Author's disclaimer: Although the story is mine, it is a work of fiction based on the character of Due South. All Characters portrayed here belong to Alliance. Please do not print/copy/download or send any part of this story to anyone else, other than for your personal enjoyment. Thank you.
Author's notes: This is part two of a two-part story. There is some language and violence that would not be appropriate for younger readers, thus the PG rating. Please read on and I hope you enjoy it.

I welcome any comments about my story.
 

By Amethyst
 

GHOST OF A CHANCE II        Fraser's lips thinned and the muscle in his jaw jumped repeatedly, a sign that he was fighting to regain control of the emotions that were threatening to overtake him. He blamed himself for Ray's condition. They should have never gone into that house without backup, They'd only had a hunch Jennings would be inside,  and Fraser should have listened to Ray and waited. But, no, Fraser once again put his partner's life in danger in his impetuous need for justice. Finding special agents Young and Handler had been a stroke of luck, but then things went terribly wrong.

       Fraser glanced over Ray's still features. The detective looked so peaceful and calm that Fraser couldn't help smile a little in surprise. Ray Kowalski was probably the least peaceful person he'd ever known. The mixture of incredible energy and quick volatile temperment that made up the slim detective's demeanor was anything but peaceful. However, Fraser knew Ray had a big heart and a gentleness about him that sometimes surprised the Mountie, especially when kids were involved.

        He was so very different from the real Ray Vecchio, who almost always gave Fraser a sense of security. His other Ray was affectionate in the way that all Itallians were. Lots of quick hugs and a peck on each cheek when greeting. Hearty slaps on the back that could straighten your posture and always the invitation to share a meal or a card game. The Vecchio's had willingly accepted Fraser as part of their family and Ray Vecchio especially made sure everyone knew that Fraser was his partner and his friend. Sometimes, that made Fraser feel cherished, other times it made him feel on display at how possesive his partner could get.

       Ray Vecchio understood Fraser wasn't good at showing affection and found it difficult when people touched him, so his friend had been careful not to overdo. Instead, Vecchio showed his affection in otherways, paying for Fraser, when the Mountie had not had the time to convert his Canadiani currency, calling him Benny most of the time, teasing him about the attention he received from women, andnagging him over about his duties at the consulate.

        Ray Vecchio was also a ladies man and behaved with a confidence that Fraser both envied and despiesed. Ray was his friend, but the Italian also had an ego the size of Chicago. Fraser understood that, growing up in Chicago, Ray had seen much more violence, crime, and injustice than he and so the detective compensated by manupulating the law to his own device, without actually corrupting his own honor or the honor of the vow he had taken as a police officer. Vecchio towed the line when it came to the law and often Fraser was appalled at how Vecchio could manupulate things to go his way. Even small things, like getting a free pizza by ordering from a place across town that had no chance of delivering on time.

        Ray Vecchio almost always questioned Fraser's actions, although this did not deter Fraser from considering the man his best and most truest friend. From the first day, Vecchio had shown a mild mistrust that the Mountie ever knew what he was doing, and complained and disagreed loudly, whenever Fraser got an idea. Until, it worked out and then Fraser would allow the detective to take the credit. Vecchio was an excellent detective, who cared about doing his job well and protecting the innocent, but he often seemed more worried about getting his clothes dirty or the extra paperwork he would have to file, than wether or not something was morally right or just. Sometimes, he treated Fraser as a naieve child, and usually the Mountie allowed it because it was that much easier to manupulate his partner into doing what was right. Vecchio always gave in to Fraser's innocent blue eyed stare, when the Mountie was set on getting his way.

       However, Ray Kowalski was nothing like Ray Vecchio,  and the fact that they had chosen him to go undercover as the Italian still bewildered Fraser.  Kowalski was an excellent undercover detective, there was no disputing that, and he played the role of Ray Vecchio with a familiarity and penache that Fraser could only marvel at. Yet, Ray Vecchio and Ray Kowalski were like night and day in both looks, personality, and performance. Vecchio was arrogant, subtle, and cynical, but could be incredibly charming when it suited him. Kowalski was quick tempered, sarcastic, and witty. He did not have the grace and polish that Ray Vecchio seemed to posess, but he did his job just as professionally and received the same, if not better results.

      Fraser felt a kindred spirit in Kowalski, that was very close to what he felt for Ray Vecchio, but, like the two men themselves, totally different. Kowalski and Fraser both seemed odd balls, or set apart in their individual worlds. Although, Kowalski would often refer to Fraser as a 'freak' Fraser knew, somehow, that the detective wasn't saying it to be cruel, it was just his way of expressing himself. Kowalski never called Fraser Benny,  of course there was no reason he should. Kowalski called Fraser Benton Buddy on occasion, or an affectionate freak. Other than that it was Fraser or Frase and the Mountie was okay with that. Kowalski always treated Fraser an an adult, unlike Ray Vecchio, and therefore made Fraser much more aware of his responsibilities, with his 'you should know better' speeches.

       They had had some ups and downs in their relationship. Kowalski had even punched him once, out of frustration, but he'd been fair enough to let Fraser hit him back, even though he hadn't really wanted to. Kowalski seemed to sense the longing in Fraser to be touched, to be needed and most of all, to be loved, and had no difficulty showing his understanding, through his words or his actions. Kowalski had hugged Fraser that first day and shocked the Mountie into a kind of acceptance. It was as if Kowalski was saying, here I am, take it or leave it, and Fraser decide to take it. Unlike Ray Vecchio, Kowalski seemed able to read Fraser's thoughts at the most crucial moment in a situation, and followed with little hesitation into whatever situation Fraser got them into. Kowalski seemed to take his roll as Fraser's partner very seriously and was there to back the Mountie in any given scenario. Kowalski was not always happy about it, but he was there, nevertheless.

           Fraser suspected the detective was bent on proving himself,  athough Fraser couldn't understand why, and Kowalski drove himself on his instincts, whereas Ray Vecchio was usually much more reasonable and by the book. Kowalski touched Fraser often, not just in greeting, or to show possestion as Vecchio often did. Kowalski seemed to have an aversion to people touching him equal to Fraser's own hindrance, yet he always initiated contact, just when the mountie needed it most. Kowalski would stand close to Fraser, enough that they could touch if needed, whether it was reading over his shoulder, or just discussing a case. It seemed to be Kowalski's way of saying, I'm here if you need me, but I'm not invading your personal space without invitation. However, Fraser seemed to issue an invitation to be touched, even when he was unaware of it. Kowalski somehow always sensed when the Mountie most needed human contact and reciprocated accordingly.

      Fraser had seen his new partner go from an easy, 'I'll try anything' phase, to threatening violence in a matter of seconds. One minute Kowalski was calm as could be, the next yelling and screaming. He could treat one person like pond scum, and treat another with more manners than even Fraser himself possessed. Fraser smiled, he definitely kept people on their toes, and perhaps Ray preferred that, it was another way of not letting people get too close. Just when he felt he had witnessed all the possible sides to Stanley (Raymond) Kowalski, another side of the man seemed to pop up from nowhere, to confuse the Mountie.

       Fraser had seen Ray's dark sides and his vulnerable sides. He'd watched the man's determined grace in a difficult situation and the tears that came after, tears he'd allowed only Fraser to see, unaware how honored and frustrated it made the Mountie. Ray would cry in front of him, show his anger and joy toward him, but Ray still didn't let Fraser see the real Ray Kowalski. They shared cases, causes and meals together. They'd both backed each other loyally in the face of death and injury. They had both explored peices of each other's past and present, yet Fraser always felt Ray was holding something back from their relationship, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out what it was. There was always the knowledge that Kowalski was playing a part and because he was so damn good at his job, Fraser could never tell what was the real Ray and was was part of his cover.

       In a way, Fraser finally understood the frustration that Ray Vecchio and so many others seemed to go through, with him. Fraser did not show his true self, easily. He kept much of himself hidden behind the pretence of ignorance or a mask of indifference. Now, with the shoe on the other foot, he could see the exasperation others had experienced. Ray Kowalski had errected barriers that rivaled Fraser's own.

        Now, his partner lay in a hospital bed fighting for his life, and Fraser may never find out what those missing pieces were. What made Ray Kowalski truly unique, what sort of things drove Ray to do the things he did. Fraser wanted to unravell the mystery that was his partner more than anything he had ever wanted before. He understood that working undercover, Ray was probably used to keeping certain parts of himself hidden, and unfortunately he was damn good at it. That did not stop Fraser from wanting to know the detective better, to know everything that made his partner tick. To witness the real Ray without the charade of Vecchio or Kowalsli's tougher cop persona.

       "Any change?" asked a familiar voice from the doorway of the room.

        Fraser tore his thoughtful gaze from Ray's sleeping form and fixed it on Francesca Vecchio. Today she wore a subdued green slack suit, rather than one of her usual spicy outfits. "Not yet," he replied.

      He stood politely at her entrance, and then pulled his attention back to the detective.

         Francesca walked over and placed a fresh vase of flowers on the small hospital locker by the bed. The room had already received many flowers and cards from those that knew and cared about Ray. Fraser suspected that the detective would be shocked at the number of people that worried over him.

       "I'm sure he’ll wake up soon, Frase," Francesca assured, as she arranged the flowers just so. "He's probably just enjoyin' all this attention so much that he doesn't want to show he's awake."

        Fraser wished for her optimism, but when she turned to look into his eyes, he saw the tears shimmering there. "I'm sure you are right, Francesca." He watched her caress Ray's pale cheek. She took a deep breath, and Fraser suspected she was attempting to keep the threatening tears at bay, as her gentle fingers moved to stroke Ray's hair.

        "He's so pale," she murmured.

         Fraser was uncertain if she was addressing him, or just speaking her thoughts aloud. He decided to remain silent for the moment, to see if she would make another comment.

        "Ya know, even though he wasn't my real brother, he treated me a lot like Ray usually did." She smiled slightly. "Sometimes better, made me miss Ray less with him around ya know?"

        Fraser nodded; he'd felt the same way. "Yes," he agreed, "Ray has a way of making you forget your troubles sometimes."

      Francesca continued to smooth Kowalski's hair. "He liked ta give me a hard time," she admitted, "but he knew when not to." A secret smile played about her lips. "I remember when…" she glanced up a Fraser self-consciously. "When I was gonna get married that time." When you refused to admit you had feelings for me and then I thought you were dead, ya creep! She added silently, and then continued. "I guess he knew I was feelin' kinda down, because he showed up at my door one night and said he was takin' me dancing."

        She smiled again, remembering how he'd brought her a small bouquet of flowers and demanded she get dressed up, he was taking his little sister out for a night on the town. She'd been completely baffled by the delicious looking tux he wore and the disarming rebel grin.

        So, a few minutes later, dressed in her best evening gown, they left to 'paint the town', and paint it they did. They stopped for a quiet dinner at a fancy resteraunt, and then he took her to three or for different nightclubs and the danced the night away. Francesca had never felt so loved and cherished, or had so much fun. It was a side she'd never seen of Kowalski, a softer, charming side. The following Monday at the precinct, things were back to normal. He tormented her in his usual way and she threatened him with bodily harm, but every once in awhile she'd catch his glance and he'd grin or wink at her, so she would know he hadn't forgotten their escapade.

        "I didn't know that," Fraser was remarking, bringing her back to reality. "That was a nice thing for Ray to do."

        Francesca nodded. "Yah," she agreed with a sigh. "Of course he told me it was to keep his cover up. He had to play the part of a concerned brother."

        Fraser watched the secret smile that formed on her lips once again and suspected Francesca didn't agree with Kowalski's explanation of his actions. He would keep their secret, regardless of the reasons for it. He was proud of the detective's thoughtfulness, for Fraser was at a loss to help Francesca during that time; he couldn't understand why she had been so depressed. The words she'd used in the explanation he'd asked for only confused him more, as they usually did with Francesca.

        "Perhaps you'll go dancing again," Fraser suggested, hopefully. "When he's better."

        Francesca stared at him for a moment, a demanding, penetrating, stare that made Fraser want to look away, but he didn't. He held her gaze and waited the question he knew was coming.

        "Do you think he's gonna wake up, Fraser?" she asked as a tear finally slipped from the corner of her eye. "Do you think he'll be okay?"

        Fraser finally lowered his gaze, unable to handle the fear he saw in her eyes without showing his own apprehension. He knew she expected an honest answer and he couldn't make himself give it to her. He traced his right eyebrow with his index finger in uncertainty.

        "The doctors are...uncertain at this point, Francesca." How could he tell her the Ray's parents had already been asked to make the decision of keeping their son on life support or taking him off, thus allowing him to die in peace. When Mrs. Kowalski had come to Fraser with their indecision, he couldn't help them. He had informed them the decision was not his to make, even though he desperately wanted to demand they give Ray a while longer, a fighting chance.

