Hours later, they were settled down in a small clearing. Fraser didn't see his father around anymore. He was probably off doing something adventurous in the afterlife. Ray had just finished taking care of Fraser's wounded leg and he was quiet and pensive.

Margaret was relieved that her mother was gone for a moment. Now she could concentrate better. As much as she enjoyed her mother's company, there were some things Margaret wanted to handle by herself. Fraser was one of them. She decided some tea would be nice and offered to get some water from a nearby stream.

After she left, Fraser studied his friend. "Ray, is something wrong?"

Ray shrugged. "I've just decided that the big outdoors is a very dangerous place to be, and I think I'll have to decline any further invitations to come out here."

"Whatever happened to the man who once said, 'You can't avoid nature. You have to work with it.'"

"He was an idiot drifting on a sense of euphoria."

"Ray," Fraser began but Ray didn't let him finish.

"When I said on the raft we should do this annually, I didn't mean for it to be almost an exact repeat of last year. I didn't want a crime to solve. I didn't want you to injure yourself and I certainly didn't mean for me to have to rescue us again. All I wanted was for us to rebuild your father's cabin. Stop taking me so literally, okay?"

"Believe me, Ray, the last thing I wanted was for this to happen. I was just following your wishes, that's all."

"Fraser, the next time I say I want to come out here again, don't listen to me. I've gone temporarily insane and should be ignored. Something bad always happens to us in the woods. First we crash in a plane and nearly die, now you fall off a cliff and we're stuck out here. It just isn't a good thing, Benny. Somebody's trying to tell us something."

"First of all, we're not stuck out here, Ray. Diefenbaker is probably on his way back with the local Inuits. We'll be back at the cabin in a couple of days. However, I will have to admit, Ray, that I'm a little puzzled by our luck. This normally doesn't happen to me."

"So what are you saying? That I'm bad luck?"

"Not at all. I'm just saying that you've somehow got the wrong impression of life in the Territories. It's normally quite restrained out here."

"Oh, so life out here isn't mad bears, murderers, and carrying you around?"

Fraser felt a pang of guilt. "No Ray, it isn't. I'm sorry if I've been a burden."

"Look, let's just face it, Benny. I'm not cut out for this sort of thing. I'm a city boy. Chicago born and raised and no amount of sink or swim episodes is going to make me into Daniel Boone. It's just not me." Then Ray smiled, sensing Benny's anguish. "Though I have to admit, I always wanted a coon-skin cap."

Fraser knew Ray didn't always mean what he said. He just needed for Fraser to understand things, and as long as he did, Ray was content. Things would be alright now between them. Ray was trying to make amends, and Fraser played the game as he always had. "Yes, I can see the appeal, Mr. Armani," he said straight-faced.

Ray glanced over at Fraser and smiled. He then shrugged. "Aw, it's just one of those childhood longings that pop never realized. I'll get over it. It's probably for the better anyway. I only would have wound up being terrified of raccoons too." He offered a puzzled Fraser some biscuits. "I'll explain it to you sometime. Watch it, they're hot."

Fraser Sr. stood quietly in the stillness of the forest. He knew the unnatural calm wasn't because of his presence. The darkness surrounding him even making his brilliant red uniform seem black. A figure moved out of the night before him and he jumped. He couldn't help himself. He knew who it was.

Ellen smiled at him as she approached. "There you are."

Fraser Sr. took a step backwards, fear building rapidly inside his chest. "I'm married," he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Ellen's smile never wavered, but she added a wink to it. "So am I." She looped an arm through his, her grip strong and determined.

"Oh dear," the Mountie whispered. She laughed. Fraser Sr. had to admit it was a nice sound, clear and unpretentious.

"I won't bite. I promise," she assured him.

Ellen nudged him to a walk as she carefully brushed some dirt off of her pretty lavender dress which she had worn especially for the occasion. She heard him sigh, and when he began to look around nervously she had to comment. "We're not doing anything to be ashamed of. Trust me, I'm harmless. You're not being unfaithful."

Fraser Sr. glanced quickly in her direction, a scarlet flush creeping up from his red serge. "Of course not."

She smiled knowingly. "We're just two spirits drifting along with our misdirected children."

That smug condescending look irritated the Mountie. "Madam, you are exasperating."

"Thank you."

" . . . kindly . . ." Fraser Sr. murmured under his breath. "Besides, I'm not so much concerned with you as I am with the state of silence in these woods."

"It is unusually quiet," she noted.

"We're not alone," he said cryptically.

Ellen jumped to an immediate conclusion. "Michael." She literally spat out his name.

Fraser Sr. looked towards a fir tree to their left. Standing casually against it was Ray's father.

