Author's notes: This is part one 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.
 
 

By; Amethyst
 
 

        Ray pulled the GTO up to the old, three-story home and switched off the engine. It had taken them almost an hour to find the secluded mansion that was set far out among the trees on a large cliff. The winding dirt road they had used to get there didn't do much for Ray's nerves and seeing the errie house silhouetted against the glow of the setting sun didn't exactly calm him. Fraser had already started to get out of the car, so Ray figured he should follow, but something about that house kept him in his seat.

        Fraser glanced back. "Coming Ray?" he inquired calmly as he released Diefenbaker from the back seat and placed his Stetson on his head.

        Ray slowly got out of the car. "I dunno, Fraser," he hedged. "Why the hell would Jennings be holed up way out here anyway?"

        "It's actually a very good place to hide, Ray," Fraser insisted as they approached the aged, gray stone steps that led to the front door. "It's far outside the city and believed to be abandoned. There is ample foliage to cover an escape if need be and according the local lore it is rumored to be haunted. Who would look for him here?"

        Ray hadn't liked the sound of that. "Haunted, Fraser?" he repeated uneasily as a hoot owl sounded starling the detective into drawing his gun and swinging around. "What was dat?"

        Fraser raised an eyebrow as they reached the door. "An owl, Ray." he informed, mildly. "They are night creatures."

        Ray didn't bother to correct him that it wasn't yet evening.

        Fraser waited for his partner to catch up to him on the porch as Diefenbaker waited anxiously by his side.

        "Y'know, I saw a house like dis in a movie once," Ray commented.

        "Oh?" returned Fraser curious, as he handed Kowalski a flashlight. "Was it an interesting story?"

        "Yah, sort of. Not really," replied Ray. "This guy dressed up like his dead mother ta kill people."

        Fraser stared at him a moment. "How horrible. Why would he do that?"

        "How the hell do I know?" Ray retorted as Fraser moved ahead to open the door. "It was a movie." Ray winced as the door creaked to allow then entry.

         Diefenbaker wined, pathetically.

         Ray glanced down at him, suspiciously. "What's up with the wolf?"

        Fraser spoke to the animal with a sigh. "Don't be ridiculous," he scolded the animal "There are no such things."

        "No such things as what Fraser?" demanded Ray, quickly.

       Fraser shook his head. "Never mind, Ray,"  he dismissed. "Diefenbaker is just allowing his imagination to run away with him again."

        Ray's voice went an octave higher than normal, a sure sign he was agitated. "No such things as what, Fraser?" he repeated, firmly.

        "Ghosts, Ray," Fraser acknowledged. "Diefenbaker thinks this place is actually haunted. He can be such a baby sometimes." Fraser didn't believe mentioning the odd appearance if his own dead Father from time to time would help the situation.

        "Ghosts," repeated the detective as Fraser stepped across the threshold into the house. "Er.. Fraser? Maybe we should come back later, like ah...the morning or somethin'."

          "Don't be silly, Ray," Fraser returned from the darkness. "There's nothing to fear but fear its self."

        Kowalski gulped, took a few deep breaths, and cursed his own imagination as he stepped inside.

        Fraser was already a few feet down the darkened hallway, his flashlight cutting a golden beam through the dust filled atmosphere.

        Ray followed quickly, not wanting to loose sight of his partner. Suddenly, the front door slammed shut and they were engulfed in a sullen darkness. Their only  illumination was the small beams of light escaping through the rotted boards of the window, from the setting sun. They exchanged a suspicious glance.

        "Just the wind," Fraser opted moving forward.

        "Yah," Ray agreed, reluctantly. "Just the wind." He glanced back at the door, then flashed his light in front of him. He was disturbed to find that his partner was no longer there. "Fraser? Fraser!"

        The Mountie suddenly appeared in the beam. "Yes Ray?" he inquired, calmly.

        Ray started breathing again. "Do not do that!" he insisted, as his heart pounded against his chest.

        Ray usually didn't react so strongly over a simple thing as a haunted house. Haunted houses were not the problem, a house couldn't hurt him. It was the ghost thing that bothered him, the memories from his past that scared him, not the house itself. He hurried forward to find his partner who had wandered into what appeared to be the parlor.

        "Over here, Ray," Fraser announced from the corner of the room, where he was kneeling to inspect something.

        Kowalski and Diefenbaker approached and followed the lighted path of Fraser's beam. The hard wood floor, was thick with dust and sported a fresh pair of footprints.

        "Someone else has been here," muttered Ray, surveying the ancient room with a quick twist of his light. A loud, creaking above them caused Ray's hand to move toward his gun.

       Fraser nodded.  "And may still be here," he whispered, finishing his partner's thought.

        They returned to the hallway and found a long, plantation style staircase that curved upward to the second floor. Diefenbaker trotted on ahead as Ray and Fraser cautiously ascended the lofty stairwell. They heard another creak, louder this time, just as they reached the first landing. Continuing upward they kept their lights trained on the path above them, waiting for the intruder to make an appearance.

        Diefenbaker came to a halt as they reached the second landing and began to growl menacingly. Ray directed his beam down the side of the long hallway, where Diefenbaker was pointed, and saw a shadow ducking into one of the rooms.

            At the sound of the closing door, Ray and Fraser hurried after the intruder. They positioned themselves on opposite sides of the door as Diefenbaker continued growling. Fraser turned the knob and found it locked.

        Ray leveled his gun higher against his chest, in preparation. He nodded to Fraser, indicating he was ready, and Fraser kicked outward at the barrier. The door flew backward as Ray  jumped forward to block the doorway, his weapon and torch trained ahead.

        "Chicago PD!" he revealed, but there was no one there to receive him. His torch swept the room revealing nothing but a sheet draped dresser and an aged bed and mattress.

        Diefenbaker ran in and stood baring his teeth at the wall beside the dresser.

        Fraser moved to investigate, as Ray relaxed slightly and lowered his weapon.

        "What is it, boy?" encouraged Fraser, receiving a whine from the wolf. Fraser began to feel along the wall where the animal stood.

        Ray frowned at the pair and questioned him. "What're ya doin' Frase?"

        "Looking for a panel switch," Fraser informed as his fingers guided along the smooth molding in the middle. "The person must have gone through here, Diefenbaker can sense him."

        "Fraser," sighed Ray moving further into the room. "That's a wall. There ain't no way he went through a solid wall, unless he's Houdini or somethin'."

        "Not necessarily, Ray," Fraser countered, moving the dusty sheet aside as he started to pull out the various drawers in the dresser. "Some times these old houses have trap doors or secret passageways that opened up into another area of the house." He moved to the bed and inspected the tarnished brass knobs on the bedpost. He turned one and the wall slid open, revealing a darkened passageway.

        Ray stared at the revealed area, impressed. "Hey, cool!"

        Diefenbaker scrambled forward after his prey.

        Fraser moved to follow the wolf. "Indeed,"  he agreed.

        They stepped behind the wall into a small, dimly lit passageway. The wall suddenly shut tightly behind them.

        Ray glanced back and smirked. "Freaky," he concluded, then turned to follow his partner.

        The ceiling seemed to get lower and the walls narrowed, leaving them only a few minutes before they could barely fit individually down the path. Ray tried to shake off his feeling of claustrophobia as the air surrounding them became stifling, with the strong scent of mildew. He kept his light trained on the brown jersey ahead of him, wishing for once that Fraser had worn his red uniform instead, as it was much easier to see.

       Ray glanced backwards, casting his light behind him, just in case, then turned back in time to avoid walking into the Mountie. "See anything?"

        "Sshssh." Fraser stopped suddenly. "Do you hear that?"

        Ray listened but heard nothing but his own hear beating. "Hear what?" he demanded, knowing he didn't possess the keen hearing the Mountie did. "What d'ya hear?"

        "It sounds like... running water."

          "So maybe we're near the kitchen and someone left the tap running."

        "According to the city's records, this house has been abandoned for over ten years, Ray," Fraser informed. "There are no utilities to run the water."

          Suddenly, Ray could hear it too, a gushing sound, that seemed to be getting louder by the minute. A loud thump sounded from somewhere ahead of them caused Ray to move forward. "Com'ahn," he urged, squeezing past Fraser.

        Fraser put out a hand to stop Ray from going further. "Ray wait..." he warned. He suddenly felt Ray's arm slip from his grasp as the floor gave way beneath them and the plummeted downward it what felt like a giant suction tube.

        "Fraser!" screamed Ray from ahead of him.

        "Ray!" called Fraser from behind.

        Ray's gun and flashlight slipped from his grasp as he shot downward at an alarming speed. His arms and legs bounced off the interior of the slippery tube and there was nothing to grab a hold of to stop his descent.

        "Put your elbows against the side," called Fraser, his voice echoing against the walls. "It will slow you down."

