Disclaimer: The characters of Emergency! belong to Mark VII
Productions and Universal Studios.

Thanks Peggy and Donna for giving it the once over. Always appreciated!

Summary: Just another sleepless night for Johnny...or is it?

Author's Note at the end of the story...;-)

Seeing is Believing

"I dunno..." he mumbled repeatedly as he tossed and turned yet again that night. The top sheet on his bed was a mass of wrinkles and his pillow had found its way to the floor. "What should I do?" he cried out as Johnny jolted himself awake. He took note of the bedding that lay scrunched up and sighed in frustration.

He shook his head and brought his hand up to his sweaty forehead. "That was another doozy," he said to himself, and then wondered if he would ever get a full night's sleep again. This was the second night in a row he'd been roused from a deep sleep from an unexplainable nightmare. What was more disconcerting was that it happened more than a couple of times a night and he didn't know why.

All he knew was this time, like the others, he woke up in a cold sweat with little recollection of what he'd actually been dreaming about, but it left him with a feeling. It was a strong feeling that something bad was going to happen. He just didn't a clue as to what it was exactly, or who was going to be involved.

Even more frustrating was the persistent feeling of dread that it was up to Johnny to forestall whatever problem there was. He looked at the alarm clock and decided it wasn't worth the possibility of being awakened by another nightmare. This one already scared the hell out of him; he saw no reason to subject himself to that possibility again. He decided the apartment was in need of a good cleaning, so that's just what he did between the hours of four and six a.m.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roy was surprised to see Johnny's Ranger already in the parking lot. It wasn't often his partner beat him to the station. Maybe it was a good omen, Roy thought, as he entered the station to get ready for the day. Upon entering the locker room, Roy saw Johnny was already dressed and ready for roll call.

"Wow, aren't you the early bird today? What's gotten into you?" he asked good-naturedly.

"Oh c'mon, Roy! You gonna give me grief because I'm here on time? What, is it _that_ unusual for me to be on time for roll call? Jeeze, you're starting to sound like Chet, and the one thing I don't need _partner_ is having to deal with _two_ Chets!"

Roy wasn't sure exactly where that brick wall had come from, but he felt its impact quite effectively. So much so, that he was speechless as he watched Johnny stalk out of the locker room angrily.

Roy followed shortly afterwards and saw John sitting at the kitchen table, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table. Chet sat across from him and asked in his own inimitable way to, "Knock it off, Gage. You're little drummer boy routine is giving me a headache."

"Lay off," was his terse reply, but he did stop drumming his fingers.

"Hey, Junior, ya want some coffee?" asked Roy, hoping that all his partner needed was a caffeine fix.

"Oh, are you going to start on me, too, Pally?" Johnny retorted in anything but a friendly tone. "If I wanted some coffee, I would have poured myself some God-damned coffee!"

Roy turned and poured the last of the pot into his cup, and then placed the pot into the sink to soak.

Seconds later, Gage walked over to the counter where the coffeepot sat. When he saw it soaking in the sink, he exploded. "You couldn't even save me a cup of coffee? How damned inconsiderate can one person be? You pour the last cup, you make some more, for crying out loud! It's not that difficult. Look. I'll show you. Take the pot. Fill with water!" he ranted when suddenly there was a very loud, audible sound of glass cracking. "Shit!" he cried out as a glass that was also soaking in the sink shattered, having been hit by the metal coffeepot.

"Johnny, I offered you some," began Roy, who felt totally confused. He couldn't figure out what the hell was wrong with Gage that morning.

"Ouch!" Gage cried out, as he brought his index finger up to his mouth. He'd cut himself and was attempting to stave off the bleeding.

"Let me see," Roy said.

"It's nothing."

"Damn it, Johnny, let me see the cut. If it's nothing, then I'll give you a bandage and a wide enough berth that we won't have to say another word to one another. If it's something, then I can take care of it and then ignore you for the rest of the day."

