Jon sat straight up in bed with his chest heaving. Perspiration covered his face and his hair felt plastered to his skull. The man lowered himself slowly back to the pillow and wiped his face with his hands trying to will his rapidly beating heart to slow down. He groaned softly and turned to bury his face into the damp pillow grabbing fistfuls of bed linen in an effort to regain control. The dream images were so imprinted on his mind that he found himself unable to detach them from reality, and he felt a compelling need to hear a human voice. He reached for the phone beside his bed and punched in the phone number. Jon counted the rings with the fear that he had just suppressed rising again as the phone went unanswered. "C'mon, c'mon, pick up the phone." With the seventh ring, the familiar voice of his partner, Ponch, came sleepily across the phone line.
"Poncharello. Speak to me." Jon could hear a stifled yawn. Immediately, he could feel the tension leaving his body and he was able to relax fully for the first time since waking up.
"It's me," he said tiredly.
"Jon," Ponch's voice was tinged with irritability, "do you have any idea what time it is?"
Jon looked at the clock on the nightstand. "2:30."
"Yea, man, 2:30 AM. Jon, even the birds aren't up." Ponch's voice mellowed a bit and became concerned. "Another nightmare?" Jon didn't answer him immediately, his mind skipped back to his dream. "Jon, you ok?"
"Yea, Ponch. I'm ok, now, but I think I'm through sleeping for the night." Jon sat up and swung his legs over the bed before turning on the light. He blinked as his eyes became adjusted to the change. "I'm sorry I bothered you. I shouldn't have called."
Ponch's voice came strongly through the wire. "You can call anytime you want, you know that. I was just really asleep. Now, that I'm awake, let's hear it."
"I don't remember it that well, " Jon lied. "I'm going to get dressed and clean the apartment, maybe write some letters."
"If you clean that apartment any more this week, you'll be able to perform an operation there and the only thing you have left to write is your Christmas cards and Christmas is four months away." Ponch's voice softened. "Why don't you let me get dressed and I'll come over or you can come over here. I've got a couch I can clear off without much trouble. In a couple of hours, we can make some eggs and toast before work."
Jon laughed nervously, "No, I'm not that desperate. Besides, it's just a dream right?"
"It was just a dream a week ago. Now, it's a recurring nightmare that hasn't left you get any sleep for so long that you're falling asleep at stoplights."
"Two weeks ago," Jon corrected him. "I just started calling you a week ago."
"This has been going on for two weeks? Jon, you can't keep this up." Ponch was now fully concerned for his friend and his always-expressive voice conveyed it well. Jon felt a twinge of guilt for involving him in his problem.
"You know our profession has a few occupational hazards. I guess considering what we do all day, it's a wonder that I've never been bothered by nightmares before this." Jon made a good effort at sounding casual.
"Yea, well I've had my share of nightmares, but never the same one every night for two weeks running. This is something a lot different than a hazard of the profession. Something is really bugging you and for some reason, you're holding out on me."
"I guess I just don't see any reason for both of us to have nightmares," Jon dropped his voice tiredly, "It's not like it's something you can fix. I just have to live through it. I'll see you in a couple of hours at the onramp. Try and go back to sleep. . . And Ponch . . . thanks."
"Your welcome. Now, try to go back to sleep yourself."
"Sure. Good night, Ponch." Jon hung up the phone and went to the bathroom. He turned on the lights and stared into the mirror at his own image. His normally clear blue eyes were streaked with red and underscored with dark shadows. He needed a shave and his hair was matted down with perspiration.
"Oh, you look good, Baker. I think I saw something like that in a zombie movie once." He splashed some cold water onto his face to help him get fully awake. Shaving when half asleep could be hazardous to the face.
Frank Poncharello almost marched into the briefing room, agitation showing in every line of his body. He threw himself into a chair in the back of the room, sliding down until his legs came close to protruding out the front of the table and resting a hand against his throbbing forehead. Sergeant Getraer watched him in some surprise before stepping to the podium at the front of the room.
