but me, John," Kel told him, concerned about the racing pulse and gasping breaths.

"She…was gonna kill me...Carla tried...we..." Then his eyes darted around the room, wanting to be sure Carla wasn't really there. "I don't feel good, Doc...she wouldn't...lemme go...I jus'…I wanna go home," he whispered, plaintively. He gulped in the cool oxygen and closed his eyes.

"It's okay, Johnny, it was just a dream. Carla's dead; she can't hurt you anymore."

Brown eyes opened again as John regained control of his breaths. "That was...a hell of a...dream," he groaned. Brackett shushed him and continued checking John over, finally satisfied that Gage was not too adversely affected by the nightmare.

Johnny sucked in another gulp of cool oxygen and looked up. "Hey...did you hear, Doc? I have...a home...of my own now."

Dr. Brackett smiled back at him. "Yes, Johnny, I heard about your good fortune. I'd say you were long past due for something good to happen, hm?" He straightened the blankets and adjusted Johnny's IV. "Dr. Marquardt told me he's ended the milk thistle infusions, too," he muttered as he checked over the equipment. "Once we get this central line out and get some real food in you, you'll be one step closer to going home."

When Johnny didn't respond, Kel looked him in the eye. Gage was faraway, lost in thought. "Are you still thinking about your dream, John?" he asked.

Gage frowned and his adam's apple bobbed, "Hm? Oh...y-yeah...I guess. Doc? I knew...there was something...different about...her, I did. But...I-I never thought...I mean, she didn't..." He scowled with disgust when the words just wouldn't come.

Brackett pulled the chair up to the side of the bed and sat down. "Look...Johnny, Carla Culver was a very troubled woman who, I believe, was exceptional at hiding her illness. I don't know if we'll ever know why she did those awful things," he explained.

Johnny could only nod. It finally hit home that the Carla who came back to him was nothing at all like he thought she was. That she had tried to murder him and his best friend, well, it didn't make any sense and it never would. There was no logic; no explanation for her madness that he could reason away. A multitude of questions swam in his brain. Would Carla have been different if she had gotten help or, once someone finally realized she was troubled, would it have already been too late? Was she always such a haunted soul and just incredibly adept at hiding it? When did Ben realize Carla was to blame? Was it generosity or guilt that led Ben to leave the fortune to the two paramedics? So many questions and not one single satisfactory answer.

The chair groaned when Brackett stood up and pushed it aside. "Johnny, you know this will take a while, but you're going to be okay. Try to concentrate on that, instead."

Johnny sighed out, "Yeah...I will. Thanks, Doc."

Brackett looked back at the forlorn paramedic, then turned to leave. "I'll be by later, John. Get some rest."

Johnny closed his eyes and wished for something to distract him from his thoughts. "Carla," he mumbled, "I don't think...I'll ever understand."