"Fine. Look. But it's nothing."

It was, thankfully nothing, and Roy poured some alcohol on top of the finger to disinfect it. Roy heard his partner's quick intake of breath and smiled slightly at the thought of Johnny being in a bit of discomfort.

The rest of the morning didn't go much better. During roll call the men were given their duty assignments and they went about their business. Roy was assigned the dorms while John was assigned latrine, which didn't sit all that well with the edgy paramedic.

Not knowing that Johnny had spent the wee hours of the morning cleaning his own apartment from top to bottom, Roy didn't understand why Johnny was so irritable. It wasn't as if he were Chet, who was assigned the latrine as punishment almost every other shift. But Roy could hear his partner complaining and muttering the entire time he was in the bathroom. When he finally completed his task he cut through the dorm to the kitchen without a word to Roy.

Roy didn't understand what got into his partner that morning. He was jumpy and testy. One minute he was ranting and raving about some inconsequential thing and the next he was silent. Too silent. Roy wasn't even sure how Johnny would react to a simple request to stop at Rampart for supplies.

"Um, John, we're running low on saline and morphine. C-Shift was real busy and didn't have time to refill, I guess," he said tentatively. "If you're finished with your assignment, we'll need to stop over at Rampart for supplies."

"Yeah...sure," Gage mumbled in response.

Roy breathed a sigh of relief at not having his head bitten off, but he wished he knew what was bothering his friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Johnny rode silently to Rampart General. He knew he was driving Roy crazy today, but he wasn't sure how to make amends. He just wanted the shift to be over. He couldn't explain to anyone what exactly was bothering him, other than the fact he had a strong premonition that something bad was going to happen. He just wished he knew what.

He wanted to know if it was something he could prevent, if it was going to effect his shift-mates, or someone he knew. All he knew was he needed a decent night's sleep. He'd hardly slept at all the last couple of nights because of the dreams, which kept waking him up. The problem was he could never remember the dream, only the feeling that something bad was going to happen and he had to make sure it didn't. Nonetheless, it was a good explanation for his erratic behavior this morning.

He felt for sure that if he said one more word, Roy was going to strangle him. He did his best to keep his mouth still.

"Hi, boys," called out Dixie. "How are two of my favorite paramedics?"

"I'm fine," Roy said, placing just a little extra emphasis on the pronoun.

"Oh?" commented Dixie as she turned to the darker-haired member of the team. "From the sound of it, I can only conclude that while _he's_ fine, you're not?"

"I'm okay, Dixie. Just got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, that's all," replied Johnny.

"Hot date last night?" she asked curiously.

"Not quite," muttered Johnny under his breath. Memories of the tossing and turning all night long that resulted in a sunrise housecleaning came to mind.

Dixie couldn't help but notice the fatigue in Johnny's eyes. "Something bothering you?" she asked as casually as possible.

"Don't ask," interjected Roy tersely. Gage had been giving him grief all morning long, so it didn't seem fair for his partner to suddenly be the recipient of Dixie's patented TLC. Where was she when Johnny practically bit his head off that morning when all he'd asked was if the guy wanted some coffee? "C'mon, we need to get this supply list filled," he reminded.

Dixie took the list and let the matter drop. Obviously something was bothering Johnny, but it seemed that Roy felt it best not to pursue the matter. She wasn't about to belabor the point.

Johnny, on the other hand, had been ready to spill his guts about his premonition of unknown disaster when Roy cut him off before he'd even had a chance to speak. He understood his partner was feeling frustrated with him, he just hadn't realized how angry he was, too. Johnny decided it wasn't worth antagonizing the normally even-tempered man any more than he had already, so John kept his thoughts and worries to himself.

By the time they returned to the station, they found the guys sitting down for lunch. Marco offered both men some club sandwiches; Roy accepted heartily while John declined and left the room.

Roy muttered, "He won't even let me enjoy my lunch."