        "What do you think, Fraser?" Francesca insisted. "I know you'll be honest with me."

       "I..I'm still hopeful that Ray will recover, Francesca," he managed, focusing on the sleeping detective's passive features. "But, with what the doctors have said, I…I don't…logically believe he will recover."

        "Then why are you here?" Francesca charged. "You work all day, then stay here all night. Why Fraser? If you think it's hopeless, then why bother? Even his parents have stopped coming for God's sake, so why do you still stay?"

        Fraser met her gaze and she gasped at the despair that shaded those beautiful blue eyes. "I can't leave him," he croaked, the threat of tears heavy in his voice. "Whether he wakes up or not, I can't leave him to die all alone, Frannie."

        Francesca rounded the bed and put her arms around him, allowing her own tears to flow. She could hear the hammering of Fraser's heart, the harsh intake of breath his breath, and wondered what that admission had cost him. He always seemed so cool and detached, so strong and untouched by personal dilemmas, yet now she could feel him physically trembling in her arms.

        She hugged him as hard as she could and was surprised when she felt his arms go around her to return the embrace. For so long, she had wanted to be held by this man, this wonderful, handsome Canadian. His embrace was all she had wished for, and yet her usual romantic utopia was overshadowed by his grief and uncertainty. Ray, her brother and Kowalski, had accused Fraser of being Superman, and at times Francesca herself believed it. But the man she held in her arms now was not an invincible comic book character; he was a flesh and blood human being, that was desperately frightened of loosing his partner and his friend.

        "He'll make it, Frase," she promised softly, through her tears. "There's probably no chocolate in heaven, he'll have to come back." She could feel Fraser's smile against her cheek and heard the tiny chuckle that escaped him. She smiled up at him. "He'd never get a decent cup a coffee."

        Fraser gave her a quick, grateful squeeze and she took the opportunity to tease him.

        "Oh sure, now ya want my body!"

        "Francesca!" exclaimed Fraser turning the color of his uniform tunic.

        Francesca laughed and planted a quick kiss on his cheek, before he pulled away. "Does that mean ya don't?" she asked innocently, causing the Mounties's blush to glow, brightly, against the white interior of the hospital room.

        "Francesca," Fraser stammered again, pulling on his ear. "I…no..I mean yes…I mean..it's not…"

       Francesca laughed again and surprised him by reaching up to ruffle his perfectly kept hair. "I'm teasin'." She grinned. "Yer off the hook."

        Fraser sighed in relief, automatically straightening his hair with his fingers.

        She glanced at Ray again then back at Fraser. "I've gotta go feed Dief." Again she looked at the sleeping man before them. "Take care of him."

        Fraser nodded, grateful that she was looking after his wolf. "I will," he promised as she turned too leave.

        Once Francesca left his sight, Fraser settled back into his chair and continued his vigil. He should have taken better care of Ray to begin with, and not gone into that damned house at all. Fraser's guilt weighed heavily on him as he picked up the book he had brought and started to read aloud, hoping his friend would hear him, wake up, and tell him to shut up. He smiled slightly and continued the passage.
 

___________________________  

       Agent Handler quietly, walked into the dimly lit hospital room, trying not to wake the sleeping Mountie that was slumped forward in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees. She adjusted the sling that held her injured shoulder, which  was luckily just fractured and not broken. She approached the bed that held the detective's slim frame. Staring down at him,  she tried to see past the tubes in his nose that sustained him, the deathly pallor of his skin and tried to tune out the agonizingly slow beeping of the heart monitor. Vecchio looked so weak and frail, so unlike the healthy brash detective she loved to hate. She allowed herself a small smile, as she pushed a stray golden lock of his hair away from his forehead.

       Handler regretted her harsh treatment of him and the words that they had exchanged during some heated arguments at the house. She had glimpsed a different side of Vecchio, while he was under the influence of the drug, and it gave her cause to wonder if any of those sides were real. He'd risked his life for her, a woman he hated, and she shook her head. No, a woman he thought hated him. She remembered the pleading look in his eye when he begged her to like him and it haunted her. She understood it was probably the drug talking, Vecchio hadn't even seemed to know who he was, but she suspected that the drug hadn't been the influence for his comment just before he'd gone into convulsions on the ground outside the house.

        Vecchio had said he would protect Handler and he had. Jennings would surely have killed her if the detective hadn't been outside that window. Yet, she couldn't understand how he had gotten on the roof, or why. He'd been delusional when she'd left him, so how had he climbed down those steep and rotting gables without falling? How did he know where to go, or that somehow she was in danger? He had asked about a girl, but they had all assumed he was still hallucinating. Was there a girl in that house, someone who had helped him out of that garret and led him to where he was needed? She shook her head, too many questions and not enough answers. If only Vecchio would wake up, then she would know; she'd understand what had happened out there.

        She spared a look at Fraser, who seemed to be sleeping soundly, although how he could actually sleep in that position was beyond her. She had witnessed such devotion from the Canadian over the last week. She'd never been particularly fond of him, he was too stiff and, well…weird, really. Handler couldn't comprehend how someone, as volatile as the detective in the bed beside her, could ever be a partner with the Mountie. Yet, she'd witnessed their loyalty to one another first hand, both in their words and actions, and Fraser had been devout in his visits to Ray's bedside since the accident.

       Handler remembered the terror in Fraser's voice as they watched his partner and Jennings fall, and it had shocked her. Certainly, she had worried for the detective, but Fraser was usually so calm and cool, his outburst was completely unexpected. She remembered the Canadian's expression as he and Young tried to resuscitate his friend, the plea in his voice that Ray not die. That kind of devotion was hard to find in a friend and she felt Ray was very lucky to have Fraser, despite the Mountie's quirks.

       She had stopped referring to the detective as just Vecchio, since the accident. Even in her thoughts, he had at sometime become Ray, and she didn't question the familiarity it lent to her. Besides, she was still confused by his reaction at the use of his last name, while he was under the drug's influence. His behaviour increased her curiosity.

       "Agent Handler," acknowledged Fraser surprised, his voice still slightly groggy from sleep.

        Handler nodded at him, stepping back from the bed slightly. "Constable."
 
        "How long…" he began, starting to stand.

       She waved him back down. "Just a few minutes. Why don't you go get some coffee." She saw the anxiety in his eyes. "I'll stay with him, until you get back."

       After a moment's hesitation, Fraser picked up his hat and nodded. He was almost at the door, when Handler spoke again.

        "The Doctor said they'll be taking him off life support tomorrow."

    She watched Fraser's entire posture stiffen, but he did not turn around. Instead, he put his hat on and walked out of the room. Handler stared after him thoughtfully. She hadn't meant that to come out sounding so cold, but she'd thought the Mountie would have been told.

        She turned her attention back to Ray. "Did you hear that Vecchio?" she asked him. "They're shutting you of tomorrow, so you'd better hurry and wake up."

        There was, of course, no sign that he had heard her words, but she continued anyway.

        "Your partner isn't to pleased with you, y'know. He's looking rather lost at the moment and I think it's very unfair for you to hurt him like this. But then, you never think of anyone but yourself, do you? I was right about you all along, wasn't I? You really are just an arrogant, over-compensating, fruitcake with delusions of grander. You're a lousy cop, Vecchio, you'll probably make a lousy angel; if you even go that way."

        Handler continued with her tirade. Desperately wanting him to react to her words, move his lashes, flip her the finger, any sign that she could use to keep them from unplugging his life support tomorrow. She didn't even know what she was saying anymore, she just pushed onward, dredging the nastiest, most hurtful things up from the recess of her mind, purging her soul against his stillness.
 

*****************

        Ray's head was stating to hurt from the agent's words and he wished she would just shut the hell up. What the hell did he ever do to deserve her abuse anyway?

        Suddenly, Handler stopped her ranting. "Did you say something?" she whispered.

       "I said bite me, Handler," Ray croaked.

        Handler cried out and threw her arm around him, kissing him soundly, before running from the room and yelling for the doctor.

       Fraser was coming down the quiet hallway with two cups of coffee in his hands, as she rushed from the room.

        "He's awake!" she crowed at him as she ran to find the Doctor.

        Fraser stood there for a moment, stunned, unaware that the coffee had slipped from his hands and now lay on the clean, hospital tile below him. He ran to Ray's room and found his partner trying to sit up, grumbling at the many tubes protruding from his body. He'd ripped his inhaler and heart monitor cord off and was working on swinging his legs over the side.

        Fraser hurried over and pushed him back against the sheets. Don't, Ray. You'll hurt yourself.

        "Aw hell, Fraser," Ray croaked, indignantly. "I ain't no invalid, lemme get this crap off a me."

       The Doctor came rushing in and immediately began to check Ray's vitals, while Handler and Fraser stood back.

        Ray swatted at him impatiently. "Yah, I'm alive, now lemme alone, will ya?"

 

*************

          Kowalski walked into the squad room of the 27^th precinct and paused at the silence that greeted him. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to stare at him, making him extremely self-conscious.

        "Somebody die?" he demanded in a cryptic voice.

        There were a few chuckles and a few gasps, then the officers returned to normal and went back to what they were doing.

        Ray hadn't even made it to his desk when Francesca flew into him, almost knocking the wind from him. "Ray!" she exclaimed, giving him a hug. "You're back!"

        "Brilliant observation, Frannie," he grumbled, giving her a quick, appreciative squeeze to take the sting out of his words. Then a little louder, he remarked on her physical display. "Ya tryin' to put me back in the hospital, or what?"

        Francesca immediately released him and grinned. "Don't be such a baby," she tossed as detective Huey approached, holding out his hand to Kowalski.

        "Hey, Ray," Jack greeted, smiling. "How are you feeling?"

        Kowalski glanced at him skeptically, and then briefly shook his head. "I'm good," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "How're you feelin'?"

        Huey obviously didn't understand the question, because he gave Ray a puzzled frown. "I'm fine," he returned, after a brief pause, "But I'm not the one who was in the hospital."

        Kowalski scowled, so every one knew about his little ordeal. "Yah, well I'll let you go in next time," he joked, giving a quick nod and heading for his desk.

        He still didn't get close enough to reach it, when Lieutenant Welsh called from his office.

        "Vecchio! In here, now!"

        Kowalski smiled, well; at least some things didn't change. He quickly made his across and entered Welsh's office. "Yes, Sir?" he asked, as Welsh closed the door to give them some privacy. He watched the large man return to his chair behind the desk before he spoke.

        "Detective," he began in a tone that instantly made Kowalski suspicious. "I think you should take some time off."

        Kowalski tried to keep his temper in check, he'd known this was coming. "Sir, I feel fine…" he protested.

         Welsh raised a hand, silencing him. "I insist, Detective," he explained firmly. "I know you just got out of the hospital yesterday and I don't think…"

       Ray shook his head. "Sir, I've already had plenty of time off. I just wanna get back to work."

        "Most of that time you were unconscious, detective," reminded Welsh. "Now I want you to take at least the rest of the week off to recuperate. I don't want to see you before Monday."

        Ray's lips tightened and Welsh could see the detective was going to fight his decision.

        "I mean it, Ray. Monday and no sooner."

        "What the hell am I supposed to do the rest of the time?" demanded Kowalski, furiously. He didn't want time off, he just wanted to get back to work, find a case and loose himself in it,  so that he wouldn't have to think or feel too much.

        "Relax, " suggested Welsh, knowing the very idea was probably foreign to the vitally animated detective. "Go to a movie, read a book. Just don't show your face in here until Monday."

        "This is bull…" began Kowalski, frustrated.

        "You're dismissed, detective," Welsh decided, before Kowalski could finish.

         Ray hesitated for a long moment, and then he turned on his heel, threw open the door and stormed out.

        Francesca had approached him again to ask him a question and he walked past her, without even acknowledging her presence.

        Ray slid behind the wheel of his GTO and started the engine. He sat there for a moment, before deciding where he was going. Finally, with a quick nod at his decision, he put the car in gear and drove out of the department's parking lot and onto the main street. It a matter of minutes, he found himself outside the Canadian Consulate, where he quickly parked and got out of the car.

        Turnbull was at sentry duty and Ray greeted him with a quick wave, although he knew the Mountie wouldn't respond, while on duty. He jogged up the steps and stepped inside the Consulate. Fraser was at the front desk, speaking to someone on the phone, in French, no less. He nodded to Ray, indicating with his hand that he would just be a minute. Ray nodded and settled into one of the chairs to wait. Today Fraser was in his red serge uniform and Ray, as always felt underdressed next to him in his usual jeans, tee shirt and jacket.