        Ray heard the suggestion, but he couldn't get his bearings long enough to attempt it. The tube twisted and turned sporadically, pushing him head first, or feet first at any given second.

        Then, Ray was flying through the air and a second later his body hit water, knocking the breath out of him. His gasp of pain and surprise caused him to swallow a mouth full of the liquid, before he remembered to close his mouth. He felt himself sinking quickly, into the murky depths and started to panic. Bloom close! Bloom close! His chaotic mind finally registered what Fraser had taught him, during their adventure on the Henry Allen. Ray pushed upward with all his strength, toward the light above, praying and kicking for his life. He broke through the surface and quickly dispelled the mouthful of water he had swallowed on his initial landing.

        "Fraser!" he gasped, trying to tread water, but having little success. He felt himself starting to sink again. He pushed toward the surface again. "Fraser!" he screamed, as he went under a third time. It felt as though something was pulling him below the water, some mysterious force that Ray couldn't see.

        Ray's limbs felt extremely heavy and it was getting harder and harder to strive toward the surface, which seemed very far away. His lungs were on fire and he knew he couldn't hold his breath much longer.  No buddy to help him breathe this time. He continued to sink deeper, despite his thrashing, and a strange feeling of weightlessness began to overtake him. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to the inevitable.

       Moments later, Ray felt a firm arm grasp him and he was being pulled up and away from the grip of death. There was a brief moment of moist lips on his, a familiar feeling that Ray remembered from once before, and then he was able to gasp in precious air. He opened his eyes as Fraser's voice reached him.

        "Stay with me, Ray," the Mountie instructed.

        Ray hadn't found his voice yet, so he could only nod and try to make his exhausted body help Fraser's strive toward land. Above them, he noticed a large, solarium type window that allowed the bright light of the moon to brighten their surroundings. They were in a pool! An indoor pool.

        They neared the edge and Fraser hefted Ray onto the deck. "Are you all right Ray?" the Mountie asked, hauling himself up and leaning over his friend, concerned.

         Ray lay on his back and tried to catch his breath as a very wet Diefenbaker shook the moisture from his fur and proceeded to lick the detective's face.

        "Gah!" Ray spat, pushing the animal away from him in disgust. "I'm wet enough ya dumb dog!"

        Fraser repeated his question as he offered his partner a hand up.

        Ray nodded as he struggled to rise, trying to ignore the sudden weight of his sodden clothes. "Yah," he confirmed. "Just...gimme a minute." His legs were trembling under his own weight and he couldn't seem to shake the feeling of being underwater. He looked around again. "Where da hell are we?"

        Fraser stood and surveyed the area. "It seems to be a recreation area, although it obviously hasn't been used in years. "He waved his Stetson, back and forth, in an attempt to dry it. "I believe it's kept running by an underwater spring, which could have been the water I heard earlier."

        Fraser retrieved the flashlight that he'd been able to secure to his belt during their fall and shot its beam across the landing, to reveal a set of double doors. Their tracks were the only ones visible against the layer of dirt on the floor, so their suspect hadn't come this way.

        "Great," Ray grumbled, glaring at the Mountie. "Follow the wolf, he's on ta him. Great idea, Fraser!."

        Fraser frowned. "Jennings must have known of the trap and disappeared through another secret door."

        "Oh, ya think?" Ray snapped sarcastically, and reached into his boot for his extra gun. "Aw man," He grimaced and pulled the boots off to dump the excess water. "Didn't happen to see my udder gun did ya?"

        Fraser shook his head.

        Ray glanced into the water, but couldn't see anything. It was probably at the bottom of the pool and he wasn't in the mood to go swimming, again. He shook out the gun he still had, removing the clip to make sure that the chamber had not gotten wet, then quickly reloaded and tucked it into the waist band of his jeans.

        He followed Fraser across to the only exit, his wet boots sliding precariously on the slick tile, while Fraser marched on assuredly. The only door available led to another darkened passageway. They approached cautiously, as Fraser waved the beam of his light ahead of them. Diefenbaker hurried on ahead, using his sense of smell for guidance. Ray grabbed the back of Fraser's tunic, to keep them from getting separated.

        They had only gone a few paces, when Fraser's flashlight died and they were plunged into darkness. Fraser shook the instrument but it would not work. "The batteries must have gotten wet," he decided. "We'll have to feel our way, Ray."

       Ray grumbled, but did not release Fraser's tunic. "God, it stinks down here."

        "Well, I imagine it would, Ray," Fraser commented, showing no distaste at the smell. Of course, considering the things the Mountie put into his mouth, Ray was not surprised. "It appears we're in a the sewage system of the house. You are probably detecting the scents of..."

        "I really don't want to know, Fraser," Ray reminded as they stumbled forward. "Fraser?"

         "Yes, Ray?"

         "It's dark in here."

         "Yes it is, Ray."

         "Fraser I can't see anything, at all, not even you," Ray pressed. "You want us to go stumbling' around down here in the dark? I feel like I'm in da pits of hell."

         "Well that would really depend on what you believe hell to be, Ray," Fraser began. "In ancient Mythology, Hell was believed to be ruled over by Hades, the God of the Underworld, and mortals kneeled before the cold hearted Hades. It was considered pure justice, thus came the saying as cold as Hades."

         "Fraser I didn't…" Ray muttered, but Fraser continued.

          "In Norse Mythology, Hel is the daughter of Loki and the giant, Angurboda. She is the sister of Fenrir (Fenris-wolf) and Jormungand (Midgard Serpent). She is the goddess of the underworld. Her realm was Niflheim, which was often referred to as Hel, and her hall was called Elvidnir [Misery]. In her hall her table was called Hunger and her bed Disease. And of course there is the Christian version which attest to the Scripture teachings concerning Hell that stain the character of God and clothe human destiny with an impenetrable pall of darkness, by revealing a state or place of endless torment.

          "Yah," Ray agreed quickly catching on the torment part. "Dat's the one, like I said I'm in hell."

        Fraser smirked, recognizing his friend's scorn. "Now that's just silly, Ray," he assured, calmly. "I can find much better ways to torment you if you choose to make a comparison."

         "I'm sure you could, Benton, buddy," Ray chuckled. "I'm sure you could…Uuff!" Fraser had stopped suddenly and Ray had walked into him. "What did ya do dat fer?"

         "I am afraid this is as far as the tunnel goes, Ray." Fraser frowned, reaching his hand out toward the solid wall before them. "There must be an exit further back that we missed."

         "How we gonna find it, Fraser?" Ray demanded. "Sniff it out?"

         "Well, I suppose I could use one of my matches, Ray," Fraser decided, reluctantly. Although, he could not see the detective's face, he was sure Ray was glaring at him.

        "Why didn't ya tell me ya had matches, Fraser?" Ray demanded on cue.

        Fraser felt in his uniform pocket for the small packet. "I was saving them for when we needed them, Ray."

        "Oh, I see. Well, I guess I'm stupid or somethin'. Silly me, I would have thought a need of 'em would be…oh…I dunno, ta see in da dark!"

     Fraser ignored his partner's anger, even as the corners of his lips twitched in amusement. He pulled out a match and started to light it.

       Clueing in on the sound, Ray stepped forward and placed his hand over the Mountie's to halt the action.  "Wait, Fraser, " her requested. "Ya said we were in the sewer, so we got no idea what's in here. Maybe, lightin' a match is not the smartest thing to do here. We might end up on da south side of Chicago from the explosion."

        Fraser smirked. "I cannot detect the scent of any explosive or flammable chemicals in here, Ray," he informed. "And if I can find something to use as a torch we should be able to make our way, in relative safety."

        Fraser lit the match.

         Ray screamed as a hideous face was illuminated on the wall facing them. He stumbled backwards against his partner and put his hand to his heart, in fright. "Christ!" he croaked as he tried to remember how to breathe. "What da hell is dat?"

        Fraser stepped forward, curious. "I believe it is just a drawing, Ray, " he informed, calmly. He tilted his head, intrigued. "Very well done I might add. Note the scaring on the features and the insects…"

        "That's enough, Fraser," Ray warned. "I already saw it, I don't need a description. Damn kids." He noticed the absence of Diefenbaker. "Where's the wolf, Fraser?"

        "Went on ahead I would imagine," Fraser decided as he found a piece of wood and managed to get his flame to catch. "He has much better senses than we do, especially in the dark."

        Ray smirked. "Think Dief will call 911 if we don't show soon?"

        Fraser bit his lip to keep from smiling, knowing the detective was trying to distract his attention. "Diefenbaker knows he isn't permitted on the phone, until after six, Ray."

        Ray chuckled and shook his head. "You're a freak, Fraser," he stated, affectionately.

         Fraser turned back to start walking again. "Understood."

        They headed back the way they had come and began searching both sides of the corridor with the dim glow of the match. They finally found an opening that held a set of stairs, winding upwards. They proceeded to ascend, noticing that it became lighter the higher they went.