"What's that, pal?" asked Hank.

"Nothing," Roy answered and then took a huge bite of his sandwich.

"Everything okay?" Hank pursued.

"I guess," Roy answered.

"Yo, Gage, get your butt in here and grab some food while the gettin's good," called out Chet in his own inimitable manner.

Moments later Johnny appeared at the kitchen entrance. As he watched his partner pour himself a cup of coffee from the percolator, Roy felt guiltier with each drop. He knew Johnny was sometimes a certifiable pain in the neck, but he also could usually tell when something was really bothering him. It slowly dawned on him that his partner looked tired, really tired. Roy wondered how long Johnny had been sporting those dark circles under his eyes.

The klaxons toned and brought all of the men to their feet.

"Station 51, apartment house fire. 542 Belmont Street. Cross Street, Anderson Hill Road. Time out: 12:39."

The two paramedics jumped into the squad first. Cap handed Roy the address slip, while Johnny slipped on his helmet. Roy thought he heard something and asked his partner if he said something.

"This is it, Roy," he said more clearly. "I can feel it. This is it."

"This is, what?"

"My premonition. I haven't had any sleep the last couple of nights because I kept having this really weird dream; well, more like a nightmare," Johnny tried to explain all in one breath. However, he then quickly turned his attention to the road and directed, "Turn left here on Harris."

"Harris, got it," echoed Roy. "You've had nightmares before, Johnny. What's the big deal about this one?"

Johnny knew his partner was always the pragmatic one, and tended to look at life through practical lenses. Facts were facts, and that was that.

"It's just that I've had this feeling for the last couple of days_, turn left on Jenkins Street_, that something bad was gonna happen, but I didn't know exactly what. I think this is it. In fact, I'm sure of it," he declared.

"You're sure?"

"Yes! Turn!"

The squad pulled up in front of a small apartment building. The paramedics saw a middle-aged woman waving her arms. Moments later the engine pulled in behind the squad and Captain Stanley walked immediately toward the now frantic woman.

"See? Do you see it?" she cried out while she pointed upward.

"Ma'am, please, calm down and tell me what it is you want me to see."

"Look! There's flames! Can't you see them? Up there on second floor! That's Sylvia Goldberg's apartment. Look, for God's sake!"

"You know her?"

"Yes! Of course I know her. Go help her!"

"What's the number? Her apartment number?"

"It's 2-B. Please, go help her!"

The captain peered upward and did see what appeared to be flames in the closed window. He immediately dispatched his two paramedics to investigate the building while he directed Chet and Marco to have the hose line ready to cover their shift-mates.

Roy and Johnny put on full gear and entered the building with Chet and Marco covering their backs. As they moved quickly up the stairs, the men couldn't help but notice there were no signs of fire anywhere in the building.

"This is weird," Roy couldn't help saying. Johnny could only nod in agreement, but he still felt an unmistakable level of discomfort in the pit of his stomach. There was a reason for them to be here; he just didn't have a clue as to what it was yet.

They headed over to Apartment 2-B and knocked on the door. They kept pounding, and were just about ready to use their axe when they heard a voice.

"Coming, I'm coming. Hold your horses, for God's sake. You think I can run like a teenager?" they could hear from inside the apartment.

When the door opened, Sylvia Goldberg's expression changed from annoyance to fright. She'd never seen a firefighter in full rescue regalia holding axes.

"What's wrong? Is there a fire?" she asked tremulously.

"Yes, Ma'am, in here," responded Roy and John pushed their way through. Chet and Marco followed close behind.

"What? Where's there a fire?" she called out to them.

"The room facing the front of the building, Ma'am," answered Marco.

"But there's no fire in my kitchen," responded Mrs. Goldberg. "There's nothing in there but a ___. Oh, my. Oh, my, my," the woman repeated with her face breaking into a broad smile. Soon, she was heard giggling almost uncontrollably.