        "Hello, Ray," greeted Thatcher smiling, as she approached him in a pretty, red tailored skirt suit. "Here to see Fraser?"

        Ray stood politely, a little startled by her unusual friendliness, but decided not to comment on it. "Er...yah," he replied. "I don't go back to work until Monday, so I thought I'd see if Fraser wanted to grab some lunch." He paused for a moment frowning at her. "Unless, he's busy of course."

        Again Thatcher smiled and he glanced at her, warily. "No," she assured as Fraser finally finished his call. "The Constable may go if he wishes."

        "Er..kay," considered Ray. "Would...ah...would you like to come?"

        Thatcher seemed genuinely surprised by the offer, and Ray felt he'd gotten some of his own back.

        "Thank you for the invitation, Detective, but I already have plans for lunch." She glanced at Fraser who was now standing beside them. "You two go and have fun. Fraser you can have and extra hour if you like, since we have nothing pending right now."

        "Thank you, Sir," Fraser responded, with a small smile of his own. "I hope you have a good lunch as well."
 
        "I will, Constable," Thatcher assured, turning to retrieve her messages from the front desk and then heading back to her office.

        Both men watched her go, it was Kowalski who spoke first. "Is dat our Thatcher?" he asked in disbelief.

         Fraser retrieved his hat and Diefenbaker joined him, from where he'd been streached under the desk. "Who else would she be, Ray?" Fraser inquired realistically, as he held the door for his partner and wolf, just as the clock struck twelve and Turnbull moved up the steps.

        Fraser informed him they would be out for lunch and he said he hoped it would be an enjoyable one, as the two men and one wolf got into the GTO. They decided on a familiar burger place, a few blocks away, that they had eaten at a few times before.

        They had only just ordered when Stella Kowalski walked up to the table in a devastatingly handsome blue casual, business dress. She stopped by their table. "Hello, Ray," she greeted, warmly. "Constable Fraser."

        "Good afternoon, Stella," Fraser returned, standing politely, only to have her wave him back down.

        "H...hi, Stella," Ray finally returned, standing and holding out a chair. "You...ah.would you like to sit down?"

        She smiled and surprised him by accepting and Ray almost fell over himself to accommodate her. Finally, they were both settled and she addressed him once more.

        "I heard about you being in the hospital," Stella informed. "I visited a few times, but you were still unconscious."

        "I would have woken immediately if you'd told me you were there," Ray assured quickly and she laughed, turning his spine to butter.

        "Well, I did, Ray, but you still didn't wake up."

        Ray frowned. "I'm sorry."

       Stella covered his shaking hand with one her own. "It isn't your fault," she told him, gently. "I'm just glad you're okay now." She squeezed his hand. "I'm glad I caught you here. I have been thinking and I think we might try again."

        Ray stared at her, a mixture of joy and disbelief on his face. If this is a dream, he thought, please don't let me wake up. he closed his eyes in anticipation. "You mean dat?"

        Stella nodded. "All you have to do is say yes, Ray," she promised. "Just open your eyes and say yes."

        Ray started to laugh, tears forming in his eyes. All he had to do was open his eyes and say yes, and he'd have Stella back. He smiled, opened his eyes, as a single tear drifted from the corned of one eye and blinked a few times.

        "Yes."

        Fraser woke with a start at the sound of his friend's voice, or what almost sounded like Ray's voice, after it had gone unused in a long while.

        He scooted closer to the bed. "Ray?" he asked, with a mixture of uncertain joy in his voice.

        The detective rolled his head, almost painfully toward the Mountie and he saw that Ray was crying.

        "Fraser?" he whispered, confused. "Where's... Stella?"

        Fraser stood up from the chair he'd occupied for the last twelve hours and reached to take Ray's hand. "I don't understand, Ray," he offered, kindly. "I'm the only one here. You just missed Francesca."

        Stella had been to visit her ex-husband, regularly. Fraser had frankly been touched by her concern. He wondered if Ray was remembering one of her visits and was just confused. He imagined of anyone could bring his friend out of his coma it would be Stella.

        Ray started to shake his head, but the very action hurt. "No," he almost sobbed. "We were…she was gonna...try again….I coulda got.... right this... time."

        Fraser shook his head, his friend's pain mirrored in his own eyes. "I'm sorry, Ray, " he offered. "You're in the hospital. You were dreaming." Did Stella make such a promise during one of her visits and Ray had latched on to it in his unconscious state?

        Ray turned his head away so the Mountie wouldn't see the fresh tears that formed in his eyes, not that his partner hadn't seen him cry before, but somehow he didn't want Fraser to know how much the dream had affected him. A dream, just a stupid dream, Ray should have known. Stella was never coming back to him.

        He realized that Fraser was saying something and, after getting control of himself, he turned back to meet his partner's concerned gaze; he'd missed those eyes, those beautiful blue eyes. His eyes widened at the thought. Wow! What kinda drugs did they have him on?

        "Frase, h...how long?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

        "You've been in a coma for one week, two days, nine hours and…" Fraser glanced at his watch. "Thirty two minutes, Ray."

        Ray smiled, as much as the stiff muscles in his face would allow him to anyway. Leave it to Fraser to be exact.

        "I need to go get the Doctor, Ray," Fraser continued.

        Ray released his hand and nodded, his throat already parched from the small amount of talking he had already managed.

        Fraser quickly returned with an older, bearded doctor, that sort of reminded Ray of the actor that portrayed Dr. Marcus Welby MD on a television series years ago. He smiled at Ray and the detective decided he had kind eyes, the kind of twinkling expression you'd expect Santa Claus to have, as he took Ray's vitals.

        "You gave us quite a scare, young man," the Doctor enforced as he checked Ray's pupils with his penlight. "How do you feel?"

        Ray hurt absolutely everywhere, but he didn't know how to convey it. "My hair hurts."

        The Doctor chuckled as he registered Ray's pulse. "Yes," he agreed, smiling. "I imagine it does." He made a note on Ray's chart then asked him to open as wide as he could so his mouth could be examined. "I am Doctor Farnell, I've been waiting for you to wake up and tell me what's going in inside that body of yours so we can fix it."

        Ray grimaced and closed his mouth as Dr. Farnell took the tongue depressor away. "I feel like crap," he admitted.

        Dr. Farnell laughed, heartily. "At least your spirit hasn't been affected," he concluded. "We'll keep you on the IV for another twenty four hours, then we'll put you on soft food, if you can take it. You can have all the water or juice you like, but no caffeine or sugar for awhile, until your body has had time to adjust."

        Ray groaned and Fraser couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips. Ray, without caffeine? No coffee or soda? The man may very well slip back into a coma.

        "I...go home?" he managed to croak, but the doctor shook his head.

        "Not for awhile yet, I'm afraid," he refused. "You still have three broken ribs that are starting to heal and it will take you a few days to readjust to everything." He smiled and patted Ray's hand. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Detective."

        Ray offered him a small smile, and then watched him leave.

        Fraser, who had been standing further back while the Doctor checked his patient, stepped closer to the bed. "Is there anything I can get for you, Ray?" he offered, quietly.

        "Coffee."

        Fraser smiled. "How about some water?" he countered, pouring some water into a glass from a pitcher on the bed locker.

        " 'kay," Ray agreed.

         Fraser helped him to sit up and sip some of the water. It helped the dryness, but hurt like hell. He signalled he'd had enough and Fraser settled him gently back onto the pillow. God he felt terrible. He almost considered trying to go back into the coma, at least then he didn't feel so rotten.

        "Better?" asked Fraser, referring to the water.

        Ray nodded, then winced as an explosion of colour settled behind his eyes. "Where's Dief?" he asked, suddenly.

        "Francesca's taking care of him for me."

        Ray observed the circles under his partner's eyes and the worry lines around his mouth. He was paler than normal and his eyes were slightly bloodshot. It touched him in a way he couldn't fathom that the Mountie had been so devoted.

        "How long you been here, Frase?" he asked, his throat starting to feel better.

        After a moment the Mountie flushed and look away guiltily. "Not long." he assured, knowing Ray didn't believe him even as he said it.

        "Why don't…" Ray took a breath, willing his vocal cords to relax enough for him to speak. "Go home and sleep. I'll be okay."

        Fraser shook his head. "I'm fine, Ray," he protested, trying not to think about the sheer exhaustion of his body or the sore muscles he'd contracted from too many nights in that chair. "I've slept some."

        "Go home, Fraser." ordered Ray, firmly. "I'll be here tomorrow. I ain't goin' anywhere fer awhile, looks like."

        Fraser allowed himself a small smile. "I can stay," he offered once more.

         Ray shook his head, worried the staff would end up admitting his partner as well. "Nah, go." he insisted. "I'll see ya tomorrow."

        Fraser nodded and retrieved his hat. He had started to leave then turned back, and odd expression on his face. "I'm….I am very glad you woke up, Ray. I would have missed you if…"

        Ray watched a flicker of emotions pass over his friend's face. "Me too, Frase," he offered, quietly.

        Fraser nodded and put his hat on. "Good night, Ray," he said with a smile. "I'll see you in the morning."

        "Noon," Ray amended, sternly. He wanted the Mountie to get some sleep, as it was already after midnight, according to the clock on the locker beside him.

        Fraser nodded. "Understood." 

        Ray watched him leave and finally allowed his tears to flow. It had all been a dream. God how could his own subconscious be so cruel. He wiped the moisture from his face angrily and observed the many different machines he was hooked up to. He sighed, how depressing… no Stella and no coffee!
 

________________________

 

        Ray's folks and the Vecchio's dropped in less than an hour later, each taking turns, so as not to exhaust Ray, per the Doctor's orders. Fraser had called them, and because of Ray's cover, the Kowalski's were introduced as friends of the Vecchio family.

        Ma was her usual fussy self, Francesca gave him a hug and was cracking jokes, and Maria brought Ray some car magazines to look through, during his stay. Ray's Mother had cried with relief and had to be physically pried from her son by Damien. Barbara had then settled on the bed next to Ray, keeping hold of his hand, caressing his cheek, constantly touching him as they talked. Ray's father didn't say much, he rarely did, but Ray understood that Damien was also relieved and happy that Ray would recover. Stella had arrived, shortly after, and then everyone left them alone.

        Stella settled on the bed and surprised Ray by pulling him into her embrace, holding him there for a long, tender moment. Time seemed to stop and allow a reprieve from their past problems.

        Ray closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of being in the arms of The Stella, for however briefly. It felt so good to hold her, to be held by her. He cherished the times that she had allowed him to touch her. It made the dream that more prominent and Ray was filled with regret once again.

        Finally, almost reluctantly, Stella pulled back and smiled at him. "You gave Mum and Dad quite a scare, Ray," she scolded. "Don't ever do that again."

        Ray frowned and lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, Stella."

        Stella scoffed. "Oh for heaven's sake, Ray! I don't mean for you to apologize. You were just doing your job; we know that. I was just trying to explain how worried everyone was."

        Ray raised his eyes to hers, again. "Everyone, Stella?"

        Stella smirked and leaned in to kiss his nose. "Of course, everyone," she insisted. "And if I find out this was all some trick to get me to come see you, Ray, I'll wring you're neck."

        Ray grinned and shook his head, pleasure filling his heart. Stella had been worried about him that was something, wasn't it? "No tricks," he assured, softly. He shyly reached for her hand, glad when she didn't pull away as she often did. "Stella, I love you."

        Stella stiffened for an instant and Ray immediately thought he'd screwed up again and said the wrong thing. However, Stella didn't get angry with him, or pull away and leave. She squeezed his hand, leaned in and touched her lips to his briefly, startling him.

        "I love you too, Ray," she whispered, close to his ear. "You should never doubt that. We just can't..."

        Ray nodded. They just couldn't be together anymore. It still didn't keep him from wanting her to kiss him again. He would walk a thousand miles over hot, burning coals for one of Stella's kisses. He lowered his eyes to their joined hands, wishing that things could be different for them.

        "Ray?"

        He glanced up at her.

        "What are you thinking?"

        Ray smirked. "You know what I'm thinkin', Stella."

        Stella sighed and shook her head. She started to pull her hand away but Ray tightened his grip.

        "I'm just thinkin' it, Stella," he protested, quickly. "I'm not sayin' it or expectin' it ta happen. Please?"

        Stella couldn't refuse him; he'd been through so much; they all had. Stella had almost fainted, when Lieutenant Welsh contacted her about Ray's fall from the roof and drug overdose. How had he managed to get himself into such a situation, was beyond Stella, but Ray always did have a way of finding the most trouble in the least possible situation. That was why he was such a good cop; he noticed things most people never thought twice about.

        Stella smiled, kicked off her shoes, and despite hospital regulation, she curled up beside her ex-husband. She wanted to give him comfort and show that she really would be devastated if anything every happened to him.