        They could soon see well enough without the use of the matches and Fraser doused the flame and tossed the wood to the floor. A swinging door led to a carpeted sitting room and then into another darkened foyer.

        "Fantastic," Ray muttered. "Back where we started."

        Fraser glanced around and noticed that they were indeed in the entryway of the house, only now they were coming from the opposite direction.

        A resounding crash from beyond the parlor door spurred them forward.

       Ray retrieved his weapon, as they once again assumed positions on opposite sides of the entrance. After a moments hesitation the door swung wide and Fraser heard two different voices, simultaneously.

        "Freeze, Chicago PD!"

        "Drop your weapons!"

        Fraser's beam illuminated the faces of Special Investigator Handler and her male sidekick. For a long moment Ray and Agent Handler glared at each other, their weapons still trained on individual targets.

        "You first," Ray tossed, daringly.

        Handler and Agent Young lowered their weapons as she shot him a disgusted look. "What the hell are you doing here, Vecchio?" she demanded, angrily.

         Ray finally lowered his gun. "Thinkin' about buyin' a fixer upper," he retorted, sarcastically. "You?"

     "We're on a case," Handler informed, coldly. "So I suggested you and Duddly- Do- Right here leave."

        Ray shrugged and slipped his gun back into his jeans. "Sorry," he refused, without a trace of regret. "We're on a case too. Why don't you leave?"

        "We were here first," declared Young, triumphantly.

       Ray shook his head and invaded Handler's personal space, so their faces were barely inches apart. "The hell you were," he denied, his temper rising. "We've been here da whole time."

       Fraser stepped forward and placed a restraining hand on his partner's shoulder. "Ray," he warned. "Perhaps, we can come to a compromise." He smiled at the agents. "It's quite possible we're after the same person, so why don't we just work together to find him?"

       Agent Young nodded. "Good idea," he replied.

        "Jennings is our suspect!" decreed Handler.

        "Not if we get 'em first," Ray countered.

        "Bad idea," muttered Young, although no one seemed to be paying him any attention. His partner didn't like Vecchio and he was sure the feeling was entirely mutual; this wasn't going to be easy.

        Fraser, ever the diplomat, raised his hands to declare a truce. " In either case," he began. "Wouldn't it be better to first apprehend Jennings and sort out the details later?"

        "Fine," agreed Handler, never taking her eyes off the Kowalski. She'd like to wipe that smug look right off his face with the back of her hand. Her eyes roamed over them, observing their dampened state. "What happened, Vecchio? Someone finally decide to give you a bath?"

        Ray made a threatening noise in the back of his throat and raised his hand, as if to swat her, when she walked past him, but Fraser caught his friend's arm in, warning.

        Ray lowered his arm, with deliberate care. "Ain't dis gonna be fun?" he muttered following the agents back into the hallway.

        Handler eyed him, speculatively. "You're out of your jurisdiction, Detective," she reminded. "So any arrests made here will be made by me."

        Ray glared at her. "Hate to burst yer bubble, dere, Handler," he retorted cockily, "But we got permission ta be here by the owner, you don't. You're trespassin'."

        "In your dreams, Vecchio," Handler hissed. "I don't need permission, I've got a warrant."

        Ray shot her an evil look. "Control freak," he muttered.

        Handler either didn't hear him or choose to ignore him. "We should split up," she suggested.

        "Fine," Ray agreed readily, indicating agent Young. "You take Wonder Boy and check down here. Fraser an' me'll check up stairs." When he started to move forward, Handler grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

        Ray shook her off as though she was an annoying insect.

        "Then again, maybe we should stay together," Handler contended.

        "It would be quicker if we split up to search, Agent Handler," Fraser offered, truthfully. "We'd have a better chance of one of us finding him."

        Handler glowered at him.

        Ray smirked and started up the stairs.

        Handler pulled him back again. "I don't trust you, Vecchio," she stated. "Young can cover the Mountie, I'm going with you to make sure you don't screw up."

        Kowalski glared at her. "Fraser's my partner," he informed, evenly. "Not you. And if you grab me one more time, woman or not, I'm gonna pop ya."

        "It's okay, Ray," Fraser assured, quietly. "Let's just get started."

        Ray's eyes narrowed on the woman next to him, enough to cause her to finally release him and take a cautious step backwards. Ray nodded to Young. "Fine, have it yer way, but I'll take him." he insisted, firmly.

        Handler scowled. "What's your problem, Vecchio?" she demanded. "Afraid of having a woman as a partner?"

        Ray sneered. "Nah," he denied. "I like women cops just fine." He leaned closer and put his face next to hers. "Just not you."

        They glared at each other, until finally Fraser spoke.

        "May I suggest we put aside personal differences and continue the search?"

        Handler nodded. "Fine," she addressed Young. "Go with Vecchio. Don't let him get you killed."

        "I'll do my best," promised Ray sarcastically, as he and Young headed upstairs. He paused to glance at Fraser. "Be careful," he instructed.

        Fraser nodded as the two teams separated to investigate their assigned areas.

        "I don't know how you put up with him," Handler muttered as she and Fraser inspected the adjoining sitting room across the hall.

        "Ray is very good at what he does, Agent Handler," Fraser assured, as they moved through the room into a large kitchen, their flashlights cutting across the layers of dust that permeated the air around them.

       Handler scoffed.  "He's an idiot," she declared as they made their way back into the hall and down toward what led into a library. "He should be locked up. He's entirely too reckless to be dealing with the public."

        "Ray is a very…physical person," Fraser admitted as they moved along the wall. "He puts a lot of passion into his work. Certainly you cannot fault him for caring about what he does and the people he has sworn to protect."

        Fraser noted that Agent Handler choose to remain silent for the remainder of their search.

        Ray led the way into the first room. Both he and Young scanned the area quickly and methodically. The room appeared to be a small, reading room of sorts, two walls of books and a few chairs.

        Young swept his light across the dust-covered room, but noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

        Ray did find an old oil lamp and he burrowed matches from Young to light it. He nodded in approval when it illuminated most of the room much better than Young's small flashlight had.

        They moved to the next room. Just a small bedroom, again it looked like it had been undisturbed for years. They checked the other three rooms on the floor, but found nothing.

        "What's her problem anyway?" Ray asked the other man as they moved to another room.

        Agent Young did not need to ask who Ray was referring to. "She's just real serious about her job," he defended, quietly.

        "Yah? Freakin' Hitler wasn't dat serious," Ray retorted as they stepped into what appeared to be a nursery or child's playroom.

        "You just rub her da wrong way, Vecchio," Young decided. "Sometimes it happens."

        Ray inspected the adjoining sitting room with an old lantern that he found and had lit. "The Pope would rub her da wrong way."

         Young sighed and wiped his brow from the heat. "There's nothing here," the agent stated running a handkerchief across his pale skin. He leaned against the wall nearest the large bassinet and suddenly fell backwards as the wall opened and closed silently.

        "Yah, " Ray agreed, turning to address the agent. "I guess you're…Young?" He made a quick sweep of the room, then wandered back into the hall and called out for the agent. Where the hell did he go?

        Ray hadn't heard the man leave, so what the hell happened? A strange, cold sensation wormed its way up his spine, like someone had opened a window or door and the draft blew across his exposed neck. Ray shivered, involuntarily. This house gave him the creeps. He walked down the hall and quickly checked the other rooms, but found no sign of the missing agent.

        "I gotta bad feelin' about dis," he muttered aloud as he returned for the lamp then made his way toward the third set of stairs that led to the floor above.

        Ray paused at the landing. Should he check upstairs on his own or go back downstairs and see if Young had decided to check in with Handler? Again that cool, crippling sensation of fear gripped him and he was sure something had touched his shoulder. He spun around, the lantern in one hand, his gun in the other, but he was alone. He glanced up into the darkness of the stairway above. He felt his feet shuffling backwards, without the conscious decision to do so.

        Ray  shook his head. "Ghost's, Goblins, and ta hell witchoo," he proclaimed and headed back downstairs.

        "Where's Agent Young?" demanded Handler, the moment Ray found them in the formal dining area.

        "Ah…" Kowalski hedged, scratching his head, slightly. "I thought he came back down here. We were in a room upstairs talkin' and da next thing I knew, he was gone. I thought he maybe came back ta check in."

        "You lost him!" accused Handler, angrily.

        "I didn't lose him!" refuted Kowalski. "I…er..just don't know where he went." Ray couldn't help the sheepish smile that spread across his face, which only seemed to enrage the pretty female Investigator.

       Handler stared at him in disbelief. "How could you lose a grown man?" she demanded. "Even an idiot like you can't lose a two hundred and twenty pound, middle aged, white guy in an enclosed environment!"