"Ma'am, are you all right?" asked Chet with concern. He couldn't help but wonder what was going on. The apartment seemed to be clean as a whistle, but while outside he saw the flames lapping at the closed window. But there didn't seem to be anything remotely related to a fire and now this nice old lady seemed to be getting hysterical.

"Oh, you don't understand! It's nothing. There's no fire, gentlemen. She walked into the kitchen to see that Roy and Johnny had already made the discovery of what was behind the flickering flames.

"It's just a candle," informed Roy and went on to explain, "The flames must have reflected off of the window panes which made the flames look pretty huge." The other men nodded their heads, and could see why the silver-haired woman was laughing.

"Ma'am, why would you put a burning candle on top of your refrigerator?" asked Chet curiously.

"It's not just a candle. It's a Yortzeit candle," she began. "It's a memorial candle that Jewish families light on the anniversaries of loved ones' deaths. My Seymour died last year on this night. It's my way of remembering him."

"Seymour?" repeated Johnny.

"Yes, Seymour. Did you know him?" she asked hopefully.

Johnny stood still with a puzzled expression on his face. He never knew Seymour Goldberg, of that he was sure. But something was gnawing at him. He couldn't help but think something was still wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

"No, Ma'am," Roy answered for his partner. "Listen, we're terribly sorry for the inconvenience. Maybe you should keep the candle on the stove or table, okay?"

She laughed as she explained, "It's all Pita's fault. That darn cat has this terrible habit of jumping up on the table, which is why I moved it up high in the first place. I'm so sorry to have made all this confusion."

"Yes, Ma'am. Well, good day," Roy said as he, Chet, and Marco began to file out. Johnny lingered a minute and took a quick look at the pictures hanging in the hallway before he exited the front door.

Suddenly his eyes caught the photo of a silver-haired man standing next to Sylvia Goldberg. The man was smiling. But what was really strange to John was it appeared the man was not only smiling directly at him, but he was also nodding his head. The paramedic shook his head quickly and then looked again.

"Oh, shit," Gage murmured in understanding. "Oh, shit!" He quickly turned to Mrs. Goldberg and said, "Ma'am, I don't understand exactly why, but it's really important that you get out of this building, now. In fact, everyone has to get out of this building right now."

"What? I don't understand," she said.

"Me neither, Ma'am, but please, leave the building and go tell my captain that we have to evacuate the building. Go! I'm going up to the third floor to knock on peoples' doors."

"Oh," Mrs. Goldberg gasped. "Please, make sure you get Mrs. Katz in 2-C. She just had cataract surgery on her left eye and it's bandaged. She can't see all that well out of her right one either."

"I will. Now go!" Johnny ordered, and the small woman moved quickly out the door. Johnny looked one more time at the photo and saw the older man's smile seemed even broader. John didn't know what exactly was going on, but he felt certain he was on the right track.

Minutes went by as Johnny banged on doors when Roy came running upstairs with Captain Stanley a near second. "Gage, what the hell are you doing?" demanded the irate captain.

"Cap, please, I don't know why, but I just do. Trust me on this. Please. We've got to get the place evacuated," pleaded Gage.

"Johnny, there's absolutely no evidence of anything wrong here. What grounds do I have to order an evacuation?"

"Roy? Please, help me explain," John begged.

"Roy, can you enlighten me on what the hell is going on here?"

"Well, you see, he's been having these nightmares," he began, but one look at Cap's face showed him that wasn't going to convince him. "Cap," Roy tried again, "It seems Johnny's had this premonition," Roy began but with little confidence that this explanation would hold any more weight with the captain than the first.

"A premonition. Right. Gage, Roy, let's get downstairs and let these poor people back into their apartments. Now."

"Cap, no! Listen to me. You've got to believe me! Look, if I'm wrong, I'll take latrine duty for the next month." When the captain's expression refused to change, Gage said, "The next three months, Cap. Please, humor me on this one. Three months latrine duty if I'm wrong. Promise."