        Ray carefully moved over to make room for her, his heartbeat throbbing in his chest as he wrapped an arm around her and she laid her head against his shoulder. This was what made life worth living, these little moments when the Stella let him love her as he was born to, and forgot all about their past mistakes.

        They both drifted off to sleep moments later.
 

____________________

       A few days later, the nurses continued to check Ray's vitals, feed him something that resembled mashed potatoes, soup and pudding, and eventually found him a deck of cards to amuse himself, since he was bored and couldn't sleep.

         He paused in mid throw, half of a deck of cards in his hand, the other in, or scattered around, the bedpan on the end of his bed as Agent Handler knocked on his partially closed door.

        "Whatever it is," he began, warily. "I was here the whole time so, it wasn't me." He was surprised when she laughed and entered.

        "Oh, I'm sure I could make it stick if I had to," she promised, amused. She was dressed in a simple v-neck, light blue blouse and navy slacks. Her arm was in a thin white sling. "How're you doing, Vecchio?"

        Ray felt the remnants of his dream coming back and glanced down at the cards in his pan, thoughtfully. "Never been better," he replied, indicating her arm. "How's the shoulder?"

        Handler grimaced, frustrated. "A bad fracture, but the Doctor said it should be completely healed in a few more days, he just wants me to keep the sling on for another day; damn annoying thing it is."

        Ray grinned and returned his gaze to hers. "Yah," he agreed. "I hate the things myself." A silence fell between them for a moment; until finally Ray couldn't keep quiet any longer. "Mind if I ask ya somethin'?"

        "I'm surprised you bothered to ask my permission," Handler observed, raising an eyebrow. "That knock on your head may have done you some good."

        Ray made a face at her. "Thanks a lot," he returned, sullenly.

        Handler couldn't help but smile at his pout. Oh com'on, Ray, surely that knock to your head hasn't ruined your sense of sarcasm, she thought, amused. "What was your question?" she offered.

       Ray hesitated for a few minutes. "I...I had a dream while I was…" he paused looking for the right word. "…sleepin', an' I was wonderin' if….well…if you had been here fer real or if I imagined it."

        "Do you remember me visiting you?" she countered tilting her head, thoughtfully.

        Ray sighed. He really didn't want to look foolish, and the fact that he in the dream she kissed him would make him so. "I…in the dream, you were sayin' some pretty rotten stuff ta me, but I think you were just sayin' those things to get me to respond." He shrugged. "In the dream I woke up and…" He didn't have the guts to mention the kiss. "You seemed pretty happy that I did."

        Handler stood watching him quietly for a moment, digesting his words. "Well, " she finally said. "Your subconscious can play tricks on you. Perhaps, you were associating my being here with us being together, just before the accident, and putting the two together."

        Ray regarded her for a moment, and then looked away, feeling like an idiot. "Yah," he muttered. "That must'a been it, then."

        "I'm sure it was," Handler assured, pulling up the chair close to the bed and sitting down. "Mind if I ask you some questions?" She noticed his suddenly wary look and she hurried to explain. "In a professional capacity, of course."

        Ray nodded, that he would do. "Shoot," he offered, absently continuing his game.

        "How much do you remember about being at the house?" she inquired in her best professional tone. "Specifically after we were separated from Constable Fraser." Did he remember their heated exchange in that sealed room? How much of his behaviour in the drug-induced state did he recall?

        Ray nodded. "I remember the room, yah. Some weird things started happenin' and then there was the gas…"

        Handler sat up more erect. "What gas?" She didn't remember any gas.

        Ray shrugged. "I couldn't tell where it was comin' from, but there was gas in that room, I smelled it just before we passed out."

        She glared at him. "You told me I fainted!"

        Ray grinned. "Well, yah," he admitted, easily. "Ya did pass out, from the gas."

        "You said that I fainted." Handler accused, indignantly. "Passing out from some unseen gas does not constitute fainting, Detective."

        "Whatever," Ray sighed; pleased he'd managed to get her dander up. "Ya wanna hear the rest or what?"

        Handler bit down on her anger, this was the Vecchio she had come to know, sarcastic and impatient. She nodded curtly for him to proceed.
 
        "Let's see…" Ray gathered his thoughts. "I remember wakin' up in that garret tied to a chair." He rolled his eyes, dramatically. "Oh yah, you were there too."

        Handler cast him a look that would freeze meat, but didn't interrupt him.

        "That guy Jennings came in and.." Ray frowned and realized there was a gap in his memory from that point. "I remember him putting….I think he had a gun, maybe even my gun." He shrugged, apologetically. "That part's a little fuzzy. Anyway I remember you screamin' something about a syringe and then…" Again Ray drew a blank.

        Handler scowled. "And then what, Vecchio?"

        "I don't remember…" Ray admitted. "No, wait! You hurt your arm, I remember you fallin' and hurting your arm and I remember my hands hurt." He glanced down at the palms of his hands where the tiny scars were starting to heal. He looked back at Handler. "How did I hurt my hands?"

        "You cut them on the broken mirror," she explained, briefing him on his efforts to rescue them.

        Ray seemed a little taken back by her story, but continued. "Anyway, I don't really remember much else, until the girl in the window."

        Handler sat forward, intrigued. "What girl, Vecchio?" she demanded. "Was there someone else in the house that we aren't aware of? You mentioned her after you fell, also. Who was she?"

        Ray shook his head. "I don't think she ever told me her name," he admitted, quietly. "She was real pretty, didn't look like she was a prisoner there, maybe just a neighbourhood kid." He smiled remembering the girl's sweet smile and gentle eyes.

        Handler cleard her throat, impatiently.

        "She wanted me to go with her through the window," Ray continued, "like maybe there was somethin' I need to see. "

        "So she was the one who told you to get on the roof?" asked Handler, frowning. Well, at least one mystery solved.

       Ray shook his head, he didn't remember the girl ever speaking. "She didn't actually say so," he denied. "But, I understood dat to be what she wanted." he shrugged. "Anyway, I remember she led me to an open window, just down from the garret." He smiled, remembering he hadn't been the slightest bit apprehensive about their descent, while the girl held his hand. He shook his head to clear away the thoughts, his smile disappearing. "I saw Jennings holdin' you in the room. I...I think Fraser was there too."

        Handler nodded. Young had also been present, but that was irrelevant. "What happened to the girl?" 

        "I dunno," Ray admitted. "I guess she went home."

        "Vecchio, why would she just up and go home?" reasoned Handler. "How did she get off the roof?"

        "I don't know!" snapped Ray, angry that her questions caused him to recognize his error.

        Ray had forgotten about her. The girl with the sweetest face he had ever seen, who helped take the pain away. He remembered that the pain had disappeared once he'd reached the window and he'd never questioned it. He hadn't noticed her departure, or know if she had fallen or something even worse. But, Handler said no one else had ever seen her, so logically if she'd fallen her body would have been found; wouldn't it?

        "Vecchio?" insisted Handler, for the third time, noticing the detective had gotten a fearful expression and was suddenly lost in thought.

        "What?" Ray replied, finally.

        "I didn't mean too insinuate anything," she assured. "I'm just curious as to who she was. You weren't exactly in any condition to think clearly, anyway."
 

        Ray remained silent. Handler apologizing? Now Ray was beginning to suspect he was dreaming again. He pinched himself. Yep, he felt real. He reached across and pinched Handler's good arm.

        "OW!" Handler rubbed at her arm, startled. "What the hell did you do that for, Vecchio?"

        Ray shrugged. "Just checkin' if I was dreaming."

        Handler glared at him, irritably. "Have you lost your mind?"

        Ray shrugged again, and carefully adjusted his pillow so he could slide further down in the bed. "Maybe. I'm tired, Handler. Can we finish this later?" His head was starting to hurt and he didn't want to answer anymore of her stupid questions.

        Besides, Ray wanted to think more on that girl, see what he could remember and fill in some of the gaps in his memory, before he gave her any more information. No sense looking like an idiot when he couldn't give her a straight answer.

      However, Handler wasn't used to being put on hold and she pressed forward. "Can you give me a description of the girl, Vecchio?"

        "Maybe later," Ray deflected, absently. He set his cards on the tray by the bed, adjusted his sheets and closed his eyes.

        "What about a name? Did she tell you her name?" Handler frowned when she was ignored. "Vecchio! This is important. Are you listening to me?"

       "No, go away," Ray, returned, wishing he could turn on his side, but his injured ribs wouldn't allow that. "I'm tired, Handler."

      Fraser knocked politely on the door and Ray opened his eyes. He waved his partner in eagerly, his apparent tiredness forgotten as his eyes automatically latched onto the brown paper sack the Mountie held.

        "Hello, agent Handler," Fraser greeted the woman politely, as she rose from the chair. "Am I interrupting something?" 

        "She was just leaving," Ray answered for the agent, as he made a grab for the bag that Fraser held.

        Fraser avoided Ray's attempt. "I really don't think this is a good idea, Ray," he scolded, ignoring the frustrated look in his friend's eyes. "The doctor did say…"

        Ray snatched the bag. "I'm outta here day after tomorrow anyway, Fraser," he reasoned, opening the bag and looking inside. "So it don't matter."

        Fraser rolled his eyes.

        Handler shook her head as she watched Ray pick through the assortment of chocolates, candies, and other sweets. Handler took a peek inside the bag and shook her head. "No wonder you're always bouncing off the walls, Vecchio," she remarked, wryly.

        Ray ignored the comment and surprised her by offering her some candy, secretly pleased when she accepted a couple and popped them into her mouth. He offered some to Fraser, knowing the Mountie would turn down the sweets, which he did.

       Ray continued munching in delight. "I get outta here an' the first thing I'm gettin' is a pizza."

        A nurse entered and spied the bag on Ray's hand, and the assortment of treats he had dumped out on the bed, during his search. She gave him a reprimanding stare and reached for the bag, shocked when he slapped her hand away form his treasure.

        "Mr. Vecchio!" she admonished.

        "People have died fer less," Ray warned with a convincing look.

        "But the Doctor…" stammered the nurse.

         Ray ignored Fraser's reproving stare. "I will shoot you, if you try it again," he vowed.

        The nurse shot a questioning glance at Fraser.

        "He does tend to get a little protective of his candy, Ma'am," the Mountie admitted.

        Handler gave her a solemn look. "Perhaps just this once," she suggested. "To avoid any unwarranted bloodshed."

        The nurse visibly paled and left the room, rather quickly.

        Ray chuckled contentedly and tossed a toffee at the agent for her help. She smiled and caught it, with her good hand, amused.

        Fraser shook his head at their appalling behavior.

        "Thanks for droppin' by," Ray offered.

        Handler nodded, realizing that even though his mood had improved, she was not going to get any further information out of him today. She snatched another caramel off the bed and popped it into her mouth. "I'll be back tomorrow, Vecchio," she warned. "Be ready to talk, because I won't be leaving, until I get some answers."

        "Yah, yah," Ray dismissed her with a haughty wave. "I'll bring the oil fer the thumbscrews."

        Handler stopped, just outside the door, and listened for a moment longer as Fraser scolded Ray for his behavior and the detective laughed it off, claiming it was better than the alternative. She frowned, thinking about his earlier questions. Did Ray hear the things she'd said to him a few nights ago? She wondered if he remembered her leaning down to kiss him as well, and if that was what he had seemed hesitant to ask her about. Her frown deepened, why did she lie to him about her presence? Why should it matter? She shook her head and wandered on down the hall, she had things to do.
 
 
 

        "Are you sure?" asked Ray, as he pulled up to the old house in his mint GTO. Handler, Thatcher, and Fraser were all in the vehicle with him. Ray shivered as a feeling of déjà vu washed over him, as they all stepped out into the warm afternoon air.

        Fraser noticed the discrete reaction and glanced at his friend concerned. "We don't have to do this, Ray," he murmured as they retrieved battery lanterns from the trunk, which would give them much more light then on their first visit.

        Ray shook his head and accepted one of the two lamps. "I'm good, Fraser."

        He glanced up at the window, from where he had fallen, and shivered again. He hadn't expected to feel this weird about returning to this place. After all, Ray had much worse things happen to him, than what had occurred in the house during his last visit. Yet, for some reason, the house made him more apprehensive than he should be. Maybe, it was just the subtle changes in the people around him, or at least in their attitude toward him. 

        Handler seemed to be going out of her way to be pleasant, and although Fraser always seemed concern for him, the Mountie didn't usually hover as much as he had been doing lately. Francesca had been unusually quiet around Ray at work, as though sensing he wasn't in the mood for her chatter. She was being exceptionally helpful and pleasant and hadn't lost a file in almost a week. Thatcher was almost too agreeable to lend Fraser to their visit back to the house, insisting she accompany him. She claimed she was intrigued by what she had learned of the house, from her subordinate. Everyone's behavior was kind of freaking Ray out, like he was in an episode of the Twilight Zone or something equally strange.