        "Wow!" Ray smirked. "Two twenty, really? Funny, he don't look dat…"

        "Vecchio!" exclaimed Handler, barely controlling her rage.

        Oh, he was getting to her, really getting to her now. She wanted to reach across and strangle him with her bare hands. Watch the life squeeze out of him, as she ripped that annoying smirk from his face. She wanted to run her fingers through that charmingly, disordered mass of blond hair. She paused in her silent tirade. Where the hell did that come from?

        "Since we're takin' measurements," Ray continued in that annoyingly smug tone of his, "Maybe you should give me yers, so I'll know what to put on da missing person's report."

        Handler stared at him and blinked, incomprehensibly. "I'm not the one missing you moron!"

        "Can't blame a guy fer wishin'," Ray retorted.

        Finally, Fraser stepped in, the tension between the pair was about to hit a crescendo and they didn't really have the time for dramatics. "Perhaps, we should attempt to find Agent Young," he suggested in his best, no-nonsense voice. He waited patiently for their response, feeling that at any moment they would attack each other like lions in battle. "He may well have stumbled onto another secret passage, Ray."

        Ray finally tore his gaze away from Handler and shook his head. "I don't see how," he denied. "I checked every inch of dat room, Fraser. I even checked the other rooms around it. If he'd gone through some secret door, I'd have found it."

        "Not necessarily, Ray," Fraser deliberated, as they all moved toward the stairs. "Sometimes you have to use just the right amount of pressure or find the correct hand hold to open the door." They climbed the stairs and returned to the room where Ray had "lost"  Agent Young. "Where were you, Ray?"

        Ray shrugged and showed them exactly where he had been and where the agent had been standing.

        Fraser stood next to the bassinet and surveyed the area, suspiciously.

        "He said somethin' about dere not bein' anything here," Ray informed," Y'know, we couldn't find evidence of the room even bein' disturbed lately. So, when I turned around to agree with him...poof he was gone."

        Fraser examined the walls in the room and found nothing out of the ordinary. He pushed against them and knocked along the panels. He noticed that two of the partitions sounded hollow, one of them being where Agent Young had been standing. However, as Ray had said, he could not find the trigger to open the wall.

        "This is just wonderful," sighed Handler, exasperated. "What else can go wrong?"

        Ray ignored her, set his lamp on the bear and walked over to Fraser. "Didn't you say somethin' about da right pressure?" he asked the Mountie.

        Fraser nodded, understanding what his friend was considering. They both turned their backs to the wall.

        "Wait a minute!" delayed Handler, realizing what they were up to. She pulled a sheet off a small dresser and tossed an end to Fraser, as she anchored the other around her waist. "If Young disappeared that quick, you guys might not have a chance to catch yourselves either."

        "Excellent thinking, Agent Handler," Fraser commended, receiving a glare from his partner." On the count of three, Ray."

        Ray nodded and braced himself, grabbing hold of the Mountie's strong arm for balance.

        "One…two….three."

        They threw their full weight against the wall and, although it was half expected, they weren't quite ready when it gave under them and they slipped through. Fraser's hand had tightened on the sheet, to keep them upright, but Ray's hand and slipped from Fraser's arm and now clung to the back of his tunic. The detective was now hanging backward an a precarious angle. With Handler's counterweight and the sheet's resistance Fraser managed to reach back, haul Ray up and then right himself.

        The wall started to close and Ray quickly shoved his back up against the panel and his foot on the opposite side of the wall for balance, to prop it open. His breathing was rather erratic, but then he'd almost went head first into, what appeared to be, a bottomless well of darkness.

        "Are you all right?" inquired Handler, watching the detective catch his breath.

        Ray looked at her surprised. That almost sounded like concern in her voice. Unfortunately, being Ray Kowalski, he couldn't let such a fraudulent slip go. "Gee, Handler," he taunted. "I didn't know ya cared."

        For a brief moment Ray thought there was a look of hurt in her eyes, but then it was gone and quickly replaced by her usual condescending glare.

        "I just don't need you passing out on us, Vecchio," she insisted coldly. "We've got enough to deal with without having to haul your ass around, besides."

        Ray dropped his foot to the floor and started forward, almost forgetting the wall, until he'd felt it nudge his leg. He resumed his position again. "Don't you worry about me, Lady," he retorted.

         Fraser could tell from the lowered tone his friend was using that Ray was dangerously close to losing his temper. He couldn't fault Ray for being startled by his narrow escape down the well, they'd both already taken one trip that had rattled them. However, he saw no reason for Ray to counter Handler's unusual concern with sarcasm.

        "I'm sure my partner meant no disrespect, Agent Handler," Fraser suggested. He knew Ray would not apologize for his behavior, but he had to defuse the situation quickly and get on with the business at hand.

        Fraser couldn't understand their shared animosity. Having Ray and Handler in the same room was like mixing Nitro Glycerin and gun powder in a match factory, one of them was bound to blow up.

        Handler shot the Mountie a deathly glare, having no more use for his passive, white-wash tactics as she did for his hooligan partner. She marched forward and leveled her light down into the pit, calling out for Agent Young. Her hips brushed dangerously close to the leg Ray had propped across the entrance and she stepped back, suddenly.

        Ray subdued the sudden urge to lower his leg and push the irritating woman in.

        Fraser must have understood his thoughts, because the Mountie scowled at him. Ray had to look away from the reprimand in his partner's eyes.

        Ray just couldn't help himself, Handler seemed to bring out the absolute worst in him. He was not normally so consciously aggravating to someone. He was never intentionally hurtful and he didn't understand what it was about this woman that turned him into someone he didn't like. Yes, she was condescending and controlling and she had a knack for pushing Ray's buttons, but that was still no reason to behave the way he had, even though at times he perversely enjoyed getting a rise out of her.

        Ray continued to brace the wall with his back and watched as Handler and Fraser called out for Young. The detective noticed the fine lines of Handler's face were creased with worry. He observed the tiny pout of her lips as she anxiously wet them with her tongue. Her dark phantom eyes were soft and accented with long, feathered lashes, that most women would probably kill for, which played wide against her dark, mahogany skin. This made her appear more vulnerable even, Ray realized, when she was mad enough to spit nails.

        "If he's down there he may be hurt and unable to answer," Fraser remarked as Handler's voice continued to echo back at them. "We must find a way down."

        "What're we gonna do?" asked Ray wryly. "Tie sheets together and lower someone down?" He had meant it as a joke, but when he found two pairs of eyes watching him thoughtfully, Ray started shaking his head, vehemently. "Oh no! Not me, I've had enough of this secret passage crap."

        "It was your idea, Ray," Fraser reminded.

        "You were the one who lost Agent Young, to start with, Detective," concluded Handler, turning toward him and again her hip brushed his leg.

        "I didn't loose him fer cryin' out loud!" Ray protested, startled when he felt a twitch in his groin. Keep it together, Kowalski, this was not a woman you want to think that way about.

        Handler shrugged and began to take off her shoes. "If you're afraid, Vecchio, " she charged. "I'll go."

        Yah that's it, get rid of some of those clothes, Handler. Let's see what you've got under that power suit of yours. Ray shook away the naughty voice in his head and glared at her. "I never said I was afraid," he denied, hotly. "I just...you weren't...I didn't…" He scowled at both of them. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "Aw, Hell. Go get the damn sheets, Fraser."

        Fraser hid his grin and started to leave the room. He paused and shot a questioning glance at Ray, showing his concern for Agent Handler's well being.

         Ray had to smile. "I'll be good, Fraser," he promised, receiving a strange, inquiring look from the woman next to him.

        The Mountie nodded and went to find some more sheets.

        At the same time Handler took a few wary steps back away from the detective.

        Ray didn't elaborate on what she might be thinking, but instead gave her his best Cheshire Cat grin.

        Ray swung Fraser's flashlight around him. His right hand gripped the sheet that was secured around his waist tightly, as he was lowered into the dark pit. They had moved the bureau in front of the wall to keep it from closing and now he dangled from the sheets that he and Fraser had quickly tied together.

        "Are you all right Ray?" inquired the ever-concerned Mountie from above.

        The echo of his partner's words made Ray's head ache. "Yah," he called back, then muttered under his breath. "Just call me Indiana freakin' Jones."

        "Do you see anything yet, Detective?" asked Handler.

        Ray felt as though they'd been lowering him forever, but he still saw no trace of a bottom. If Young had fallen this far down, he could be seriously hurt or even dead.

        "Yah, I see that I can't see squat!" he retorted. Then for Fraser's benefit. "Nothin' yet."

        As soon as the words left Ray's mouth, his light caught a movement below. He leaned over a little and adjusted the beam, then shined it downward again. His foot hit before the beam could completely illuminate the skeletal remains of a corpse below him, with a variety of arachnids crawling in and out of the eyes and mouth sockets of the deteriorating skull. Ray felt the scream rise in his throat but was unaware that he had vocalized it, until he heard Fraser calling down, frantically.