"Listen up, people." The side conversations in the room slowed and quieted. "Auto theft is once again asking us to watch out for joyriders. The kids are giving them a run for their money. This year it seems to be the hazing prank of choice for the frats." Getraer stopped talking and stared as Jon Baker entered the room and quietly took a seat next to his partner. The tall, blonde policeman looked about one mile past haggard and his normal energetic walk was gone. He eased himself into the chair like an old man. Recovering Getraer returned to the briefing. "We're also having a problem with non-emergency stopping on the brims and hitchhiking. I can't tell you strongly enough that we must crack down on the hitchhikers. Ok, that's it. Get out among them." The sound of chairs moving filled the room as the morning shift left for their vehicles. Getraer left the podium and slipped quickly back the side of the room to where Ponch and Jon were collecting their gear. "Sit down, Jon. You too, Ponch."
Jon left his breath out slowly and returned to his seat. Ponch elected to sit on the edge of the table and glare at the floor.
"Ok, guys, " Joe nodded at the two men. "Let's have it." He made himself comfortable on the edge of a nearby table and waited patiently.
Jon glanced at his partner and then at the Sergeant. He ran his hand through his hair and closed his eyes. "Ponch is a little upset that I've been having trouble sleeping. He thinks I'm not telling him something."
Ponch shot off the table to glare angrily at his partner. His hands were placed firmly on his hips and he leaned forward for emphasis. "I THINK? I KNOW. Every day you're a little more tired, a little edgier. God man, don't you have a mirror? You look like death warmed over. Maybe you don't care if you're killing yourself, but I do. I can put up with the 2:30 phone calls, I can put up with your edginess, I CAN'T put up with your shutting me out. Two weeks of the same nightmare and you can't remember what it is? Bullshit! Maybe, just maybe, if you trusted me and talked to me about it, we could find a way to put it to rest."
Jon rested his head on the table. "Nightmares aren't real, Ponch. It's not like a real problem that we can just solve, or a bad guy that we can catch. If you can figure out a way to arrest my subconscious, I'll put you up for policeman of the year. Don't you think I want this to stop?" Jon raised his head and met his partner's eyes and his voice softened. "Do you really and truly think I'm losing it?"
Ponch softened his expression and sat down next to his friend. "No," his voice was almost a whisper. "You're not losing it. I just feel so helpless not being able to stop something that is obviously hurting you so much."
Getraer cleared his throat taking the attention of the two men. He almost felt like an interloper in a very private conversation. "Do you want to man the front desk, today, Jon. It might give you a chance to unwind a little and get a new perspective."
Jon stood up and shook his head. "No, I think that would make it worse. When I'm busy, I forget about it."
"Alright you guys, let's make it a nice quiet day then. And Jon, if you need to talk you know where my office is. I'm going to trust your judgment that you're not pushing your limits, but if this continues I'm putting you out on medical until I get a note from the doctor. Understood?"
"Understood," Jon answered evenly.
Getraer nodded, "Ok, out the door."
He stood for a moment, watching the two men walk out the door before heading for his office, a concerned look on his face.
It was a silent morning for the two policemen. Jon wasn't talking because he needed all he had to hold his concentration on the highway, and Ponch simply didn't know what to say that he hadn't already said. Lost in thought, Ponch gave a start when Jon raised his voice above the roar of the motorcycles. "Look over there."
Ponch followed where his partner was pointing. A stretch of new highway was being added off to one side and hadn't been opened for use yet. There on the brim of the new section was a tractor-trailer that had apparently been abandoned. They turned their motorcycles in unison and pulled onto the unused section of highway. Parking behind the truck, they cautiously advanced on the cab. Jon stepped away from the trailer so that anyone in the cab would recognize him as a police officer. "Please step out of the cab."
There was no reply, so he tried again as Ponch approached from the opposite side of the trailer. "Police officer, you are illegally stopped, please step out of the cab."
Ponch's voice came from the front of the truck. "Nobody's home, Jon."
Jon relaxed and moved to meet his partner in front of the vehicle. "Ok, what's the deal with this?"
Ponch smiled showing even white teeth. "Maybe he got tired of LA traffic and decided to walk home."
"It's a West Virginia plate, Ponch."
"Yea, well you've heard the song." Ponch began to hum an upbeat version of Country Roads.
Jon felt a bit of gravel fall from the embankment above him. He looked up to see a man scrambling down from the top to land with a small thud on the highway brim. "Sorry, officers. I just stopped to take a leak; you know a call of nature break. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."
Jon stared at the man in front of him. He wore jeans, a T-shirt and a cap that might have one time had a sports insignia on it. Binoculars lay against his chest. "You need binoculars to see what you're doing?" Ponch turned and stared at the embankment taking a more than common interest in the roadside weeds.