Ellen squinted at the figure. "Who's he?"

"The third parent member of our party."

"Oh, the detective's father," she said. "Hello there. I'm Ellen, and this is . . ."

"I know who he is," Ray's father announced angrily. "A troublemaker. Always sticking his nose into my son's business."

"Your son's business?!" Fraser Sr. sputtered with barely suppressed fury. "I have no interest in your son. I'm here to help Benton."

"That's not what you were doing this morning. God, you're making him into Paul Bunyan."

"A little knowledge about wilderness survival never hurt anyone. It saved him from . . ."

"All right! That's enough!" Ellen's patience was at an end. "You're ruining a perfectly good evening stroll. Both of you."

Both men turned to study the small woman who stood angrily between them. "One word from either of you not relating either to the beautiful state of the evening or my wonderful new dress is going to seriously regret their demise."

The two men looked at each other and weighed their prospective chances. Then shrugged consecutively.

"Nice dress," Ray's father said.

"Cool night," Fraser Sr. noted.

"That's better," Ellen said with a grin, and slipped her arms through both of theirs. "Now where were we?"

"I was trying to explain why the woods are so quiet," Fraser Sr. began.

"Oh that's right," Ellen said. "So what's your theory?"

Margaret filled the pot from a deep clear pool, the cold water numbing her fingertips. Her eyes lifted to take in the darkness which surrounded her. There was never a stillness out here in the woods. They practically breathed life. Michael had hated the outdoors. It terrified him. It contained things he couldn't control or intimidate. A shiver ran through her at his name.

But she was finally free. Her breath came easier, the crisp sharpness cleaning deep within her lungs. She was alive and able to bring her life back into focus. Two years of her life was gone. Some of it she would remember, the rest of it she would try to forget and move on to something more positive. More law-abiding, perhaps.

A branch snapped to her left. She spun around at the sound, her fingers slipping loose of the pot. It sank beneath the surface to settle on the rounded stones on the bottom. The woods came to a sudden rest in its activities, enough so to unnerve Margaret. She reached blindly for the sunken pot. Terror drilled at her heart. She imagined Michael crouching nearby watching her, hatred and anger demanding vengeance.

She glanced at the dim glow of Vecchio's fire behind her, safety and a new life beckoning. Her numb fingers picked up the pot, only half filled, and stood slowly. It wasn't Michael, she scolded herself. He's dead. Vecchio said so. It's just the imagination working overtime. That's what happens when you start dwelling on the past.

The forest started showing signs of life again, but Margaret's nerves still remained raw. If a figure stayed still long enough, it starts to blend into the background and the woods forget the danger. She kept her senses, inadequate as they were, trained to her left as she backed her way to the fire and her newfound friends.

With a sigh of relief and a prayer of thanks in the offering she stepped into the ring of comfort. With shaking hands she set the pot on the embers of the fire.

"Anything wrong?" Fraser the ever-attentive Mountie asked.

She shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. "I thought I heard something out there. The whole forest stopped . . . breathing, if you know what I mean."

Fraser nodded, while Ray rolled his eyes.

Agitation seeped into her features. "I didn't expect you to understand, Mr. It-Takes-Me-An-Hour-to-Start-a-Fire. There are certain things the forest does and when it doesn't, it means something. Okay?"

"All right! All right! I didn't mean anything by it, honest." He threw his hands out in defeat. "And it didn't take me an hour to start the fire. Forty-five minutes, tops." He added under his breath.

Ray was reaching for another biscuit when Fraser started to get up. Ray was there instantly to push him back down. "Just where do you think you're going?" Before Fraser could even reply, Ray added. "Forget it. You're not going anywhere. There is nothing out there, except maybe a very fat bear and a deranged Mountie. Neither of which warrant wandering around in the dark. So just relax."

"Ray, you're assuming that the bear killed Mr. Williamson. It could be that perhaps it didn't. It might be prudent just to have a look. It would be very easy for him to slip in here tonight while we're all exhausted."

Ray's face twisted into a grimace. "Don't talk me into going, Fraser. It's not gonna happen. Do you hear me? I'm starving and the last place I'm going is into those dark creepy woods and you're not going to make me."

Minutes later, Ray gingerly stepped around a black shape stretched out before him in the opaque forest. He nibbled at the biscuit he had brought along. It had better be only a log, Ray demanded. "I can't believe he made me come out here! For what?!" He held the rifle tightly to his chest. "I don't need this. I really don't!" he mumbled furiously to himself. He took several deep breaths, not really believing that it would calm him down. He was right. A soft rustling to his right spun him around. He strained for any further noise but he couldn't hear anything. He couldn't see anything either, for that matter.