        "Ray! Ray what is it?"

        "Pull me up!" Ray screamed as a large, black tarantula jumped onto his boot. He tried to shake it off, just as another one appeared from the surrounding wall and attached itself to the sleeve of his jacket. "Oh Christ! God!"

        Ray shook his leg and managed to detach the one on his foot, then knocked the one off his sleeve with the light in his other hand. Two more attached themselves, one to the front of his shirt one on his thigh. They were like pieces of crawling metal and he was a live magnet. Ray felt himself being pulled slowly, upwards and panicked as he felt another one crawling on his shoulder.

        "Godamnit, Fraser! Pull me up!"

        Ray's fear caused his hand to slip on the sheet, yet it was a heavier fear that demanded he dropped the flashlight and wrap both hands tighter around it; he did not want to end up down there with that corpse. He felt the three tarantulas crawling upward, one at his waist, two close to his throat. He shook himself so hard he almost lost his grip again. He cried out in pain when his struggles caused him to slam into the rock wall that surrounded him.

        "Ray!" called Fraser urgently from above. "Try to be still, it's harder to pull you up when you're moving."

        "Pull me up!" Ray demanded, hysteria registering in his voice as he managed to fling another spider away. However, he could feel that there were still two on him and he seemed to be rising awfully slowly. "Christ! Shit! Get offa me!"

        Ray was afraid to take his hands off the sheet, but more afraid of the small monsters that plagued him. He managed to knock another one off, and his grip on the sheet slipped once more. He grabbed it with both hands again, just as the spider at his hip started to crawl inside his shirt. Ray felt its eight hairy legs crawling up his chest.

        "FRASER!"

        Finally, Ray was being pulled up and into the nursery, by a pair of strong arms, and laid on his back.  "Get it off! Get it off!" he screamed.

         Fraser tried to work his way past his partner's hysterical movements to grasp the creature he saw moving under Kowalski's shirt. Finally, he managed to catch the scurrying beast. He swiftly pulled it out, and tossed it back into the pit.

        Ray was shaking and had started to hyperventilate.

        Fraser tore at one of the sheets and made a type of cloth bag, which he held over Kowalski's mouth and nose. He instructed Ray to take slow, deep breaths.

         Handler pulled off the detective's leather jacket and pulled up his shirt to check for bite marks. She saw the makings of a dark bruise forming on his upper back, and one just above his hip, but no sign that the Arachnid had bit him. Her fingers traced an old scar, just below Ray's shoulder blade. To keep her curiosity at bay, Handler inspected the begining bruises on Ray's back and he flinched.

        "What happened?" she asked, gently.

        Ray pushed Fraser's hands and the cloth away from his face. He pulled down his shirt, embarrassed for having reacted the way he had, and also the reaction he was having from Handler touching him. "I think I hit the wall a few times," he muttered, trying to ignore the crawling sensation that still seemed to cover his skin. "I..I hit the wall."

        Ray's stress level just peaked, but Fraser ignored it as he pulled the shirt out of the detective's hands and checked the area again. "Doesn't look like anything is broken," he approved, quietly. He handed Ray his jacket, noticing that his partner's hands were still shaking. "What did you see, Ray?"

        Taking a deep breath, and accepting the hand Fraser held out to him, Ray rose to his feet. He briefly told them what he had found at the end of the well and watched Handler cover her mouth in shock.

        "Was it…" she began, her eyes wide with shock. "Was it Agent Young?"

        Ray thought back to the scene then shook his head.  "Nah, I don't think so," he declined. "That guy's been dead since Christ, probably."

        Fraser smirked. "I sincerely doubt it's been that long, Ray," he replied. "However, there must be a passage that leads off of this one, similar to the one we were in."

        "How?" asked Ray, "It goes straight up and down. I didn't see any levers or doors or nuthin'."

        "There may be some kind of fulcrum or mechanism on the wall though, Ray," countered Fraser. "Agent Young may have hit it somehow on the way down."

        Ray stared at him warily. "I ain't goin' back down there, Fraser." He stated, firmly. "No way no how, end of story." His hands made a wildly sweeping gesture.

        "No, of course not, Ray," agreed Fraser, understanding that the detective had every right to be concerned. "I'll go."

        Ray grunted in exasperation and ran a hand through his hair. "Fraser!" he objected. "This is stupid." He didn't want to risk the Mountie's life. Although, Ray was strong, Fraser was bigger and heavier than he and Ray wasn't sure he could pull his partner to safety quick enough in a pinch. "If he ain't down there he's gotta be somewhere in da house."

        "But Ray…"

        "No, Fraser," Ray refused, as he started glancing around for Fraser's flashlight. "Um...I think I left yer light down there, Frase, sorry."

        "Perfectly all right, Ray," Fraser assured.

        "For once I agree with Vecchio, Constable," Handler informed. "It's too dangerous. We'll have to find an alternative route."

        Fraser sighed and nodded, complacently.

        Ray nodded satisfied, and retrieved the lamp. "Good, so com'on and let's go find Young.."

        Surprisingly Handler stood and started to follow.

        They decided to check the poolroom first, where Fraser and Kowalski had ended up on their first trip through a secret passageway. They checked the entire downstairs area methodically, searching for secret entrances or hidden doorways. Since the pit had dropped straight down, Young had to be in the lower half of the house. Now, they were looking for two people, the suspect Robert Jennings and Agent Young.

        Handler was considering calling in back up too aid in the search, since it was turning dark outside and it would be even harder to see inside the house.  Fraser was across the large room, inspecting the opposite walls. She glanced out the window as Ray inspected the bookcases on his side.

        "What are you doing?" she asked, as she glanced over at him. "We already checked there.

        "Toss me yer light," Ray requested, having set his lamp in the corner to push back more of the shadows around them.

        "Why?"

        "Just hand it over, will ya?"

        Handler tossed the flashlight to him and watched him shine the beam against the bookcase. She walked over to see what he found. Scratches against the wall that looked like the bookcase had been moved quite a bit.

        Ray handed her back the light and glanced at Fraser. "Give me a hand, Frase," he requested and Fraser headed over toward him.

        Handler waved the Mountie back. "Stay there and continue your search, Constable," she ordered, causing Fraser to halt, suddenly. She glared at Kowalski. "Do you have a problem with me giving you a hand, Detective? Or don't you think a woman can handle moving furniture?"

        Ray stared at her startled, then cast a look toward Fraser.

        Fraser shrugged, but continued to watch them with interest.

        Ray glared at Handler. "Habit," he defended and placed his hands on the wall. "Knock yerself out, if ya want."

        Handler placed her hands next to his and together they managed to push the bookcase over enough to see a secret passageway. "Where do you think it goes?" she asked, leaning over him and shinning her light into the darkness.

        Ray slipped inside and indicated the scuffed boot prints on the floor beneath them."Dunno," he admitted as she moved in beside him. "But I'll bet our buddy Jennings has been through here." He turned around to address the Mountie. "Fraser you think..."

        Ray's words were suddenly cut off as the bookcase slid abruptly back into place, blocking their exit. He pounded on the wall and called out to Fraser, but there was no response from the other side.

        "Maybe he can't hear you," Handler suggested.

        Ray snorted, with Fraser's keen hearing? "He can hear you breathing from thirty feet away, he can here me knockin' on the wall."" he confirmed pounding on the wall harder.

        Finally, Fraser's muffled voice answered from behind the solid mass. "Ray! Agent Handler! Are you all right?"

        "Yah, Frase," Ray called back. "There ain't no way to move it from this side, can you move it from yer side?"

        There was a moment of silence, then the Mountie responded. "It won't budge, Ray," he denied, regretfully. "There must be something in the mechanisms that locks it from moving again too soon."

        "So what?" asked Ray confused. "You want us to just wait until it lets us out, or what?"

        "No, Ray," Fraser refused. "It may be hours and we still have to find Agent Young and Jennings. What do you see on your side?"

        Ray leveled Handler's flash light forward and found a ramp leading upwards. He told Fraser about it. "It probably lead to the second floor. You wanna meet us up there and find us a way out?"

        "Just keep calling when you reach the top, Ray. I'll find you," promised the Mountie.

        Ray nodded, turned to head up the stairs, then turned back. "Hey Fraser!"

        "Yes, Ray?"

        "Be careful huh? Jennings may still be around and you don’t have me an' my trusty sidearm to back you up."

        There was a momentary pause. "Understood, Ray," Fraser assured, finally. He knew what his partner was saying, don't take any unnecessary risks. "I'll see you upstairs."

    " 'Kay," returned Ray, then indicated that Handler preceded him up the narrow ramp.

        Ray silently hoped this passage didn't end up like their last, he'd just started to dry out in the humid heat surrounding them. They came to a wall at the top and Ray searched for some kind or mechanism to open it. It appeared to be completely solid.