The trucker blushed darkly and studied his shoes unable to meet Jon's eyes. "I had the binoculars to watch out for the truck, you know. That's a long way up."
Jon nodded in agreement. "Yea, well there's also a truck stop less than 5 miles away and you don't have to climb to get there. Can I see your license and registration, please." The trucker handed him the license and climbed into the cab to get the registration. Jon wrote the cite and had him sign it. "Next time, use the facilities." He watched as the truck pulled away and returned to the highway.
No sooner had the truck pulled away, than Ponch began to laugh. He had one of those infectious laughs that invited company. Jon's shoulders began to shake and then he laughed until his sides hurt. Ponch was gasping and his eyes were wet. "I can't believe you asked him if he needed binoculars to do that." "A good set of binoculars can make small things look bigger," Jon quipped. Ponch laughed uncontrollably until he leaned against the embankment. Jon's laughter slowed but he felt better than he had for a long time. His eyes went past Ponch and inspected the embankment where the trucker had slid down.
"Hey, Ponch. Does this look like a one time deal to you?"
Ponch moved over to stand next to Jon. "Hey, you're right. That looks like a regular trail running up there. Now, how would a trail get to be running directly off a new section of highway?"
Jon moved forward and was soon scrambling up the bank. It was steep going, but nothing that a man in decent shape couldn't handle. Ponch followed close behind. Before long, they stood at the top of the bank where a line of trees had been left to separate the highway from the private property. They walked along the ridge scanning the highway below. "Now what do you suppose a man would need binoculars up here for?" Jon asked Ponch.
"Birdwatching?" Ponch watched the trees where a few birds were industriously moving about.
"He didn't look like a birdwatcher, Ponch." Jon scanned the ground with a bemused expression. "Check it out."
Ponch followed Jon's hand to the rather large accumulation of cigarette butts lying on the ground. "If that was our friend with the bladder control problem, he was up here for a long, long time," Ponch observed.
"Yea," Jon stooped down to inspect the litter. "And he must have liked at least six different brands of cigarettes." He stood up and scanned the private homes behind the bank. "I wonder what's down there that is so interesting to so many people?"
Ponch pulled at his glove and then at his ear. "Well, I know how to find out."
Jon nodded in agreement and they slid back down the embankment to their motors. They replaced their helmets, mounted up and returned to the highway. Within minutes, they were slowly motoring down the streets of the highly priced neighborhood behind the new section of highway. Predominantly large homes with even larger price tags were evenly spaced along the street. Occasionally, a private school or club broke the pattern. It was one of the private clubs that took Ponch's attention. "Hey, Jon. Does that sign say what I think it says."
Jon stopped his bike and balanced it with his legs. "Clothing optional beyond this point. Now isn't that just lovely," The policemen turned to look up at the hill they had left earlier. "I'd say that's about right for a man with a good set of binoculars."
Ponch laughed and shook his head. "Now who do you suppose figured that out and put it out on the CB for the truckers?"
Jon smiled, "Does it matter? We better tell Getraer so that Caltran can get someone out here to get a barrier up before we have a regular parking lot on the highway. As it is, I bet we spend a good part of our day moving the truckers along."
Arthur Grossman stopped in front of Jon's apartment door and raised his hand to knock. Before the hand connected with the door, the door opened and Grossi fell forward into Jon carrying a bag of garbage. With surprising dexterity for a large man, he righted himself and caught the bag before Jon fell backward into the wall behind the door. Jon leaned against the wall and stared at Grossi with wide eyes. "Grossman, nobody has your timing." Grossi grinned ruefully and set the bag of garbage onto the small dinette table.
"Does that mean you don't have time to talk?"
Jon smiled at his friend and swept his arm out to indicate that he should come on in. Grossi smiled and closed the door behind him.
"Would you like something to drink?" Jon inquired as he moved into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "I have Coke, orange juice and beer."
"I'll have a beer," Grossi said cheerfully, "if you have one, too."
Jon produced two bottles from the refrigerator and carried them into the living room to sit down next to Grossi. "Ok, what's the problem?'
Grossi took a deep breath. The warm open face became serious as he took a swig from the bottle. "How many times have I come over here to ask you to help me smooth things over with the guys?"
"Oh, I don't know Grossi." Jon settled back into the couch comfortably. "I've never kept count."