He was tempted to shoot first and ask questions later, but what if it wasn't Williamson? Maybe it was the bear. The last thing he wanted to do was wound a bear. He didn't need to watch any wildlife shows to know that. He had watched enough shows like Emergency and Tarzan to know that a wounded animal was ten times as dangerous. Besides, what if it was someone other than Williamson? An Inuit or another Mountie. Ray could just see the headlines now.

He dropped his train of thought as the bushes rustled again ten feet further to the right. He swung the rifle quickly to bear. "Alright, come on out. I've got a rifle and a biscuit and I know how to use them both!"

Silence.

"I can't believe you're not going to help him," Ellen chastised, swatting Ray's father on the arm.

"Ow."

Ray jerked around at the sound of the voice. He nearly melted with relief when he saw the spirit of his father but then the anger seeped back in. "Damn it, pop! Was that you making all that noise?"

"That's right, blame it all on me," the Italian countered back.

Ellen pinched him. "Tell him."

"Ow, knock it off." He swatted her away. "He can take care of it himself."

"What?" Ray questioned worriedly. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," his father snapped.

Ray's eyebrows rose at his father's odd behavior. "I didn't think mosquitoes could attack ghosts."

"Yeah, well the dead ones can." He cast Ellen an ugly glance then returned his attention to his son. "Look . . ." he began.

"Ray!" a voice called out from the woods behind him. It was Fraser.

"Over here," Ray answered.

Fraser came through the trees and spotted Ray, and then his father. "Dad?"

Ray sighed in disgust. "Don't tell me, your eyesight's going? Oh, God, not again."

Fraser scowled in his direction, then looked back at his father. "What's going on?"

"Just some bushes rattling, that's all. Probably an animal," Ray explained. He didn't want to say it was his father, the ghost, making all the racket.

"Williamson's still alive, son. He's around here somewhere," Fraser Sr. said.

"They left my daughter alone," Ellen whispered, fear twisting itself like a live animal around her features. She faded quickly away.

Fraser looked back the way he had come. "Margaret." He turned as quickly as he could on his injured leg. "Come on, Ray! Williamson's still alive, and he's after Margaret!"

Ray almost dropped his rifle in shock. "What?! How do you know that?! Wait a minute! Wait for me!" He took off after Fraser.

Margaret sat by the fire. The water was just coming to a boil for the tea. God, how she needed one. Her nerves were shot. She didn't want to be alone, but she saw how concerned Benton was for his friend. She told him to go after him. She had offered to go, but he wouldn't allow it. He gave her a pistol and told her to use it if she needed help.

The pistol sat in her lap as she fixed her tea and wrapped her cold hands around the hot cup, blowing gently and letting the steam rise around her face. The sudden voice beside her startled her and the pistol and the cup fell to the ground as she rose in terror. The tea hit the fire and started it hissing. She knew that voice.

"Michael . . ."

"You're alive," he said hesitantly. He reached out to touch her, but she backed away. "I thought . . ."

"You thought what?" Margaret cried. "You bastard. You pushed me over the cliff."

"No, no, no," he insisted, frantically shaking his head. "It was an accident. I didn't mean it." He moved towards her again. "Thank God you're all right."

She stepped around the fire, putting it between them. "I'm not all right, Michael. What you did was wrong. What you've done is wrong."

"I don't understand, Maggie."

She was shocked at his ignorance. "You were willing to kill innocent people just to save your own skin and you think I can forgive you for that?"

"I was just trying to set things right again. Things got out of balance. That can't happen. You understand, don't you? I can't go to jail. You wouldn't want that, would you Maggie? You love me."

"No, Michael. Not anymore. I haven't loved you for a long time. Just accept that and go away."

"You have to come with me," he said. He wasn't asking.

Margaret stepped closer to the woods. "No."

Michael was about to step around the fire when a familiar voice spoke to him.

"Don't touch my daughter." It was a quiet threat. Ellen's ghostly form emerged from the night.

Michael's breath stopped short as he looked around but didn't see anyone. "Who's that?"

"Mom!"

Michael's head snapped back around to look at Margaret. "Your mother? She's dead!"

A terrified Margaret just stood there for a moment, staring at the person she loved the most and the one she now hated the most square off. Then she ran. A blinding run with branches grabbing her and slashing her exposed skin. She didn't care. She had to get away from him. She had to find Fraser. A crashing sound behind her told her that Michael was following.

Ray burst into the clearing by the fire. It was empty. He saw the pistol and the spilled tea. Fraser came limping after, sweat beading his face even in the coolness of the night. His features were twisted with pain.

"She's not here," Ray told him.