       Handler turned to him, her hands on her hips. "Great going, Vecchio," she accused. "Now what do we do?"

        Ray glared back at her, then continued to run his hands over the wall, knocking occasionally to test if it was solid, but it appeared to be made of heavy stone."There has to be a way out." he stated. "Why would they build a secret passage there's was no way out of?"

        "I don't know, " Handler retorted. "But you managed to find one."

        She shook her head and pulled out her cell phone to make the call for backup. However, the signal didn't work from their location and she angrily shoved it back in her pocket.

        "Don't worry," Ray assured as he examined the wall of the ramp. "I'll find a way out."

        "Oh, now I feel so much better," Handler scoffed. "You couldn't find a rat in a trap, Vecchio."

        "I didn't ask you to follow me," Ray reminded angrily, he was fed up with her and her sarcasm.

        "I didn't want to take the chance of you finding my suspect before I did," Handler defended. "Knowing your brawl-room tactics, he'd be beaten to a pulp before I even got to question him."

        Ray turned toward her, offended. "What da hell ya base dat on?" he demanded. "Have you ever seen me beat a suspect?"

        Handler took a step back, startled. "I...no but I..."

        "Save yer buts," Ray growled. "Just because I come across as a hard ass with some of 'em, doesn't mean I cross da line Handler, not unless dey ask fer it; if dey throw the first punch."

        "I have watched you, Vecchio," Handler reminded, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "You browbeat and intimidate...."

        Ray stared at her, incredulously. "Ya want me ta give 'em milk and cookies?" he retorted. "Ya expect ta get a confession dat way? I can't help the way I interrogate, it's posture, it works fer me." He looked away for a brief minute, before meeting her gaze again. "And I'm not always like dat. You've only seen me a few times, so don't hand me yer self righteous crap!"

        "Showing a little decorum and remaining calm...." Handler began.

        "Will let a criminal think he got away with it," Ray finished. "Not with me, lady. In my world, every suspect is guilty of somethin' unless they convince  me otherwise."

        Handler refused to be wrong. "If you adapted your tactics to..."

        Ray turned on her. "Listen Handler, you got no idea what my tactics are so just shut yer trap!" He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm his rising temper. "People like you make me sick! Ya let some poor grunts like me and Fraser do all the work for ya 'den you breeze in an' take over like ya own the world or somethin'! Well, lemmie tell ya somethin', without people like me you'd be nut'tin but a paper-pushin' meter maid, remember 'dat!"

        Handler gasped in outrage. "Don't you dare insinuate that I can't handle my job!" she returned, furiously. "You're nothing but a cocky, two bit scrounge, playing at being a cop. You think you're so great, well I've seen your file, Vecchio, and it's nothing to be proud of!"

        Ray shot her a warning look.

        Handler knew she had already gone to far, but couldn't help wanting to push him all the way over the edge. She straightened, defensively. "As I understand it, the majority of your collars are due to that Mountie partner of yours and not, by some insurmountable skill you think you have. You're reckless, arrogant and insubordinate and you have no business on the street or near the public."

        "I do what I'm supposed ta do!" Ray roared against her insubordination charge. "I do what I gotta do to save lives an' the get scum off the streets. I don't ask nobody ta do my job fer me and Fraser is the best damn partner anybody could have, but we are partners and I work just as hard as him."

         Ray wanted to tell her that his real arrest record, under his real name, could outshine Vecchio's easily and he had done it without a Canadian partner to help him. However, he was playing a role and he couldn't endanger Vecchio's life out of some stupid need to prove what a good cop he really was to Handler. Sometimes, living someone else's life was a real pain in the ass.

        "A little understanding and kindness...." Handler began.

        Ray's eyes narrowed on her, dangerously. "What the hell would you know about kindness?" he asked. "All you care about is your stupid status and gettin' one more notch on yer arrest record; regardless of the poor workin' class slobs that end up doin' half the work fer ya. Freakin' Castro wouldn't need as much power and attention as you."

        Handler blinked at the sudden rush of tears his words caused, and she had to lower her eyes. Did he really see her that way? Of course she cared for and respected the people she worked with, and other law enforcement officers. They were all on the same team, after all. Did Vecchio really see her as such a power hungry bitch?

        Ray regarded her quietly and some of his anger faded. It bothered him that Handler hadn't come back at him with her usual fire. Had what he said actually hurt her? He shook his head, no way. Nothing could penetrate the hard sheath of ice that her heart was locked behind. He stepped backwards and leaned against the wall, lowering his eyes uneasily. He heard a quiet click, but it didn't register until they heard the wall at the top of the ramp moving upwards.

        Handler hurried forward and Ray followed, just before the wall closed heavily behind them.

        They found themselves in a small library, with an antique desk and matching rolling chair. Almost everything else was covered in long white sheets and a thick layer of dust. There was another oil lamp on the desk and Ray went to light it, replacing the glass and picking it up by the thick, glass stem.

        Handler moved toward the exit door, determined, and Ray caught her arm. She turned, glanced at his hand, and shook him off, angrily. "Paws off, Detective," she warned. "I have enough to worry about without being manhandled by the likes of you."

        The likes of him? Ray glared at her and stepped back. He had been about to apologize for his remark, but screw that. She was every bit the bitch he had accused her of being. Fraser was rubbing off on him, that's all, making him feel guilty for things he needn't concern himself with.

        Ray's adopted a careless posture. "Sorry I'm not up to yer, usual standards, Handler," he retorted, moving past her to the door. "But, I'm sure if we ask dat fella we found earlier, he'd be willin' ta give ya a try."

        Handler's lips thinned in annoyance, knowing full well he was speaking about the corpse at the end of that well. She forced her expression to remain neutral. "Certainly, Vecchio," she returned with a saccharine sweetness. "And next time we pick up any of those girls on Elm Street I'll be sure to give them your number."

        Ray was unfazed  by her accusation that he went for hookers. "No thanks," he returned calmly, pulling his hand on the door and pulling it open. "Sloppy seconds ain't my style."

        He stepped through, without waiting for her, and glanced at the dark, carpeted hallway that extended in both directions. "Which color ya like better, Handler?" he asked suddenly. "Blue or green?"

        Handler stopped short, caught off guard by the question. She glanced up at him, puzzled. "What?"

        "Yer favorite color," Ray repeated, exasperated. "It's not a trick question."

       Handler glared at him. "Green," she replied, without thinking about it and watched Ray turn right.

        Ray nodded. "That's what I thought, we go this-a-way," he decided.

        Handler remained where she was. "What if I don't want to go that way?" she demanded, stubbornly.

        Ray turned back toward her. "Why not? My instincts say..."

        Handler huffed and started off in the opposite direction. "I trust your instincts even less than I trust your judgment, Vecchio," she tossed back. "We'll go this way."

        "I really don't think...." Ray began.

        "I don't care what you think," Handler decided, getting further ahead of him. Her flash light cast a soft glow ahead of her. "I'm going this way."

        "Fine," Ray growled. he had the lamp, so he wasn't worried about finding his way. "Go dat way, but if ya get lost or end up under water, don't call me!"

        "I won't!" Handler snapped back, her figure disappearing further into the darkness.

        "Good!" Ray retorted and turned back toward the right. He'd only gone a couple of steps, when his conscience pricked at him; or rather Fraser's conscience.

    'You can't let her go off alone, Ray. What if she gets hurt or Jennings catches her by surprise?'
    'She says she's tough, let her figure it out.'
    "Ray, Ray, Ray.'
    'All right! Goddamnit I hate it when you're right!'

    Ray growled and turned back to hurry after Agent Handler.

    "Thought you were following your instincts?" Handler smirked, when he found her.

    Ray resisted the urge to turn back and let her wander off alone, barely. "You never gave me yer measurements, yet," he retorted. "In case ya get yerself killed, I'll need ta know how big to order the coffin."

        Handler ignored him and continued walking, secretly relieved that he had joined her; for whatever reason. She wished he didn't bring out the worst in her, but she couldn't help it. Something about the impulsive detective just rubbed her the wrong way; or perhaps the right way depending on how you looked at it. She shook her head, refusing to think about that.

       Handler switched off her flashlight to save the batteries, since they now had Ray's lamp to light their way. "Thank you," she offered quietly.

        Ray halted, abruptly and looked down at her. "You're thanking me?"

        Handler hated that his reaction caused her to blush. Did he really see her as such a hard ass? "Yes, well...don't let it go to your head," she retorted. "Everyone has periods of sensibility now and then, even you."

        Ray hid his smile as he turned to face forward again. That almost sounded like a compliment. He was wearing her down. "Sure thing, Handler," he agreed, quietly.

        They found another door and opened it up, but was startled to find just a solid brick wall on the other side.