         "Boy, ya almost by the farm and everyone gets delusions of hospitality," he muttered to himself.

    "Ray?" inquired Fraser beside him, pulling the detective out of his daydream.

          Ray rolled his head, cracked his neck, and lit his lamp. He headed up the steps. "Pitter patter," he encouraged as they followed. "Let's get at'er."

        The four entered the house and stood in the hall as Ray returned to the question he'd asked Handler in the car. "You're sure no one around here has seen that kid, hey?"

        The agent shook her head and unrolled the blueprints the owner had given her. "No one lives within ten miles of this area, and those who are in that range have no kids matching your girl's description." She frowned. "Everyone was full of history about this old place, though."
 
        "Like what?" Thatcher inquired, intrigued. She turned in a small circle, awed at the beautiful architecture around them, despite its state of disrepair.
 
        "Well, it seems, the owner, a Mr. Marthendow, bought this place about five years ago, with the idea that he'd restore it and turn it into a bed and breakfast." Handler commented as she laid the prints onto a hall table and glanced over them with Kowalski and Fraser. "He claims that the workmen he'd hired kept getting lost or complaining of strange happenings."
 
        "Oh goodie," Ray muttered. "A ghost story, and me with out my marshmallows. I think I'd rather hear one of Fraser's Inuit tales." He saw Fraser open his mouth to comply, but shut it again when he received a warning look from his partner. "I'm kidding, Frase."
 
        "Ah." The Mountie nodded. "Understood, Ray." He nodded to Handler politely. "Please continue."
 
        Handler was caught off guard by Fraser's urging. She had been enjoying the delicious scent of Ray's cologne. She glanced at the Constable, puzzled, then nodded as it registered what he wanted.

        "Yes." She cleared her throat, reprimanding herself for letting the good-looking detective to get under her skin. "Apparently, he couldn't find anyone willing to help him with the refinishing." She waved her hand around them. "And obviously the house needed a lot of work, even though almost all of the original furniture was still intact. He finally happened on three drifters, who claimed to be good with their hands. They agreed to do the work, but had only been working here a week, when two of them took off, ranting some nonsense about the house having eaten their friend Johnny."
 
       Ray smirked. "Yah, I hate it when dat happens." 

         Handler spared him an exasperated look for the joke, and then continued. "Needless to say, no one else would work here and Mr. Marthendow couldn't sell the place, so he's stuck with this eye sore."
 
     "Why doesn't he just tear it down and build a new one?" suggested Ray, close to Handler's ear.

        Startled, the agent glanced up at him. Didn't he realize how close they were standing? He was gazing intently at the prints on the table and didn't seem to notice her appraisal of him. 

        Thatcher took it upon herself to answer his question. "As I suspected, Detective," she began, dryly. "Your taste is all in your mouth. This house is a priceless piece of workmanship." She indicated the woodworking around the fireplace. "This in hand-carved mahogany, very rare to find nowadays. Everyone puts in that plastic crap that is supposed to look like wood." She ran a hand over the stones. "And this is actual limestone, which hasn't been used inside a home for centuries." She sighed. "There are so few great tributes like this left in the country. The owner would be mad to tear it down, and you obviously cannot appreciate great art." 

        "Well, thank you Bob Villa," Ray retorted.

        Handler interceded, slightly annoyed that the Inspector had been so condescending to the cop beside her. After all, putting Vecchio in his place was her job, not Thatcher's. "Actually, Inspector," she returned in the same neutral tone. "Marthendow did consider it, but when he went to attain the permits he was besieged by one of the historical societies who insisted it was a landmark and that it couldn't be it torn down. An Irish immigrant, who later became a prominent inventor here in Chicago, built the house in the late 1800's. It was passed down from father to son, until 1945 when some kind of tragedy struck and the people who lived in the house moved out, then died shortly after."
 
        "All of 'em?" asked Ray surprised.

        "Well, there was only the man who owned the house and his younger brother," explained Handler, trying to remember the details.
 
        "Didn't they have any heirs to pass the house onto?" inquired Fraser. 

          Handler shook her head. "The owner, Samuel O'Flynn, I believe was his name, did have a wife and daughter, but people say the wife took the girl and left one night and never returned. O'Flynn closed up the house and he and his brother left, neither marrying afterward. It remained empty, until it was finally sold in the late seventies, but the owners didn’t remain a year, before they moved out and tried to sell it. The house passed hands three times, before Mr. Marthendow finally bought it an estate auction. He found the blue prints for this place during the reconstruction."

        "Why didn't someone try and find the wife and kid?" asked Ray. "It was her house too, and her daughter." 

        Handler shrugged. "Everyone seemed to have a difference of oppinion on that part," she admitted. "Some say they were found, but the Mother refused to have anything to do with the house. Others claim they think O'Flynn murdered them and hid the bodies in the house, or on the property. One lady said they were abducted by aliens, and others just said that they vanished and couldn't be found." 

        Ray shivered, suddenly remembering the skeleton he'd found in that pit. He mentioned it to them and both had admitted that they had forgotten about it, also, due to everything else that was going on at the time.
 
        "Perhaps we should call…" began Fraser, but Handler already had her phone out and was dialling. She asked a coroner and forensics team to come to the house. When she had hung up, Ray spoke.
 
        "How the hell are we supposed to get the body out of there?" he demanded. "'Cause I sure as hell ain't swingin' down that pit again." 

        Fraser spoke up. "Agent Young claimed that he was thrown outside, when he fell down the well, Ray," he informed, glancing over the plans and indicating an area on the prints. "This may be a way into the pit through the basement area."

        Handler nodded, mapped out the safest route to their destination, and then rolled up the plans. "Shall we?" she inquired, with forced cheerfulness. 

        The two men followed with their lanterns, Thatcher staying close to Fraser, while still looking around. They passed through the poolroom, and Ray couldn’t help but glance over into the water. He'd already replaced both of his guns, the one that was at the bottom of the pool and ruined, and the one Jennings had confescated. That one had been damaged in the fall from the window.

       They found the designated wall, which the plans showed led to a secret passage and pulled it open. A terrible stench filled their nostrils. Ray and Thatcher retreated and covered their nose and mouth. Ray remembered that smell. Fraser was the first to move in, then Thatcher and Handler. Finally Ray reluctantly followed, replacing the hand in front of his face with a handkerchief to block some of the smell.
 
        They walked quietly through the narrow passage, with only the sound of Thatcher's low heels echoing as she walked, until came to what seemed like rock wall. 

         Fraser swung his lamp around, looking for the trigger mechanism, but the walls were solid, with no apparent creases or crevices. 

          Ray leaned against the left side of the wall, relieved that it didn't go where he feared it would, and he immediately fell backwards into another chamber. He heard Fraser call his name, as he grabbed for the lamp that had slipped from his hand. Ray finally stopped rolling and found himself in a room of solid rock walls. Glad the lamp was made of a durable plastic, he quickly rose and surveyed the area.
 
       He glanced at the small slope he had rolled down, then up at the metal, ramp a few feet above him. A steep, set of stairs descended towards the farthest side of the room. A large, stone table protruded from one of the walls and there were two wooden chairs. Looked like some kind of interrogation or torture chamber. Ray could feel air coming from behind, as the others carefully joined him.
 
       "That's one way of finding it Vecchio," teased Handler.

        Ray ignored her and pointed to the ramp. "Think that's what Young took on his ride outside?" he asked the Mountie. 

        Fraser raised his lamp and expected the ramp, thoughtfully. It was certainly wide enough to hold a human and it looked to be made of slick, solid steel, so it would more than support a person's weight "Quite possibly," he surmised, and then swung his lamp toward the stairs, opposite. "So that probably leads…." 

         Ray shivered."Yah," he agreed, reluctantly. "Which means the...udder things might be there too."

         "I doubt they'd still be there, Detective." Handler denied, calmly. "Unless of course you’re scared of a little spider."
 

        Fraser broke the silence. "Shall we investigate to make sure," he suggested, watching Ray's expression, intently. "Or, we could wait for the others to get here?" 

         Ray glanced over at Handler, who seemed anxious to press on. He sighed."Let's go."

        Ray headed down the stairs, before he lost his nerve. They seemed to descend for quite a while, until Ray felt his ears pop. He mentioned it to Fraser.

     "We are probably below sea level at this point, Ray," the Mountie explained as they rounded the corner and their lights caught the small, cramped corner that held the corpse.

        Unfortunately, and much to Ray's dismay, their intrusion also woke the family of arachnids that lived around it and they had started to advance

     "Go! Go! GO!" yelled Ray to the others behind him. The four-scrambled back up the steps, much faster than when they had gone down, and ran into the open room. 

          Thatcher, who had been in the back, had already darted up the slope and through the opening to the outer corridor. 

         Fraser followed his superior and tried to find the lever for the wall that Ray had fallen through, but his search was in vain; as though the wall simply didn't exist anymore.
 
        Ray and Handler had only gotten partially into the room, when Fraser warned of the scurrying predators behind them. Ray dropped his lamp on the stone table and hopped up, pulling Handler with him. He hoped the slab would hold, as it had no legs to brace it, just the wall behind that it was moulded against. 

         Fraser had started to come back into the room to help, but the floor was already covered with the eight-legged beasts.
 
      "Go find the others," Handler ordered, tossing him her phone. "Call for an exterminator or something to take care of these things." 

           Fraser hesitated, reluctant to leave them. "Go, Fraser," Ray encouraged. "We'll be okay, just hurry."

          Fraser nodded and he and Thatcher dashed off, a few of the tarantulas trailing after them.

          Ray new the Mountie would easily outrun the eight legged beasts and that Thatcher was probably a good runner herself, so they would be safe enough. He was more concerned with the swarm of spiders below them that didn't seem willing to move away, either back to their hole or into the outer area, as though sensing there was still fresh meat somewhere in the room. Handler was backing up as far on the table as she could.
 
       "What's a'matter, Handler?" Ray couldn't resist taunting, disguising his fear with sarcasm. "Afraid of a little spider?" 

        She gave him a muted look. "You didn't say there would be so many," she defended. "Or so big."

        Ray grunted. "What the hell did you think that thing was Fraser took off of me, the last time I went in there, a grasshopper?"
 
        Handler shrugged, not willing to admit her fear had prevented her from looking when the Constable had pulled the tarantula out from beneath the detective's shirt. 

        They stood in silence for a few moments, each berating the other. Ray glanced at the chairs that were a few feet from the table. If only they could get to them, maybe make their way across to the door, or even to that ramp above and get outside.
 
       Handler screamed, jarring Ray from his thoughts and he instinctually pulled her against him and kicked the tarantula off the edge of the table. The damn things were starting to jump up to their position. The others would find a way to reach them soon and he couldn't help thinking they'd end up like the people in Kingdom of the Spiders, cocooned for all time in a giant, suffocating web. He shook his head; he had to stop watching so many horror flicks.

     Ray noticed that Handler hadn't moved away from him, as she usually did whenever they came in contact. In fact she seemed to be moving closer, which surprised him. He slowly lifted his arm to her waist, expecting her to push him away or slap him, instigating another of their famous shoving matches, but she curled into him instead and that meant she was really frightened.
 
       "Fraser'll be back any minute," he assured, swallowing his own fear in the face of her anxiety. 

      She nodded, her eyes glued to the crawling creatures below them. "I hate spiders," she stated resolutely, as a small shiver descended over her.
 
        "They ain't exactly my favourite either," admitted Ray, wryly, trying to ignore the sweet smell of jasmine that seemed to surround her. He tried to think of something that would take their minds off their dilemma, until Fraser returned. "So, tell me, what was I like when I was high?" he asked. He didn't really want to know, but it was all he could think of at the moment.

        Handler smiled a little. "Different," she commented, slyly. "Very different." 

        Now Ray was curious. "Different, how?" he asked cautiously, receiving another small smile from her.
 
      "Well, you wanted to dance, instead of go downstairs," she informed, stepping back, as Ray kicked a second spider off the table, that had found it's way to them.
 
        "Well, that ain't so different," he replied. "I love to dance, always have."

        Handler nodded. That would certainly explain why he was so good at it, she thought.

        "What else?" Ray wanted to keep her talking, as he tried to figure a way out of this mess. Who knew that spiders could jump? Dirty little buggers, how fair was that? Sure, Spiderman could jump, but he was a superhero, so Ray never made the connection.
 