Hank looked at his paramedic and couldn't help but wonder what had gotten in to him. There was no evidence that there was anything of consequence going on in this building, yet the younger man seemed so completely sure this dire prediction of his was going to come true.

"Fine. Roy, you take the second floor, Gage, you finish up here and I'll return back down in front and try to explain all of this." He shook his head in disbelief that he was not hauling John Gage in for observation on Rampart's psych ward.

"Oh, Roy, make sure you pick up Mrs. Katz in Apt. 2-C. She just had cataract surgery and can't get around too well," Johnny informed.

"Sure, Johnny. Whatever you say," Roy answered and then turned to leave.

"Roy," he called out. His partner stopped and turned to look at him. "There's a reason for this."

"Yeah? What is it?" asked Roy incredulously.

"I__, I don't know yet."

Roy shook his head in disbelief as he turned to go walk down to the second floor to evacuate the tenants.

Meanwhile, outside in front of the apartment building, the firemen gathered around the truck wondering how many months of latrine duty the captain was going to assign to Gage for pulling this stunt. They'd overheard Mrs. Goldberg inform Captain Stanley of Gage's request.

When they saw Hank Stanley appear at the door, with more than just a few of the tenants following, they couldn't help but wonder what was going on.

"Cap?" called out Mike. "Do I need to ready the truck again?"

"I don't know," Hank said disgustedly. "I don't know how that man talks me into these things, damn it."

"I don't understand, Cap," remarked Marco.

"Neither do I, pal, neither do I. All I know is we're evacuating the building because Gage had some kind of premonition. Damn... they could write me up for these shenanigans."

"Hey, Cap," interrupted Chet. "Cap," he called again when he'd received no acknowledgment.

"What is it, Kelly? You have a feeling of doom, too?"

"I dunno, Cap. Not exactly that, but all of a sudden, I smell something. You smell anything funny?" Chet asked with some concern.

"Smell? No, I don't sm__," he began but stopped suddenly. There was definitely an odor that was starting to permeate the area.

Hank quickly picked up the handy talkie. "Engine 51 to HT 51. Get out. Get out now!"

"HT 51 copies. What's going on, Cap?" asked Roy who was leading Mrs. Katz out of the building.

"Gas leak, maybe. Find your partner and get out now!"

"He's on the third floor, Cap. I'm bringing out a disabled tenant and then I'll go back in for him. HT 51 out."

Just then, a green Toyota pulled up in front of the building. The driver, a man in his early thirties, hurriedly jumped out of the car and asked anxiously, "What's going on? Is there a fire?"

"Sir, you can't go in there. We're evacuating the building," responded the captain.

"Why? Please, I have to get in there! My mother just had eye surgery; she can't get out." As he spoke he nervously fiddled with a lit cigarette which the captain suddenly noticed.

"Sir, please, you'll have to put that out. We think there may be a gas leak."

"What? Oh, sure__." Just then the man noticed movement by the building's entrance and smiled broadly as he saw who was emerging with a fireman at her side. "Mom!" he called out and broke free of the captain's hold. "Mom, it's me, Charlie!"

As Charlie Katz ran toward his mother he remembered the captain's words of caution and immediately flicked his cigarette a distance away from him and his mother. Moments later, the result of that action could be felt by the entire circumference of the block.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Johnny lay stunned on the floor. He knew he was knocked out for at least a few minutes, so he took some extra time to gather his wits and get his eyes to refocus. He knew it would be a lot harder getting himself out if he saw double of everything.

He searched about for the handy talkie before he remembered that Roy had it with him. As he took note of all the debris that surrounded him, he tried to sit up when a wave of dizziness hit him. His vision was blurred, and he thought he heard a ringing in his ears. He feared he was going to vomit, which at that point didn't seem like such a bad idea given how knotted his stomach felt.