Fraser fell swiftly to the ground to the examine the prints scattered around. He wished he could say it was due to eagerness, but it was as much exhaustion and pain that forced him down as his zeal to read the tracks.

"Williamson's been here. This is his boot print."

"Damn it, we're too late!" Ray cursed, looking around the campfire. He saw some more prints heading off into the woods. "We got some more over here, Fraser. Looks like Margaret and her hubby. They go off this way." He moved to help his friend stand. He didn't like the way Fraser was laboring. "Why don't you stay here; I'll track them." He picked up a lit branch for a torch.

Fraser raised skeptical eyebrows. Ray shrugged. "I think I got the hang of it now. Stay here. We'll be back."

Ray disappeared into the gloom. Fraser stood there for a minute, then grabbed the flashlight from Ray's pack and limped off after his friend. He shined the beam of light at the damp ground illuminating the facts. Fact one: Margaret and Williamson were heading back towards the cliff. Fact two: Ray was heading in the wrong direction.

"Ray!" Fraser received no answer. He took a deep breath and limped faster in the direction of the cliff. He was now Margaret's only chance.

Margaret was running headlong through the woods, not knowing she was passing through all too familiar territory. She fell to her knees in the mud. Exhausted, she grabbed the branches at her sides and roughly pulled herself up. Sheer terror pushed her forward. Suddenly, the woods cleared and she skidded to a stop just a couple of feet from the edge of the cliff.

"Shit," she cursed honestly. Then a hand roughly grabbed her arm and spun her around. She let loose a cry of pain and fear.

"Damn it, Margaret! I just want to talk some sense into you!" Michael's sweat streaked face was drawn up in anger, shining in the dim moonlight.

"You stopped wanting to talk when you shoved me off the cliff, Michael! And then you tried to throw everyone else off too! Jesus, how did you expect me to act? There's no love between us anymore. Just let me go."

"No one leaves me, Margaret! Not ever! You love me. I know you do. I've treated you like a queen all these years and this is how you repay me?" Michael shouted roughly, shaking her, his voice threatening to crack under the strain.

Margaret couldn't stop the tremors in her limbs. She couldn't stop herself from telling him the truth, no matter the consequences. "Your price was too high. Don't you see, I can't be a part of your life if you continue to deal drugs. I've got higher morals than that."

Michael's stinging hand slapped her across the right cheek. Her head snapped to the left as the stars in the night sky suddenly multiplied tenfold. Her knees gave out but Michael's grip on her arm hadn't loosened and held her upright. She stepped back to regain her footing. She could feel his strength forcing her backwards. Her eyes refocused to see the hatred in his. Then Margaret heard her mother's furious voice.

"Leave her alone, you bastard! I told you not to touch her!"

Michael spun around and saw the figure of a woman he recognized as the deceased mother of Margaret. "You . . . you're dead . . ." Michael stepped back, pushing Margaret so that her heels dangled over the edge. She grabbed his shoulder and he shoved her away. She fell.

"No!" screamed Ellen, moving swiftly towards Michael. In his terror to avoid the spectre he too stepped off the edge. As he went over he reached out and grabbed the only thing within reach, Margaret's waist. She had miraculously clung to the vegetation on the cliff's edge, but that grip was slipping with the sudden added weight. She couldn't help the scream that erupted from her.

Suddenly a hand reached down and grabbed hers. She looked up into the face of Fraser.

"Benton!"

"At your service," he hissed through grated teeth. The strain was incredible. He knew he wasn't going to be able to hold on for long. The ground was too soft and wet.

"Pull us up!" Michael yelled.

"That's not an option," Fraser stated honestly. "Climb up over Margaret before we all fall. I can't hold onto all of us."

Michael moved his hand to crawl up over his wife, but her pants were covered in mud. He slid past her knees. Margaret screamed as the motion swung their bodies from side to side. Fraser's grasp slipped.

Michael reached up again but he couldn't get a good grip. Margaret pulled a hand away from Fraser.

"What are you doing?" Fraser shouted anxiously as his body eased further over the edge of the abyss.

"Michael, give me your hand." Margaret extended her hand down to him. He reached up and grabbed it.

"I can't hold you!" Fraser cried. He was slipping faster. They were all going over the cliff.

"Fraser!" a voice screamed. Ray came running from the forest and flung himself on Fraser just as he was sliding the last few feet towards disaster. "Don't you even think about going over!"

"I hadn't really meant to, Ray," Fraser said as he hung over the edge. The blood was rushing quickly to his head. It didn't feel good.

Margaret still had Michael, but she couldn't hold him. "Michael, do something! Climb up!"

"I can't! Hold me!"