        "Well, you flipped back and forth pretty quickly," Handler continued as they edged closer to the other side of the table, which didn't leave them a lot of room to manoeuvre. "One minute you were Fred Astair, the next Hitler."

        Ray raised an eyebrow.

         "Well, not Hitler, exactly. You just suddenly became angry and paranoid."
 
        "What did I say?" he asked quietly. "I didn't hurt you did I?"

         Handler quickly shook her head. "No, you seemed more frustrated than angry, actually." She shrugged. "You kept taking offence to me saying your name and then you were babbling something about he's not me and I'm not him…just nonsense." 

        Ray grew quiet, had he blown his cover? "What name did you call me, by?"

     "Vecchio of course." she countered. "Why, how many names do you have?" 

        Ray shook his head. "I guess I wasn't real clear headed at the time," he offered, slowly. "Did I…did I say anything else?"

        "Not really at that point." Handler frowned. "You did seem to believe you were my boyfriend, that is Vecchio was my boyfriend, or something." She sighed. "You were very hard to understand."
 
        "Yah," agreed Kowalski, running a hand through his hair. "I'll bet." He kicked a third spider from the table, and then noticed one had started to scale the wall behind them. "Com'on Fraser." 
 
        Suddenly, the table beneath them jerked and started to retract into the wall.
 
        "Ray!" exclaimed Handler franticly, as they moved closer to the edge and the wall continued to swallow their only sanctuary from the spiders below. 

          Ray desperately searched the wall for a button, a crack, anything that would stop the table's movement. Defeated he grabbed her hand. "Jump!" he ordered, pointing to the chairs, which now seemed even further away.
 
        "I can't jump that far!" Handler protested, her gaze drawn to the retreating table beneath them and the horde of hungry Tarantulas below.
 
       "Yes you can," Ray insisted. "It's the chairs or the floor." 

       Handler looked down again and shivered. She said a quick prayer and jumped, shakily landing on the chair. She then jumped to the chair next to it, which was only about two feet away from the first.

        Ray jumped, and almost toppled as his feet hit the chair, but he managed to right himself, quickly.

        However, the spiders had already starting to jump on the chairs and attached themselves to the legs of the chairs.

        "Move over as much as you can," Ray demanded.

       Handler repositioned herself on her chair, accordingly.

         Ray jumped to her chair, leaving very little room to manoeuvre. He carefully bent down and reached back for the other chair, while Handler held his hand for balance. Ray caught hold of the back of the chair and tried to shake off the spiders that were on it. He placed that chair in front of them. They stepped across and repeated the process.

         Slowly, they made their way towards the exit, using the two chairs as alternating stepping-stones. They were just under the ramp when a rumbling sound indicated their escape was about to be blocked by the connecting wall. Even if they jumped from where they were and ran the rest of the way, the wall would be sealed, before they could get to it.
 
       "We're not going to make it," Handler warned, her voice shook slightly with fear. She cried out and shook off a spider that had crawled onto her leg.

          "Easy!" Ray cautioned, as the chair rocked beneath them. "You'll tip us over." Ray glanced around and his eyes fell on the ramp almost directly above them.

         "Vecchio!" Handler warned, as two more spiders leapt onto the chair, while the back of the chair became a stepping-stones for them.

           Ray swore and pulled off his jacket, and then his polo shirt. He shrugged back into the jacket, pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the shirt on fire, using it to singe the arachnids that were converging on them. Ray glanced up again, after clearing most of the spiders off the chair, and then dropped the shirt at the base of the chair, causing the rest to scurry back from one side.

        Handler pulled off her suit jacket and held it out for him to do the same thing, so they had fire on either side. Now, it was a question of which would creep up the chair first, the spiders, or the fire.

     Ray reached above them and caught hold of the sides of the ramp, wincing as the sharp edge of the steel cut into the soft flesh of his palms. He took a deep breath and hoisted himself upward, his arms shaking with the effort, as he swung his long legs up to wrap around the slide. After a bit of a struggle, he managed to pull himself over, but he had to grip the sides more securely, to keep from sliding down the slick surface.
 
        Ray reached down to Handler with his free hand, noticing the fire was keeping the spiders at bay, but had already started to climb the chair. The agent caught his hand and reached up with her other hand toward the edge. Ray grimaced in pain, as the chore of pulling her up tore at his still fragile ribs and the palm of his hand. 

        Finally, Handler was beside him, or rather atop of him, as Ray was still trying to keep them from sliding down the ramp. Their combined weight on the downward angle was too much and he had too let go, sending them spiralling down to wherever the slide would take them. He wrapped his arms around Handler, to keep from cutting them further on the side and she clung to him with her arms around his neck and shoulders.
 
       They shot forward so fast, Ray wondered if the damn thing had been waxed. He had difficulty catching his breath, and he could hear Handler gasping as well. They rounded a corner at break-neck speed and Ray's head hit the wall, causing him to almost lose consciousness. Ray shook it off, willing himself to stay awake, until the dizziness was replaced by a hard throbbing. Handler was trying to pull herself further up over him, perhaps her hold was slipping, and Ray realized his head wasn't the only thing throbbing. Dear God, don't let her notice.

       Suddenly a wave of fresh air and sunshine hit them, and they were airborne for about fifteen seconds, before being unceremoniously dumped in the bushes below. During their trip from the air to the ground, the momentum had pulled them apart, and Handler landed on her backside, while Ray landed half on his back and half on his left side. 

        Ray groaned and tried to sit up, disengaging himself from the grasping arms of the prickly bushes. He literally crawled out of the patch and extended a hand to Handler, who was still struggling. Finally, the two of them lay on the dirt-covered ground of the forest around them, Ray on his back with one of his legs bent upward and Handler curled up on her side.
 
        "Anything broken?" Ray gasped, his voice slightly shaky from left over adrenaline, as he tried to catch his breath and not think of the awful pain in his chest and hands.

         Handler muttered something that may have been a denial.

        Ray took a deep breath and instantly regretted it as it caused another spasm of pain to rock through him. 

        Handler crawled closer to him and peered down into his eyes concerned. "Are you hurt?" she inquired, quickly.
 
      "I'll be okay," Ray hissed, struggling to pull his phone from his jacket pocket. "What's yer number?" she told him and he dialled it.
 
       "Hello, this is Special Agent Handler's cellular telephone and…" 
 
      "Fraser, it's me."

       "Ray!" declared Fraser relieved. "We tried to return for you, but another time lock must have closed the outside wall in the poolroom and we could not reopen it. I was so worried, but there are people here now to help and we can…"
 
    "Fraser!" snapped Ray. "We ain't in there."
 
     "I don't understand, Ray," Fraser returned, confused. "How did you…."

     "Never mind," Ray growled, irritably. We're in the forest, somewhere. Wherever Young said he ended up. Come find us will'ya?"
 
      "Of course, Ray. Are you injured? Should I…"
 
       "Just come get us, Frase. I'll tell ya the rest when ya get here."
 
        "Understood, Ray," Fraser acknowledged. "I'll be right there."

          Ray ended the call and dropped the phone beside him. They lay there silently, for a moment, Handler still hovering over him. She had twigs attached just about everywhere, and her top was torn on one arm. Her eyes were glassy and her skin flushed.

        Ray figured he didn't look much better. "So," he began to try and avoid her asking him more questions about his health. "What else happened in dat attic, when I was stoned?"

       Handler smirked, and glanced at his left hand, which had started to bleed profusely. She tore off the hem of her blouse and carefully applied it to his palm, trying to stop the bleeding, at least on this hand. Her own hands were also red with blood, but it was Ray's blood, not hers, where he had cut his palms on the sides of the ramp, hoisting them both, up.

        "Well, you became quite afraid and refused to go downstairs because it was dark," she stated. "I couldn't convince you otherwise, so I went to find help alone."  She decided to leave out the fact that he had started crying and reliving horrible memories, she didn't want to embarrass him. She smiled, that was something new, usually she purposely enjoyed making him look bad, but this was different. He had no control over himself then, she wouldn't make it harder on him, she suspected he was already being quite hard on himself.
 
         "How come you can remember all dis and I can't?" Ray demanded, wincing as she increased the pressure on his hand.
 
       "Jennings gave me a much smaller dose, and the Doctor's think that because I threw up shortly after, it kept it from overtaking my system to severely."
 
        "When did you throw up?" he asked, puzzled. 

           Handler actually blushed. "Shortly after we got loose." 

         Ray smiled up at her, despite his pain. "Let's torch the place?" he suggested. "I'm about full up on dis amusement park."
 
         Handler returned his smile and nodded, surprising him by laying her head on his chest and taking a deep relaxing breath, as she continued to hold the cloth to his hand, which was already soaked in blood.
 
       "I'll buy the gasoline, you get the matches," she vowed.    

         Ray chuckled. "I like you this way." 
 
       "What way is that, Vecchio?" 
 
      "Agreeable and submissive," Ray replied, slyly, and he suspected she would have hit him, had she the energy.
 
      "Remind me to slap you later," she muttered, tiredly. "And don't get to used to me this way, either. I probably hit my head or something and am not behaving normally." She yawned and Ray gently shook her.
 
       "Don't fall asleep," he warned, not knowing if she had also hit her head, either in the slide or on the landing.

        Handler managed to pull herself up and stare down at him, their hands still joined at the palms.

        Ray was startled when Handler's fingers linked with his.

          The memory of the kiss they had shared was still prominent in the agent's mind and she found herself dipping her head closer to him. Their lips were close enough to touch and Ray's eyes never left hers, even as his mouth parted in silent surprise and anticipation.

     "Vecchio..." Handler warned, wishing she could enforce enough warning into her tone to stop this.

      "Yah," Ray returned, softly, as his other hand reached up to curl over her neck, careful not to touch his palm to her skin, and bring her closer. "I'm right here."

        There lips touched in a feather light kiss, and then another and another.

        Handler was used to men kissing her with more aggression, she knew many of them felt intimidated by her position, so they tried to dominate her in the bedroom. However, these teasing, uncertain, butterfly kisses were turning her into a melting puddle of passion. She moved closer, opening her mouth wider to give him further access, as her body slid closer atop his.

          Ray's sharp hiss of pain and the sound of cracking twigs nearby caused her to break the kiss and move away. "You are hurt!" she accused as Fraser and another man found them.

        "I'm sorry," Ray offered, regretfully.

        Handler cast him a startled look. Was he sorry that he kissed her, or sorry his injuries had forced them to stop?

        "Are either of you injured?" the Mountie asked immediately, bending to help Ray sit up, and watching his partner wince at the effort. "You're ribs?"
 
        "Yah," Breathed Ray, as he slowly got to his feet, while the other man helped Handler.
 
        "You should probably get checked out at the hospital, Detective," suggested Handler, once again all business, as they were led out of the forest.
 
      "I ain't goin' back to the hospital," Ray refused adamantly, he'd just gotten out of that damn place.

        They approached the front of the house, where Inspector Thatcher was giving instructions to the coroner, forensics team and insect control people. She noticed them and rushed over.

        "Are you both alright?" she inquired concerned, as she joined them.
 
         "I'll be fine," assured Handler, glancing at Ray. "But he's falling apart."

        Ray smirked at her, and then hissed again as Fraser removed the cloth of Handler's blouse from Ray's injured hand and examined it, carefully. "Godamnit, Fraser! That hurts!"

        Thatcher noticed the blood on Handler's hands as well and immediately moved to assist.

      Handler waved her off. "Its Vecchio's blood not mine," she assured, as one of the forensic staff handed her some special wipes to clean her hands.

           "You're in luck, Ray," Fraser commented, as he retrieved a first aid kit from one of the trucks and began to tend to his partner's wounds. "I don't think either hand will need stitches."

        "Yippi," Ray returned, sarcastically, and then started to sway.

           Fraser caught him and discretely settled his friend on the tailgate of the fumigation truck. "Take some deep breaths, Ray," he murmured quietly, glancing back toward the women who were talking and watching the teams go back and forth through the house. 

         "Can't, Frase," Ray admitted, grimacing as Fraser applied ointment, gauze and then started wrapping Ray's left hand, with an ace bandage. "Hurts my ribs ta breathe." 

           Fraser nodded and placed small butterfly bandages across the palm of Ray's right hand. "Would you like me to take you home, Ray?"
 
       Ray shook his head. "Nah," he declined. "Just give me a minute and..." He glanced down at the individual packets of Tylonol. "About ten of those and I'll be good ta go."

        Fraser scowled, but did as requested, helping his friend swollow one of the packets of pills with a bottle of water one of the workers offered him.

         The coroner brought out the body bag with the remains of the victim, followed closely by two other men in a goofy looking puffed body suits and helmets. They carried a large glass aquarium, containing a mess of tarantulas, between them. Ray shivered and looked away.
 
