He was never a religious man but silently vowed he would go to church every Sunday until the day he died if God would just help the man in the bed across from him pull through. Please, please, please, God don't take Johnny away from me. The sturdy sounds of the life support machines droned on, unheard, as wave after wave of guilt consumed him. "This is my fault, Johnny," Mike whispered into his hands. He should have been on duty tonight with Johnny. Should have been where he'd always been for the last five years; at his best friend's side in the patrol car instead of working in a different precinct. "I am so sorry, so, so, sorry," Mike muttered into his hands as he fought the tears that threatened to fall. If he hadn't been avoiding his best friend for the last week, he would have been there and maybe it would have been him lying in that bed instead. Oh, if he could only make it so, he would trade places with Johnny in a heartbeat. His mind, unwillingly replayed the events over and over like a broken record.