"Exactly." Grossi hesitated for a moment, and then plunged in talking as rapidly as he could. "Everyone comes to you about their problems or their hang-ups, but you never seem to have any. You're always you. Well this time you have a problem and everyone knows it. But you're not talking. Not to Ponch. Not to Getraer. Not to anybody. Look, I know that I have a reputation for not being able to keep a secret, but I swear that I won't tell a solitary soul. If I do, you can take me into the gym and beat the stuffing out of me. For once, let Me. . help . . .you. " Grossi finished his speech and glanced at Jon to see how he was taking it.
Jon was quiet for some time studying his friend's face, reading the genuine concern that was there. Finally, he closed his eyes and started to talk in a slow and shaky voice that Grossman had to lean forward to hear. "Ok, here it is. Every night I come home exhausted and I try to go to sleep. Every night, I have the same dream. At first, it was a nebulous sort of thing where I just woke up feeling uneasy or with a nervous stomach, but it's gotten far worse. Last night, it was so real that I could feel the heat, smell the burning and hear the screaming." Jon paused and blinked hard. "You see, Grossi, every night for the last two weeks I've watched Ponch. . . . die." Jon's voice slowed down and he swallowed hard. "We're going down the road and we see a rig on the brim. It's a silver tanker with black and red lettering on the side. Ponch is a bit ahead of me and he reaches the tanker first. He approaches the cab and there is a flash of lightning and then BOOM. The whole thing explodes. Ponch is on fire and he's screaming for me to help him, but I can't. These hands are holding me and won't let me go. When I finally break free, he dies in my arms. Every night, Grossi, every night. Over and over again. Why, oh God, why am I dreaming this?" Jon's voice broke and Grossi looked into his eyes only slightly surprised to see tears flowing down his cheeks.
Grossi turned away from him and studied his beer. Unsure of what would make his friend feel better, Grossi resorted to his grab bag of trivia. "Well, the Indians used to say that the spirits would take on the shape of birds and would sit outside their houses and whisper dreams to them. But, I don't believe in spirits. Now, the scientific theory holds that we are aware of much more on the subconscious level than we are on the conscious level and that the additional information that we pick up gets processed during our dream state creating dreams." He turned and flashed a boyish grin at Jon. "However, I lean more towards my grandmother's theory."
Jon smiled shakily and took a drink of his beer. "Don't keep me in suspense, Grossi. What does your grandmother say?"
Grossi smiled warmly and leaned back against the couch. "Grandma says that angels are talking to us all the time, but our lives are so noisy that we can only hear them at night when we sleep."
Jon smiled at him. "How do you tell the angels that you need to sleep?"
Grossi looked at him intently. "They'll let you sleep once they know you understand what they're trying to say."
"Any idea as to when that'll be, Grossi. I'm just about at the end of my rope." Jon's eyes clouded up and he pressed the cold beer bottle to his forehead.
Grossman watched him quietly, truly feeling for the man next to him. "I'll tell you what, Jon." Grossi spoke to the floor. "What's say I stay here tonight and I'll tell them not to bother you. I have a very good relationship with angels."
Jon stood up and walked to the window. "You'd do that for me, Artie?"
Grossi nodded his head. "Yea, I would."
Jon walked over and stood in front of his friend. He reached out and squeezed Grossman's shoulder firmly. "You're hired." Then he turned and sat what was left of his beer on the counter and walked towards the bedroom. "Just make yourself at home."
Grossi watched a little surprised as the door closed. Then, he took off his shoes and checked out the firmness of the couch before stretching out on it.
Ponch pulled up beside Jon as he did every work morning. Jon looked up from cleaning his windshield and flashed him a warm smile. "Ready?"
Ponch studied his face closely. "Any dreams last night? I woke up at 3:00 just to get your phone call, but you didn't call."
"Oh, I had the dreams, but Grossi would wake me up before they got too bad. I got more sleep than I've had for awhile."
Ponch's head snapped up as he gave his partner a quick glare. "Let's get this right. I've been asking to come over and do that, but you didn't want me to. However, it's perfectly alright for Grossman?"
Jon sighed and gave his friend a rueful smile. "You know, Grossi. He didn't really ask to come over. He just kind of showed up."
Ponch shook his head. He was torn between feeling hurt that he wasn't the one that had helped Jon and relief that someone had. He felt the pressure of Jon's hand on his shoulder and looked up to meet the blue eyes that he knew so well.