Johnny realized he had the classic symptoms of a concussion; he wasn't sure how severe it was, but he knew it wasn't his usual, mild, 'pat him on the back, warn him about overdoing, and scoot him out the ER door' degree of severity. No, this one, Johnny realized, was going to land in a Rampart hospital bed for at least a couple of days. Given the speed with which the world was suddenly spinning, he was actually looking forward to that.

"Come Johnny, you need to get out now."

"Huh? Roy? Roy, that you? You okay?"

"Roy is fine, but you, my friend, are not. You need to get out of here; there's going to be another explosion."

"Who are you?"

"Please, boychik, you need to leave. Now. It's too dangerous for you to stay."

Johnny sat up with great difficulty; it felt as if the room was spinning out of control and he was in a great deal of pain. "Please, tell me who you are," he pleaded as he attempted to stand up. "Oh, God," he cried out, "I can't." He quickly fell back to the floor.

"Yes, you can. You must. You have to leave this building now, because they won't find you in time. The second blast will kill you. Now come, let's get you standing up. I'll help you, boychikel, I promise."

With that an elderly man, miraculously, appeared clearly before Johnny's unfocused eyes. It took him a minute or two to realize who it was that stood before him, but when he did he gasped.

"Seymour?"

"Ah, I take a good picture, no?" Seymour Goldberg replied with a smile.

"Seymour, you're__, you're__."

"__Dead. Yes, I'm dead. But you're not, and I intend to keep you that way, so let's stop shmoozing and get you out of here."

"I don't understand," Johnny replied, as he stood up with most of his support coming from the elderly apparition. "How can you be here?"

"Hmm, you know what? I'm still trying to figure that one out myself!" Seymour said still smiling. "But here I am! Nu, like I'm going to argue?" He grasped Johnny around the waist and walked him as quickly toward the stairwell as the injured fireman was able to go.

"Wait, it hurts," Johnny moaned. The paramedic was well-trained and knew he was probably suffering from a skull fracture; he worried that moving would aggravate the condition. However, he also figured Seymour was one for one when it came to knowing about emergencies, he wasn't about to doubt his ability to go two for two. He took as deep of a breath as possible and began walking again.

"How did you know?" Johnny asked through clenched teeth.

"About what? The explosion? Who knows? I just did. And I also knew that it wasn't supposed to be Sylvia's time yet. So, I had to find a way to make her safe," he explained.

"But why didn't you just tell Sylvia?" asked Gage.

"Sylvia? No, that would never work. You have to understand," Seymour began, but first allowed the injured fireman to rest again momentarily against a wall, "Sylvia was never one to believe in things she couldn't actually see, or hear, or touch, you know? My Sylvia was one helluva good wife, but she leaned more to being practical. Believing in ghosts was not practical."

They started walking again, and both men knew they had to negotiate the stairs down two flights with a great deal of caution. As they slowly descended, they could hear voices outside, and Seymour knew they were getting close to the exit that would take Johnny to safety.

"C'mon boychickel, we're almost there. We just have a little more ways to walk."

"But Seymour, why?"

"Why?" the elderly presence asked. "Why, what?"

"Why me?"

"Who else could I have told? Your friend, Roy? Oy, he's as bad as Sylvia; he'd never be accepting of my cautions. Or your friend Chet? He'd probably understand them, and maybe even believe them, but he'd be so frightened by the notion of a spirit speaking to him, he'd turn tail and run like a shmendrick. So nu? Who else would I ask to believe the unbelievable but you, Johnny Gage?" he asked gently. "So, I have one more favor to ask of you, boychick. Will you give my Sylvia a message for me?"

It was at that moment that Johnny stepped out into the sunlight and the second explosion hit. Johnny's body practically flew from the explosion's impact, but he landed a safe distance away from the building, so no additional harm came to him from falling debris.