        "Whoever built this place was a twisted bastard," Ray decided, slamming the door, frustrated.

        "A relative of yours, then?" Handler pounced, moving toward one of the brass light fixtures on the opposite wall. She pulled on one then the other. She moved further down to the next set and found one that opened an adjacent wall. She cast Ray a smug look as he joined her by the opening.

        Ray gritted his teeth and followed her through, the wall closing behind them. They were in a small room, no windows and no visible exit out. "Oh, well this is much better," he decided, sarcastically. "Good call there, Handler."

        Handler ignored him and grabbed his lamp to illuminate the room further. A soft glow was cast around them, as they inspected the room for a way out. All that was there was the table, with a small antique record player and lamp. An old rocking chair sat next to it.

        "FRASER!" Ray suddenly cried out, startling the agent. He smirked at her. "Worth a try," he decided, before moving further into the room to inspect the walls, the way he had watched Fraser do. "Somethin' gotta lead out of here."

        Both of them twirled around as an old phonograph switched on and started playing a Frank Sinatra classic.

        Ray and Handler exchanged a curious glance.

        "Did you do that?" Handler asked him.

       Ray shook his head and smirked. "Oh yah, my telekinetic powers astound even me."

        Ray glanced at the record, then back at Handler. He lowered his eyes. This was too weird! What was the house reading his mind now? He shook his head, a house couldn't read someone's mind. get it together, Kowalski. He continued to search for an opening.

        Handler walked over and pulled the needle away from the record, angrily, resulting in a loud scratching noise.

        Ray winced and looked back at her. "That's no way to treat Frank," he said, ignoring the deathly look she shot him.

        "I'm tired of these games, Vecchio," she told him, moving to his side.

       "I'm not doin' it!" Ray defended, rising from his crouched position. "Why are ya blamin' me?"

        Handler huffed and folded her arms across her chest. "Somehow you're responsible," she replied. "I'd stake my reputation on it."

        "I'd fold if I were you, then," Ray said, sarcastically.

           "Bastard!"

         "Shrew!"

        A loud, screeching sound interrupted their argument and they jumped startled

        "W...what was that?" gulped Handler.

        Ray didn't answer her, because the noise sounded again and it sent shivers clear through him. "Probably and owl," he offered, finally. The noise sounded one more time, only twice as loud, "O...okay, an owl on steroids."

        A heavy thumping vibrated the roof over the heads.

        Handler stared at him expectantly.

        Ray shrugged and took an additional step back, needing to put a little more space between them, so he could think clearly and not be so affected by her. "Probably our suspect, or Fraser," he explained, quietly. Why was she looking at him for all the answers, he didn't have an ounce of Canadian blood in him, what did he know? He smirked at his own thoughts.

        A gentle creaking seemed to be coming from inside the room and they both turned to stare at the rocking chair that now had started to move of it’s own volition.

        "V...V...Vecchio!" exclaimed Handler as she watched the chair creak back and forth.

        Ray shook his head, dazed. "I ain't doin' it!" he denied as the flame in the lamp seemed to glow brighter. He felt a hand slip into his and looked down at the terrified agent beside him. "It's a trick. It's just a…"

        A face appeared before them, the pale hue of death feeding around dark hollow eyes and a wide screaming mouth. He felt the tug on his arm as Handler fainted, then a wave of nausea passed over him. A moment later, he joined her on the floor.

        Fraser opened yet another door in the hallway. A window was open, surprising as most of them were boarded up, and a gentle breeze was moving the thin white curtains that hung from it. Two portable lamps, a small camp stove and a duffel bag lay close to a rolled sleeping bag. he moved inside, after assuring there was no one about and Fraser inspected the room calling for Ray. This was the third room he had been in and still he had heard nothing from his partner. Curious, he stopped beside the duffel bag and examined its contents.

        "Looks like someone's going on an extended vacation."

        Fraser whirled around and was startled to see Agent Young standing just inside the doorway. His suit was torn and foliage from the forest clung to his clothes and hair. His face looked like it had been scratched by thorns.

        "Where did you come from?" asked Fraser, puzzled.

        Young wiped at his face with a handkerchief. "Outside," he explained. "I was leanin' up against a wall talkin' to yer partner one minute, the next I was on this crazy slide that dumped me in the middle of the damn trees out back." He stepped further into the room. "Where's Handler and Vecchio?"

        Fraser quickly explained the situation.

        "We ain't found Jennings yet, either?" Young sighed.

        Fraser shook his head and pulled out one of the packets of hundred dollar bills."No," he replied. "But he's obviously been here. This appears to be where he sleeps." He glanced back at the roll of money. "The money from the bank robbery?" he guessed, bringing the bills closer to inspect one of the packets. His keen senses picked up a suspicious odor on the money. "Hmmm."

        Young glanced at the Mountie as Fraser tentatively licked one of the bills. "That's gross," he debated. "Even for a Canadian."

        Fraser took no offense at the remark and he dropped the money back into the bag."There are traces of cocaine on the bills," he informed as he moved to the small stove.

        "That would mean this is probably the money from the drug heist," assumed Young.

         Fraser turned to regard him. "Drug Heist?" he inquired, for Chicago PD only knew of the bank robbery charge.

        Young nodded."Yeah. " He dropped the bag and moved to peer out the window. "There was a big drug deal going down, some heavy hitters from Seattle were making a trade to some folks here in Chicago. We got a tip where they would be meeting and were waiting for them." He sighed in frustration. "Unfortunately our timing was a little off. We managed to get a couple of the buyers, but not the main guy. Apparently, someone came in posing as the sellers and traded off some home brewed heroin, laced with coke and a few other things. The buyers were not happy that they weren't gettin' the real thing...know what I mean?"

        Fraser nodded. It was ironic how particular drug dealers could be regarding their product, but if it wasn't pure it didn't sell and they didn't make money. He could imagine they were all very upset.

        "So the person posing as the seller would have to hide out for a while, until he believed they were no longer looking for him," deduced Fraser glancing around them. "He probably used the money he stole from the bank to produce enough Heroin for a larger payoff that he had heard was going to occur." Fraser bent to continue to inspect the camping equipment. "Perhaps, Jennings couldn't attain enough of the product that he required, so he laced it with whatever he could salvage."

        "Which led to both of us being after the same guy," concluded Young, not noticing anything out of the ordinary going on outside.

        Fraser touched the portable stove and found it was still warm and there was the faint smell of baked beans inside the room. "This equipment has been used in the last hour, so he must still be here. " He rose again. "I know Diefenbaker must be on his trail." He neglected to mention that the wolf hadn't been seen for awhile now. "But there seems to be quite a few hidden passageways in this house that Jennings could have ample hiding room."

        "Let's check the rest of these rooms," suggested Young. "See if we can't find Agent Handler and Vecchio. Fraser nodded and allowed him to lead the way.

    Ray awoke with a pounding headache and blurry vision. He blinked a few times as he tried to focus on his surroundings. They were in a dark room, but there was enough moonlight coming through the rotting boards of the window, closest to them, that he could make out shadows. A moment later, his eyes seemed to adjust and he could see that they were in another bedroom, with the furniture draped with heavy yellowed sheets. He watched as dust molecules, caught in the slivers of moonlight, danced about the room like tiny sparkling specks of magic. He tried to move his arms and realized they were tied to the chair he was sitting on. A movement against the ropes and a stiff groan sounded behind him. He tried to twist his head to see the person behind him.

        "Handler?" Ray asked, unable to see her from his position.

        "Who else?" Handler snapped, wearily. "God my head hurts!" She slowly raised her head to look around them. "What happened?"

        "You fainted," Ray informed.

        Handler offered an indignant grunt. "I never faint," she denied, angrily. "You probably hit me, or something."

        Ray smirked."Not dat it didn't cross my mind," he admitted. "But no, I didn't. Ya fainted. Dropped like a stone." He grinned, no way was he going to admit he'd detected some kind of gas that had started to turn his stomach, just before he had also lost consciousness. Although, the things they witnessed, who knows what the hell they were.

        "I don't faint, Vecchio!" Handler declared.

         Ray felt the ropes squeeze against his chest. "Hey!" he protested trying to get his breath back. "Quit squirmin' yer cuttin' off my circulation." He felt the ropes pull against him once more defiantly.

       Handler actually growled. "There's an idea," she muttered, finally becoming still in her chair. "I don't faint Vecchio, so what the hell happened?"

        Ray sighed."It was all a theory."

        "What?" she demanded. "What is that supposed to mean?"

        "Ya know, the theory of gravity?" he explained, sarcastically. "Well it reached up and grabbed ya all of a sudden like."

        Handler growled again and Ray chuckled, only to have her pull on the ropes again.

        "Quit it!" Ray demanded firmly. "Why ya gotta be such a control freak? Lemme think a minute here. See how we can get outta this mess." He smirked. "Or me anyway, you I'll leave behind."