"Grossi's a good cop and a good friend, but he's not my partner. You are."
Ponch visibly relaxed. "Let's go, partner. Another day, another dollar." The two men pulled out onto the road and Jon called in to dispatch to tell them they were in service.
"Let's take the long way into AM briefing." Ponch called over the roar of the motor. "I want to check out our new parking lot."
Jon smiled and nodded his agreement. "I can't wait to hear the next batch of excuses."
They rode in companionable silence for a short time until Jon pointed to a car with its hood raised on the side of the highway. They inspected the car and tagged it before returning to the highway. It was a beautiful sunny day and Jon was beginning to feel like things were back to normal. The temperature was a little higher than usual for the time of year, but even that felt good in a familiar sort of way. Small dark clouds scattered across the horizon but they were being burned off by the steady supply of sunlight. Jon cast a glance over at Ponch and smiled.
Ponch smiled back and pointed to the new section of highway that they had patrolled the day before. A tanker was parked on the brim. Ponch looked at Jon and shrugged his shoulders before heading his bike towards the rig. Jon stared in confusion at the road as a feeling of deja vu swept over him. Panic filled him and he broke out into a cold sweat. He increased his speed and raised to catch up with his partner. As they turned into the new section of highway, Jon realized what was upsetting him. It was all there. The tanker, the red and black lettering, Ponch slightly ahead of him. He sped forward running Ponch off the road away from the tanker. Ponch veered to keep from colliding with Jon and skidded to a stop, while Jon who was in the more unbalanced position had his bike slip out from under him leaving the patrolmen lying on the road. Ponch leapt from his bike and ran to where Jon laid.
"Are you ok?" Ponch's eyes were wide and he was breathing hard from the adrenaline that was rushing through his system. Jon just stared ahead like he was seeing something that Ponch wasn't.
"Jon!" Ponch gently shook his partner, "Snap out of it. Have you lost your mind? You almost dumped me." Jon's eyes remained unfocused. "Partner?"
A flash of heat lightning split the sky behind the ridge and Jon snapped into the present. "Get down." He pulled Ponch to the road and threw himself over his partner as the tanker exploded in an intense heat filled blast. The smell of burning chemical filled the area and both men began to cough. Jon stood up slowly and stared in horror at the burning rig that he had seen so many times in his sleep. Numbness set in and his training took over as he found his way to his motor and called in a request for the fire department. Up on the ridge, the driver of the tanker stood in amazement and watched his truck burn.
Jon sat at the table and worked on the report for the morning while Ponch bounced around the room obviously agitated. "How'd you know, Jon? And don't give me that 'I'm experienced' line one more time."
Jon looked up at him and grinned, his eyes sparkling. "You don't believe I'm experienced?"
Ponch leaned on the table and met his eyes directly. "Nothing could have prepared you for that."
Jon smiled and turned his attention back to the report he was writing. "We were lucky that the tanker was empty. It was only the fumes and residue that built up in there that caused it to explode in the heat. The trucker didn't think about the heat because he figured he wasn't carrying."
"Yea, we were lucky and it was a freak thing, etc." Ponch carefully acknowledged, "but how did you know it was going to explode."
Jon stopped writing and put down the pencil. "Would you believe that your subconscious picks up subliminal messages all day long and when you go to sleep at night it puts the information together and you dream?"
"No."
"Ok," Jon tilted his head and looked at his partner good-naturedly, "would you believe that the spirits took the shape of a bird and sat on my windowsill whispering to me?"
Ponch shook his head and crossed his arms. "Try again."
Jon laughed and ran his hand through his hair. "Would you believe an angel told me?"
Ponch laughed and threw his hands in the air. "I give up. You win. You're not going to tell me."
Grossman walked into the room and looked fondly at his friends. "I understand you two had an interesting morning."
"He's talking to angels, " Ponch indicated Jon with a tilt of his head.
Grossi gave him his most innocent look. "I know. I introduced them."
Ponch blinked, sighed and headed for the door. "I'm out of here."
Grossi watched him leave before he sat down next to Jon. "I guess you figured out the message."
Jon laughed and stood up with his report in hand. "I guess you could say that it flashed through my mind." He walked towards the door to follow his partner into the hall. "Artie, I . . . . uh. . .. thanks."
Grossman smiled at Jon understandingly, "Anytime, Pal."