Roy rushed up to his fallen partner's side to check him out. "Johnny? Johnny, can you hear me?" Roy pushed his fears aside and immediately went into full paramedic mode. He checked for Johnny's response to pain stimuli and was distressed to see there was very little.

Captain Stanley and Marco knelt down by Roy's side with the equipment in hand and asked Roy what they could do. "Set up communications with Rampart, Cap."

Once the line was opened to Rampart, Roy called in his partner's vitals and waited for instructions. The voice on the other end directed him to set up IVs, administer O2, and then bring the patient in as quickly as possible.

As they were getting ready to load him into the ambulance, Johnny began to moan. He started to regain consciousness, for which Roy and the other guys were very much relieved.

"Hey partner, glad to have you back."

"Mmm, head hurts."

"I bet it does. You cracked it pretty good, Junior."

"What happened?" he asked.

"There was another explosion from a gas leak. You were right, Johnny. You were right all along," Roy said almost in awe.

"Oh, right." Johnny licked at his dry lips. "Guess I called this one, huh, Roy?" he murmured groggily. John knew he was not going to remain conscious, but he had to for just a minute or two longer. "Sylvia_, I need to tell Sylvia something."

"Sylvia?" Roy echoed, confused.

"Sylvia Goldberg. Candle lady," explained Johnny haltingly.

Roy nodded with understanding, but he was worried about his partner's condition, so he pleaded, "Johnny, we've got to get you to the hospital. You're hurt, pally."

"I know. Take a minute. Please."

Roy shook his head, wondering if he'd ever understand his partner, and called out to Chet to send over Mrs. Goldberg.

"Yes? Oh my God," she gasped at seeing the condition of the young man who had the good sense to save her life and those of her neighbors. "You're hurt, you poor dear."

"Be okay. Got a message for you."

"A message? From who would you get a message for me, sweet boychick."

Johnny smiled at the now familiar term of endearment. "He said don't worry about keeping that... um, forgive me Sylvia, but he said to tell you, exact words..." Johnny grimaced as another wave of pain hit, but he was determined to pass on Seymour's message. "He said not to worry any more 'bout keeping that 'pain in the ass' off of the tables. It's what saved everyone's life."

"Ohmigod!" she gasped. "You spoke to him? Did you see him?"

As Johnny smiled and murmured a soft yes, the firemen that surrounded the stretcher looked on with confused expressions.

"Who? Who'd he speak to?" asked Chet in a voice that was akin to a three-year-old's whine.

"My Seymour. That's what he always called the cat. I finally renamed her PITA, because I couldn't stand to hear 'pain in the ass' all the time. So, it was my Seymour that got you here to help me and my neighbors," acknowledged a tearful Mrs. Goldberg.

"He sends his love, Sylvia."

"Thank you. Thank you, you dear, dear man."

And with that, Johnny's stretcher was lifted up and placed into the waiting ambulance.

As Roy rode with his partner to Rampart, Roy observed his partner with a sense of awe. "How'd you know?" he whispered in wonder, never realizing that John was merely resting and fully capable of hearing Roy.

"I'm not sure, but I guess Seymour came to me in my dreams. Sure explains the sleepless nights."

"Yeah, but why you?"

"He needed me, Roy," Johnny said, and then with a smile he added, "He needed someone who could believe."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End of Seeing is Believing

Author's Note: The incident at Sylvia's Apartment really happened to an aunt of mine. (No, not Seymour's apparition or, thank heavens, the gas leak.) But she did have a yortzeit candle lit, atop of her fridge, and someone called the fire dept thinking her home was in flames. The fire fighters arrived at her door, banging away, and when she opened the door to find them with masks and turncoats on, standing with axes in hand, she nearly fainted. Needless to say, it was a while before everyone could laugh about it. Oh, and in my aunt's case it wasn't a PITA cat...I believe it was a curious toddler. <G>

Feedback gratefully received at: STPteach@aol.com