         Ray's head was spinning, as he watched Fraser, Handler and Thatcher discuss their next move. Ray shook his head, trying to clear it, and something drew his gaze to the garret window of the house, where he had fallen from last time he was there.

        There was the girl in white, waving at him from behind the glass.

        Ray stood, the pain in his ribs and the people around him fading into the background as the figure moved from his view. Immediately, he started running toward the house.

        A surprised Handler, Thatcher, and Fraser charged after him, calling his name.

       Ray ran inside and up the steps to the second floor, locating the required room and searching for the way through the wall to the stairs.
 
      "Ray," asked Fraser behind him, with the others following. "What is it?"

       "How does this damn thing open?" Ray demanded.

        Fraser showed him as the women caught up to them. "Ray…" he began, confused, as his partner started running up the stairs, slipping a few times in the darkness.
 
       "I saw her, Fraser," Ray called back, knowing the Mountie was right behind him. "The girl! She's up here." 

         They broke through to the upper room and Ray stopped short, scanning the room, hastily. It was empty and dark. "Where are you?" Ray called out. "We're not gonna hurt ya, honey, come out."

        Fraser retrieved his flashlight from his utility belt and surveyed the room, curious.
 
      Handler and Thatcher joined them a minute later and could see no difference from when they had left it a few weeks before. The two chairs and the broken mirror were still over in one corner, the window was boarded up and a heavy layer of dust had settled on everything.
 
    "What's going on?" Handler asked, trying to catch her breath from trying to keep up with the two men.

        Ray wandered to the window to caress the wooden boards that had not been there moments before. It had seem more real. "She was just here." he insisted, glancing around, then back at the window. "I saw her here, in the window."

           "You couldn't have, Detective," Handler insisted, indicating the boards. "Perhaps, it was the other window, downstairs."

       "No!" denied Ray hotly. "It was dis one." He ignored the odd look she shot him. "I'm not losin' it. I saw her." He turned to his partner. "You believe me, don't ya, Frase?"
 
        "Of course, Ray," Fraser replied without hesitation.

          Ray started looking around the room. "There must be a secret way out of here." He searched the walls and surface area of the room. "She probably went through there."
 
       "Not according to the blueprints, Ray," recalled Fraser.

        Ray shook his head. "They're wrong," he decreed glancing at the lone faded picture frame on the wall. "It's here, I know it." The print held his attention and he carefully wiped off the dust that clung to the picture. It was a small painting of a young girl surrounded by a forest of trees in the center of a small glen. It couldn't be! He wiped more of the dirt off and gasped, as Fraser and Handler stepped closer to him.

        "What is it, Ray?"  Fraser asked, noticing the sudden pallor of his partner's face, even in the dim light.

        Ray grabbed Fraser's flashlight and held it up to the picture. "It's her!" he exclaimed in disbelief." The girl I saw, dis is her, she's even wearing the same dress."

        Fraser and Handler exchanged a puzzled look. The possibility that a neighborhood child, or even a runaway hiding here, would put up such a portrait of herself, however small, was remote. Which meant it had to belong to the previous owners of the house.

      "You must be mistaken, Detective," countered Handler glancing over the picture, and admitting that it did resemble the detective's description of the girl. "Perhaps, you saw this picture when you were here and due to the drugs in your system you only hallucinated her into being."

        Ray glared at her. "Then explain how I got out on the roof?" he accused, angrily. "That window was not boarded up when I left here, or else how could I have gotten out?"

     "It was boarded up when I was here," Handler insisted. "Maybe you found another way onto the roof and just don't remember it."

        Ray shook his head, refusing to believe the girl that had saved him, and ultimately allowed him to save Handler, was a hallucination brought on by a drug induced state. "I know what I saw!" he decided, reaching up to take the picture down from the wall for a better look. It seemed nailed to the wall, which was very strange.
 
        Suddenly, the floor gave beneath him and all four of them were tumbling downward, literally dropping from the ceiling into a large, child's bedroom, a long steel pole stood in the center of the room and extended up though the opening. The ceiling closed up and they individually climbed to their feet, sore but no more the worse for wear

        "Vecchio!" screamed Handler waving an angry finger at him. "Do not touch another thing in this house! Don't sit, lean against anything, nothing."

        Ray, cradled his aching ribs and tossed her a warning look, he was getting tired of this damn funhouse. "I can't help it if the house is a giant booby trap!" he retorted. If he fell one more time, from a slide, roof, or damned trap door, he wouldn't be able to handle the pain in his ribs at all, and would probably pass out.

           Thatcher turned Fraser expectantly. "Constable, can you find us a way out of here?" she asked, hoping the Mounties's perfect recall skills could remember where they might be according to the floor plans they had looked at earlier.

        Fraser nodded and glanced around the pretty pink and white bedroom. "Hmm…" he remarked to himself, catching Ray's attention.

        "What?" the detective demanded. "What does Hmm mean, Fraser?"

        Fraser glanced at him and shook his head. "Oh, nothing, Ray," he evaded moving over to the door and pulling it open, to reveal a solid brick wall. "Hmmm."

        Ray had picked up one of the many dolls, from the chest at the end of the bed,  and  shook it at Fraser. "Tell me what that means, Fraser," he ordered, frustrated. "Or I swear I'll knock you up side thje head with dis thing."

        "I'm just thinking aloud, Ray," Fraser said calmly, closing the door and moving to the pull the curtains back on the only window in the room. A solid sheet of steel was all that was beyond.

        "Think louder and in plain American, Fraser. Not this hmmm crap."

         Fraser turned away from the window and nodded at Ray. "I was just noticing that this room is in pristine condition." He ran a finger over the antique bureau. "Not even a trace of dust."

        Thatcher ran her hand over the bedspread, it felt soft and clean. "Hmm."

        Ray glared at her and questioned Fraser.  "So?" he asked, intolerantly.

        "So, Detective," answered Thatcher surveying the room. "This house has been vacant for many years, everywhere else there are layers of dust and cobwebs and most of the furniture is draped with sheets.

        "Exactly," concurred Fraser. "Someone had taken excellent care of this room, as well as to keep it hidden from outsiders."

       "I thought no one lived here?" reminded Ray.

        "No one is supposed to be living here," amended Fraser. "But someone obviously is."

        Ray shook his head at the idea, just as a chilling cold air moved up his spine, causing him to shiver.

        Fraser noticed his friend's reaction. "What is it Ray?"

        "I suddenly felt cold," Ray stated, oddly. "Like someone opened the window in the middle of winter and let the north wind inside."

        Fraser licked the tip of his finger and held it up.

        Thatcher duplicated his action almost simultaneously and Ray couldn't help wonder if Canadians could read each other's minds or if they were all this coordinated. It did seem to be oddly cool in the room, considering the temperature outside and that there was no air conditioning in the house.

        "Hmm…:" slipped from their lips and Ray glared threateningly at them both.

        "Even if this room is well insulated," explained Fraser, before Ray carried out the threat to hurt him. "It shouldn't be such a difference in the temperature outside. It is roughly seventy-seven degrees outside, yet it feels closer to forty in here." He hadn’t noticed the drastic change when they had first came to the room, but now he had to admit it was getting chilly, even Handler and Thatcher in their slight, casual attire were starting to shiver.

        "It's freezing in here," Thatcher confirmed,  noticing that the temperature seemed to be dropping, steadily.

        "Would you like my tunic, Sir?" offered Fraser, already starting to remove the red jersey. "I adapt much better to cold."

        Thatcher nodded absently, as he helped her slip her hands inside. Fraser buttoned in up, although not all the way, and rolled up the sleeves.

        "Thank you, Constable," Thatcher allowed, feeling slightly foolish in the oversized tunic, even though it was deliciously warm and smelled lightly of what she believed to be cinnamon.

        Kowalski had already removed his jacket and had draped it over Handler's shoulders, receiving a surprised, but grateful look.

        Sometimes, when the detective did something so honestly sweet, the agent didn't know how to react, but he seemed to have already forgotten his action and was  rummaging through the drawer small vanity. Handler observed the muscled torso under the stretched material of his gray T-shirt, the way his shoulder's flexed automatically to accommodate the weight of his shoulder holster and the sight of the tight blue jeans that fitted his hips almost indecently.

        "What are you looking for, Ray?" inquired Fraser, his gray RCMP shirt matching Kowalski's, but the yellow and black suspenders that supported his jodhpurs clashed slightly against the gray.

        "Every little girl keeps a diary, Fraser," Ray explained, moving to the drawers of the nightstand. "If we find dat, maybe we can figure a bit more into the big picture."

        "Well, Ray," began Fraser, his high sense of ethics nagging at him. "A diary is a highly personal thing, we probably shouldn't…"

        "Just help me look, Fraser," Ray demanded,with a sigh. "We'll work out the morality of it later."

        Fraser nodded and checked in the small roll top desk.

        Both women watched them for a moment, and then crossed over to the bed and simultaneously pulled the heavy mattress back on either side; the small leather bound book was on Handler's side.

        "How did…?" questioned Ray, surprised.

        "All girls hide their diary's under their mattress, Detective," explained Handler, tossing the book to him.

        "Even Canadian ones?" he asked Thatcher who smiled and nodded. "What'ya know, learn something new everyday." He sat down on the bed and opened the diary, despite Fraser's objections. He skimmed a few of the first pages then skipped to last few entries. He selected one which was dated May 21^st, 1945, and as he began reading.

        Thatcher who had been standing closest to him, slowly spoke the passage aloud, in a voice that was not entirely hers.

        "Mama and Papa had another terrible fight. Mama said she would leave and take me away with her and Papa said horrible, mean things. I have never heard him so angry. I don't want to go away, I love Papa, but I love Mama too and she says that Papa had become obsessed with this house, and that we can no longer live here."

        Ray glanced up from the passage, the words exact to those the Inspector was reciting, and noticed the others were staring at Thatcher too.

        Fraser was especially concerned. "Sir?" he asked confused, but Thatcher appeared not to hear him, as she began to recite the next entry.

        Ray turned the page, trying to ignore the spookiness of the whole situation, as the May 24^th 1945 entry began.
 
        "I have not seen Mama for three days now, ever since their fight. Papa says she has gone to visit Aunt Sara, but I cannot understand why she would leave without telling me. Also I saw that her clothes were still in her wardrobe closet and her shoes lined along the floor. Papa caught me in there and was terribly angry, saying I was spying where I shouldn't be. I called Aunt Sarah and she said my Mama was not there."

        He turned to May 26^th, 1945

        "I cried for my Mama but she did not come. I am afraid my Papa will make me disappear too and he has locked me in my room and won't let me out. I wanted to open my window, but Papa had put something in front of it and I can not see outside. Papa has not been to see me for two days now, since I was in his and Mama's room. I am hungry and have not eaten. I need to use the bathroom and must use a pail I found in my closet. Why won't Papa come and let me out? Has something happened to him?"

        Ray swallowed the lump that rose in his throat and tried to control the steady rage that was rising within him. The child's handwriting was getting more erratic and messy. The last entry was difficult to read.

        Thatcher continued onto the last entry, as the others listened both in fascination and shock, while Ray continued to silently read the words on the paper.

        "I do not know what the day is, but I think it may be Thursday. I do not now how long I have been without food or water and I have still not seen Papa. It is difficult to write and I am very tired. I hear noise outside my door, but no one answers when I call and I am too weak to try and go to them. I think I may be dying. I think Mama is still here in the house waiting for me. I will rest now."

        Suddenly Thatcher fainted.

        Ray and Fraser just barely caught her, before she hit the floor. Fraser scooped her into his arms and patted her cheek, calling to her in an attempt to get her to awaken, while Ray checked for a pulse. They had all been spooked by what they had just witnessed.

        Finally, Thatcher started to wake and she seemed startled to find herself on the bed with the two men leaned over her worriedly. Fraser's hand was on her cheek, Kowalski was holding her hand. "W…what happened?" she asked sitting up slowly, with Fraser's support.

        Fraser told her what had occurred and she looked at him as though he had gone mad.

        "It's true," urged Ray, seeing the disbelief in her eyes.

        Thatcher pushed away from them and set her feet on the floor. "Don't be absurd, Ray," she denied. "People don't go around acting possessed or something." She sniffed as she rose and straightened Fraser's tunic over her. "I don't believe in such…." Suddenly, she stumbled backwards, into Fraser's arms. She put a hand to her temple as Ray hopped over the bed to help Fraser steady his superior officer.

        "What is it, Sir?" Fraser asked worriedly as she licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry.

        "I…I don’t know I…" She threw her head back. "Papa! Mama! Help me!" Thatcher's hand flew to her mouth, as she realized the sound had come from her, but was not her voice. She stared helplessly at Fraser and he could see the fear in her eyes as she started to walk toward the door and pound on the wood, crying to be let out.