"Michael!" Margaret howled as his hand slipped from hers and his terrible weight was suddenly gone. As his figure disappeared into the mists, his terrified scream reverberated through the canyon walls. It filled her soul. "No!"

Then she fell another foot. "Fraser!"

"Ray!" Fraser shouted.

"What!" Ray yelled. "I can't hold onto all of you! Somebody do something!"

Ray's father materialized beside him. "Why am I not surprised by this predicament." Ray just glared at him.

"I'm open to suggestions, Ray." Fraser urged.

"Lift! Climb! Levitate! Anything!" Ray suggested heatedly. They slipped another few inches.

"Levitating sounds good," Fraser's father remarked. He was floating just to the left of his son. "But only someone like me can do that."

"You're not helping," Fraser said.

"What do you want me do?" Margaret and Fraser Sr. said simultaneously. Margaret's hand slipped further out of Fraser's grasp. She grabbed at him with her other hand.

Margaret's face lifted to look up into Fraser's. Their eyes locked. "I'm not afraid," she whispered. She could see her mother leaning over and looking down on them. She smiled up at her. Fraser smiled back. The spirit of his father had vanished.

"Climb up, Margaret. You can do it." He shoved her hand up as far as he could. She latched onto his shirt, her feet desperately trying to gain support on the rocky cliff wall. Inch by inch she made it up. It was agony for Fraser. His back and leg were screaming with pain. Finally she gained the top, but it cost them. Ray and Fraser had slipped further. Now Fraser was almost completely over the edge and with no way to climb up. There was no energy left within him. Ray clung to his feet determinedly. Margaret grabbed hold of Ray, digging her own feet into the mud.

"Pull," she yelled. "We have to get him up."

"I'm trying!" Ray screamed back.

Fraser's quiet voice drifted up. "Let go, Ray."

"Are you insane? I let go and you fall off the cliff! That's not a plan, Fraser! That's suicide!"

"We'll all go over if you don't!"

"No we won't," Ray insisted venomously. "Somebody will save us."

"Who, Ray? Nobody's coming." Fraser saw his father materialize beside him again. He stood quiet and tall.

"You are so pessimistic today. I told you there are Mounties all over these woods, we just need to give them time to find us. Help! Anybody!"

Fraser looked at his father. "See what you did?" Fraser Sr. merely shrugged.

They all slipped another two inches.

"You're not going to fall," Ray strained through his clenched jaw, his body digging deeper into the soft slick ground. "Not today."

Suddenly, the woods erupted with people, and Diefenbaker led the way, barking wildly.

"Over here," Margaret screamed.

"Oh, thank God," Ray almost sobbed. "The cavalry's here." Bodies and hands reached out and latched onto them and with three great heaves lifted Ray and Fraser over the lip of the cliff. They lay there exhausted, not daring to move. Diefenbaker was on top of Fraser, licking his face anxiously.

"Thank you," Fraser whispered quietly. "I'm alright, Diefenbaker." He didn't trust his voice at the moment.

Ray opened his eyes and saw his father staring at him anxiously.

"So you had to be a hero," Vecchio Sr. said.

Ray shrugged, and them grinned foolishly as the adrenaline continued to pump. "Felt good."

"You're an lunatic," his father retorted.

"Takes one to know one, pop." Ray raised himself up on his arm.

An elderly Inuit approached them. "We made it just in time, it appears. If it wasn't for this wolf and that trio of elderly hikers we might not have found you."

"Hikers?" Ray queried. "Was there a Mountie with them?"

The old man scratched his chin, then nodded. "Come to think of it, yeah, one of them could have been a Mountie."

Ray reached over and slapped Fraser on the shoulder. "See, I told you." He indicated the natives surrounding them. "The old man came through for us."

Fraser could see his father in the oblivious crowd. "Yes, I guess he did."

"Three, huh," Ray asked. "He must have found some more escaped patients from the loony bin. You've got a lot of weird people wandering around up here, Fraser."

Margaret began laughing. Her mother was standing with her arm around empty air, but she was smiling and looking up at something invisible beside her. Ellen looked over and tearfully waved at her daughter, relief evident in her expression. "Maybe they're not as insane as you think," Margaret said as her mother nodded vigorously.

Two men reached down and lifted Fraser gently to his feet and helped him down the mountain and back to their camp. Ray and Margaret fell into step beside them.

"I guess we'll be going back to the States now, huh Ray," Fraser said.

Ray looked at him incredulously. "I don't think so. We have a cabin to finish and I'll be damned if I have to come back here again. So we complete it this time or we forget about it forever. You got me?"

Fraser grinned. "I got you."

"Damn right," the detective answered.