        Fraser caught her hands, to keep her from hurting herself and she struggled against him, sobbing.
"Leave her alone!" he demanded to whom ever was tormenting her. "Release her!"

        When Thatcher suddenly sagged unconscious against him, he was unprepared for the total relaxation of her muscles and she almost slipped out of his arms to the floor. He caught her and lowered her gently.

        Handler placed a hand against her forehead concerned; Thatcher was burning up but it was still frigid into the room.

        Ray, who had been frightened by the scene unfolding, before him didn't know what to do, until he saw the whisper of white out of the corner of his eye. He spun around and faced the girl, who smiled sweetly and held out her hand to him. Ray hesitated, his fear rooting his feet to the floor, but then he suddenly relaxed, it would be okay. He reached out to her and promptly disappeared as their hands met.

        "Ray?" called Fraser, looking away from Thatcher for a moment. Where was his partner, who'd been standing there just seconds before. "Ray!"

        They helped Thatcher to her feet, who had finally come around again and Fraser let her lean on Handler until she got her bearings, while he searched the room for the lost detective.

        "Where is he?" demanded Handler, her voice a higher pitch than usual, perhaps from the anxiety they were all feeling.

        "There is no way out," confirmed Fraser, checking the walls again.

        Suddenly a bookcase slid forward and an old woman stepped forward. She wore a pale grayish dress, that looked worn from too many washings, her white hair was pulled back in a tight knot at the base of her neck, her skin was pale and her eyes hollow. Handler thought she looked like a zombie from a movie.

        "You don't belong here," the woman stated accusingly. "You must leave."

        Fraser attempted to be diplomatic. "I am Constable Benton Fraser," he began and she waved a knurled, impatient hand at him.

       "I do not care who you are," she rasped, "You must leave."

        "We'd love to," assured Handler approaching her, then watching the woman back up skittishly. "But we couldn't find a way out.

        "May I ask, " Fraser started, gently, needing his suspicious confirmed. "Are you Mrs. O'Flynn?"

        The woman glared at him, her dark lips thinning, angrily. "Don't mention that name in this house!" she spat. "Leave, all of you. Now!"

        "We can't," replied Fraser, simply. "We have a missing friend here in your house."

        The woman shrugged carelessly, her thin shoulders reflecting the gaunt bones underneath the thin material. "Then he is lost. You will not find him, now leave."

        "We believe he is with your daughter, Ma'am," attempted Fraser, watching her eyes widen in shock, then narrow in suspicion.

        "That is impossible," she hissed. "My daughter has been dead for fifty four years. She would not…she is not here."

        Fraser suspected she knew that her daughter was here, in spirit. "Is that why you stay here?" he asked. "Why you keep her room so clean and cared for? Are you trying to find your daughter, Mrs. O'Flynn?"

        She stared at him with the gaze of a woman who had seen too much suffering in her lifetime, and Fraser automatically pitied her. "She's here, in this house!" she declared, suddenly. "I know this house better than anyone, better than even my husband did and she has to be here." She stepped forward and placed an urgent hand on Fraser's arm. "She wants you here, but I don't understand why. Your friend, she has shown herself to him, hasn't she?"

       "Yes, I believe she has," replied Fraser softly.

        "I think I may know where she had taken him, " she paused and stared at Fraser, imploringly. "But please don't interfere if we find them? Katy may show him where she is and I have been waiting a long time for that. She won't show me, I don't understand why, perhaps, because she thinks I abandoned her."

        "We'll do what we can," Handler offered. "But you must show us where detective Vecchio is."

        The woman shook her head, not seeming to hear the agent's words, lost in her own tormented past. "I didn't purposefully leave my child. My husband threw me out and wouldn't let me come back. He refused to let me see Katy, and then when I finally managed to find a way back in, he'd sealed up her room and I couldn't find her. I hid in the house for a year, trying to find her and avoid him. When he finally left I was able to search more thoroughly." She indicated the passage behind them "I found this a little more than two years after, but then people kept coming in and I had to make them leave."

        "Like using the tricks we saw the last time we were here," remarked Handler. "The rocking chair and the face."

        Mrs. O'Flynn nodded. "But I didn't put that gas in there, that was that monster that was living in the house."

        "Why didn't you just go to the police?" inquired Thatcher.

        "I don't trust them," the older woman informed, coolly. "They wouldn't help me to see my daughter when Sam kicked me out, I have no reason to believe they'd help me find my daughter's body."

        "So you've been here all these years?" wondered Thatcher, shocked when the woman nodded. "How have you survived?"

        The woman didn't look as though she had been outside in decades. "I manage," she remarked with a small smile, and then she turned back to the bookcase. "Come, let's find your friend."

        They followed her through the passage, around a winding corridor and up a darkened stairwell. The woman seemed to move well through the darkness, her eyes adjusted after so many years, but Handler was glad they had their lamps still. Mrs. O'Flynn paused beside the wall before them.

        "What is it?" asked Fraser, softly.

        "You must promise you will not interfere," she pleaded. "I've never been so close, please."

        They all agreed not to let their presence be known if possible and followed her through. The room opened up into a department floor sized attic. She pulled them behind some boxes and pointed to the far corner of the room.

        Thatcher quickly covered her mouth to silence the gasp that rose in her throat.

        Ray was sitting in a large overstuffed armchair as the ghostly white figure of Katy O'Flynn danced before him, doing perioutes and high jumps from the ballet lessons she had learned as a girl. Ray watched her smiling and applauded when she ended the number in a split.

        It was strange to watch a ghost dance before your eyes, although if not for the slight transparence around her, you would think she was alive, a young girl trying to impress a young man she had a crush on. Fraser suspected the girl was more then enamored of his partner, and that could be dangerous. Finally, Katy rose and took Ray's hand, odd that she seemed so solid to him. She led him to the opposite wall and pointed.

        "I...I don't understand, Katy," stammered Ray, confused. He didn't know how he knew her name, but from the moment they had appeared in the large attic, her name seemed to be floating through his mind. What was the girl trying to tell him?

        Katy pointed again to the wall, then vanished behind it for a second. She stepped back through, only half way and extended her hand.

        Ray frowned. "I can't get through there."

        Katy smiled and pointed to his gun.

        "You want me to shoot the wall?" Ray asked, confused. "I don't understand, Katy. What is it you want me to do?"

        Fraser tensed, willing Ray not to misunderstand the girl's directions. That isn't what she wants, Ray, he thought silently, as though attempting to project his thoughts to his partner.

        Katy pointed to Ray's gun again and he removed it from his holster. She stepped all the way through the wall and smiled as she placed her hand over his.

        Fraser suspected his partner was falling into some kind of a trance, as he watched Katy assist Ray in pointing the gun at herself, then at him. Herself and back to Ray. She did it three times, until finally Ray nodded that he understood. Fraser couldn't keep quiet as he watched Ray's fingers tighten on the gun.

        "Ray!" he called, standing out from behind the boxes, much to Mrs. O'Flynn's despair.

        Kowalski glanced over at him, bewildered, and then down at the gun pointed at his chest. He threw it out of his hand as though it had scorched him, and stumbled backwards to stare at Katy shocked.

        Mrs. Flynn cried out and revealed herself as Katy darted inside the wall. "You promised!" she wailed at Fraser, who had rushed up to his partner "You said you wouldn't interfere!" She ran to the wall where her daughter had disappeared and threw herself against it, sobbing for her daughter to return to her.

        "Are you alright, Ray?" inquired Fraser, concerned by the sudden pallor of his friend's cheeks.

        "Yah," Ray finally, replied. "I'm okay, Fraser. What the hell's goin' on?"

        No one had the opportunity to respond as Mrs. O'Flynn flew at him in a rage. Unprepared for the attack, she managed to knock Ray to the floor and proceeded to pound on him with her fists.

        "Bring her back!" she screamed, as Ray tried to protect his face and head, he refused to hit her, even in self-defense.

        Fraser and Handler finally managed to pull her off of him.

        Ray scooted backwards, defensively. "What's she psycho?" he demanded, confused and angry.

        "This is Katy's mother," announced Fraser, still trying to restrain the sobbing woman. "The young girl you've been seeing Ray, who brought you here, is her daughter. Mrs. O'Flynn believes Katy will show you where her body is."

        "It's in there," Ray declared pointing at the wall, where the girl had disappeared though. He didn't even know how he knew that, he just did.

        Mrs. O'Flynn shook her head. "There is nothing behind that wall," she sobbed, brokenly. "No passage way that leads to it, it is just a wall."

        Ray stood and dusted himself off, he still hadn't understood what Katy had been trying to do with his gun, but he was sure the answers lay beyond that wall. He started to kick at the solid wood surface, his boot making dents in the wall.

        Fraser gave a comprehensive nod, released Mrs. O'Flynn, and joined his friend. Soon, the two had a small hole broken through and Ray called for a flashlight. He shined it inside, at first seeing nothing, but cobwebs and dust, and then he saw a glimpse of white. He tossed the light to Handler and continued their assault. The wood was old and some of it had started to rot, so in a matter of minutes they had punched and kicked a whole large enough to crawl through.

        Fraser shined his light on the remains of the dead girl and sighed regrettably. "It's Katy," he confirmed and watched Ray's eyes cloud with pain as he crawled back from the wall.

        "How do you get up here from downstairs?" demanded Handler as she started to dial her phone. "There is a team down there that can help with this."

        Mrs. O'Flynn, overcome with emotion, pushed the men aside to gaze upon her daughter's body. Finally, she whispered the quickest route.

        In a short while, the coroner and forensics team had carefully removed the small, badly decomposed body from the wall and had placed it with the other one in their vehicle to take to the lab. They all stood outside, Mrs.' O'Flynn wanting to go with her daughter, but after being shut up in the house for so long, she was afraid to venture past the steps of her home. Eventually, Fraser convinced her to come with them to the hospital and get checked out. They would get the report back on the bodies in a few days and then they would help her prepare for a proper burial for her daughter. They were all still puzzled who the other body had been, the one they found in the pit, for they had assumed it had been the mother.

_____________________  

    Ray Kowalski stood back in the shadows of the trees, as Rebecca O'Flynn arranged the pretty flowers around her daughter's grave. The seventy-year-old woman looked much better, after a short stay in the hospital. Her cheeks were rosy, she'd gained a little weight, so she didn't look so painfully thin, and she wore a simple cotton dress of vibrant green. The large man beside her grasped her hand to help her stand and smiled down into her now vibrant blue eyes, the reflective gold of their matching wedding bands glistened in the sunlight.

        Kowalski smiled, thinking it was appropriate that Matthew Marthendow, the fifty six-year old widower, who had originally purchased Mrs. O'Flynn's house to turn it into a bed and breakfast, had offered it back to her, no charge. She accepted, only if he'd become her partner in the bed and breakfast, that she was sure would be a success now that her all the memories and ghosts had been washed from the house. They'd hit it off immediately and were married just two days ago. Matthew has four children and a handful of grandchildren that Rebecca could now shower them with all the love and attention she couldn't give her own daughter.

        Mr. Marthendow had later identified the body that had been found in the pit, as one of the workers he'd hired to renovate the house. They now understood what his co-workers had meant when they claimed the House had gotten their friend. Although, the official reports had determined the man fell to his death by accident.

        Ray watched the couple walk off hand in hand, and then quietly approached the small grave. He knelt and placed the small bouquet of daisies next to the small marble headstone and ran a finger across the name. Katharine Jeanette O'Flynn, loving daughter of Samuel and Rebecca O'Flynn. Born 1935 Died 1945. May she walk with the angels.

        "You deserve the rest, Katy," Ray whispered, finally allowing some of his own grief to leave him. "If I had had a little girl, I'd have wanted her to be just like you."

        Ray still hadn't understood what Katy had meant for him to do with his gun, but he had stopped wondering. She was finally at peace and that was all that mattered. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and glanced up at Fraser, standing behind him.

        "She's happier now, Ray," the Mountie offered, quietly.

        The detective nodded as he stood. "Yah, " he admitted. "I know."

        After a few more minutes, in which neither man spoke, Ray turned, signaling he was ready to leave. As they headed back to the car, Ray glanced back once more at the grave and smiled as Katy waved back at him. He watched her kneel to smell her flowers,  and then she lay down upon the soil, her spirit ready to rest. Ray felt a loss as she disappeared, knowing he would not see her again, but then he'd been lucky enough to see her at all.

        He turned back and caught up to Fraser, thinking about how fragile life really is. Maybe he'd call Handler and see if she'd go to dinner with him, talk about old times. The idea made him smile wickedly; maybe he'd show her how good a dancer he really was.
 

The End