        "I'm warning you, Vecchio," Handler threatened. "I am not in the mood for…"

        The door opened and Ray squinted as the beam of a flashlight hit him in the face. Temporarily blinded, he couldn't make out the man's features, other than he was of medium height and build.

        "Shouldn't be pokin' around where ya don't belong, Cop," the man threatened, holding the beam to Ray's face to keep himself shadowed.

        "Make it easy on yerself," insisted Ray, rationally. "You're gonna do time anyway, so just let us go and we'll put in a good word fer ya at the trial." He felt the cold barrel of a gun propped against his forehead.

        "How about I just shoot ya and then there won't be no witness to testify," their captor bargained.

        "Ya don't wanna shoot a cop, man," Ray warned, trying to appeal to the man's basic fears. "They'll hunt ya down fer it. They'll never give up, until dey catch ya and even then dere's no guarantee 'dat you'll make it back alive."

        "Cop killers do seem to have an awfully hard time getting to trial," confirmed Handler, playing along with Vecchio's psyche-trip. "There are so many mishaps that occur along the way. So many unfortunate accidents."

        "An' even if you survive to serve time," continued Ray, sensing the man's hesitancy. "Ya know what they do with cop killers in the Big House, man? You gotta prove what a stud ya are and every guy in the place will be trying to prove they're better'n you. You won't be able to sleep, or eat, or go anywhere alone without someone wantin' to take a piece outta you." He listened to the man's breathing, sure their lies were scaring him. "You really wanna chance that, man?"

        After a moment, the gun was removed from Ray's temple and the light lowered from his eyes. Ray released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

        "Then I'll have to figure out a way to make it look like somethin' udder dan murder," Jennings reasoned.

        Chills shivered down Ray's spine. He didn't like the sound of that. A minute later he felt Handler cry out and he tried to twist around to see what was happening.

        "He's got a syringe Vecchio!" she warned.

        Ray tried to get his hands free, but it was no use, and he knew the more he struggled, the tighter the ropes squeezed around Handler. "You leave her the hell alone, you bastard, or I'll rip your head off and shit down yer throat!"

        A moment later Jennings beside him and the light was shining on his arm, at the underside of his elbow. "Aw, chivalry ain't dead after all," he taunted. "All right, you can go first."

        "You put that shit in me and I'll fuckin kill you!" Ray screamed  at him, trying to shake the man's fingers away, but he was bound too tightly to the chair.

        "It's you or her, cop," Jennings sneered. "What's yer pleasure?"

        Ray wished he could see the prick's face, but Jennings was smart to keep the light on Ray so he couldn't see. He suspected that the criminal would still shoot up Handler with whatever was in that damn needle, regardless of whether Ray went first or not. However, he had to try and reason with this ass hole.

        "Look, ya don't wanna do dis, we can get ya a deal and..."

        Jennings barked in laughter. "I got drug dealers after me man, ya think I give a shit about yer deals? The cops can't protect me and I ain't given ya any information dat will up da price on my head, so you're waistin' yer time talkin' deals."

        Ray felt the painful prick of the needle, and then the cold sensation of the drug running through his veins. "You're a dead man, Jennings," he warned trying to shake off the sluggish feeling that was already crrepin up on him. "I'm gonna hunt ya down and blow yer God damn head off."

        Jennings ignored him and moved toward Handler.

        Suddenly, there was a menacing growl from the doorway, and Ray looked up just as Diefenbaker lunged at Jennings, knocking the syringe from his hand. The man cried out, but managed to get away from the wolf long enough to escape through the door. Diefenbaker whined at Ray's side.

        "Good boy," Ray encouraged, fighting the drug that was already trying to take over his mind and body. He shook his head, in an attempt to clear it. "Go get Fraser, Dief. Go." The wolf took off out the door as Ray tried to force the numbness that was overtaking him down.

        Oh GOD! Already he was starting to feel the dizzying sensation associated with the drug.

        "V...Vecchio," Handler whispered from behind him. "Vecchio...we've got to...get out of here." She sounded scared, but alert, and he suspected Jennings hadn't had a chance to inject her.

        Ray forced his mouth to work, trying to form words around the tongue that felt like cotton and lips that were starting to numb. "Did he…" he began.

        "Some," Handler admitted, noticing the trickle of blood that oozed from her arm where the syringe had been ripped away, after the wolf's attack on Jennings. "B...but I don't think enough. I...I feel okay."

        Ray, sighed. "Good. Dat's good. Maybe not enough…" Ray tried to concentrate on the situation. They both needed to get to a hospital, and to do that he had to get them free. He glanced around the room again, trying to shake off the blurry vision. Even with his glasses he probably wouldn't see very well at this point.

        "Vecchio?" Handler asked, uncertain he was still conscious. She had been impressed and shocked when the detective had tried to protect her, especially after the way she had treated him. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

        "Yah?" Ray replied in a voice that didn't sound at all like his own. "I'm  here just...workin' on it."

        God! Where was Fraser? He shook his head. Have to concentrate, have to get free. He spied what appeared to be a large, old fashioned looking glass, half covered by one of the sheets in the corner of the room.  If he could get over there, they had a chance. "Handler, c...can you move yer legs enough to walk?"

        Handler tested them, they weren't secured to the chair, but she didn't know if she could stand up on them. "I don't know, I'm pretty shaky."

        Ray grimaced."Yah," he agreed. "Me too." Shaky hell, he felt like his whole body was a human vibrator and he was breaking out in a cold sweat. "H...how much do you weigh?"
 

        "What? This …this isn't the time for your jokes Vecchio."

        Ray sighed, exasperated. "I ain't in any shape to make them," he insisted. "Just answer the damn question."

        There was a momentary pause and then Handler answered. "About 125." she admitted, grudgingly. "Why?"

        Ray took a deep breath, it was getting harder to speak. He just wanted to curl up, close his eyes, and allow the tremendous sensations, good and bad, take him away from reality. Just drift along that psychedelic sea of bizarre feelings.

        "Okay," he moaned, forcing himself to deal with the matter at hand, getting them free. "I...I'm gonna try to lift ya on my back, so try not to move and put as much of yer weight against me, okay?"

       Handler snorted in disbelief.  "You'll kill yourself, Vecchio!" She suspected wasn't in any condition for such a feat.

        "Got no choice, " Ray muttered. "On the count of three, throw your weight backwards as I stand. Okay?"

       Handler wanted to protest further, but he was right, what other choice was there? She nodded, reluctantly. "Okay."

        Ray counted off and on the last number he rose to his feet, balancing the other chair and it's occupant across his back. He stumbled slightly, because he couldn't use his arms to level his weight, but then he managed to steady himself.

         Handler tried to stay as still as possible and not throw the detective off balance. She couldn't believe he was even attempting this ridiculous stunt, but she was definitely impressed at his strength. Vecchio was full of surprises.

        Ray managed a few steps toward the mirror, his breathing already ragged and his head swimming in a tidal wave of disorientation. Com'ahn, feet move, he pleaded silently. His legs felt like they were attached to someone else's body. The commands coming from his brain, were not connecting to his body, which was sluggish and seemed reluctant to respond. Another few steps and Ray was panting from the exertion. His back was on fire, he was shaking so badly he was surprised he could maintain the balance of staying upright, let alone Handler on his back.

        After what seemed like forever, they were just a few feet from their goal, when an excruciating pain seemed to center around Ray's nervous system and his pitched forward. He tried to turn enough that they would land on their side and he heard Handler's alarming cry just before they hit the floor. Ray took a couple of deep breaths and shut his eyes against the pain.

        "Handler!" he croaked. "S...Sorry, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

        Handler groaned as a stabbing pain shot through her arm, where her shoulder hit the floor."I don't know," she gasped. "I think my arm is broken."

        Ray swore. "God, sorry. I...I couldn't..." Semi consciousness was slipping in and Ray tried to fight it. "Gotta...I'll get'cha free...take care of it, I'll take care a' ya... just wait."

        Handler felt a pang of sympathy for him, wishing he wouldn't blame himself for her injury. "Well, we're here. Now what?"

        Ray caught his breath, the pain subsiding as a heaviness crept through him. "Gotta think.  Wish...wish Fraser was here." He opened his eyes and spotted the mirror. "Watch yer eyes."

        Handler turned her head, as far as she could, away from the mirror.

        Ray kicked out at the stand and the mirror crashed to the floor. He tried to bring a reflective shard closer with his foot and maneuvered to grasp it with his hand. He felt his wrist pop as he awkwardly attempted to cut at the ropes with the sharp edges of the glass. Ray could feel it nicking his skin as he worked, but his hands were shaking so badly there wasn't anything he could do. Finally he worked through enough of the rope that when he pulled it snapped and he quickly pulled the ropes off of them. He managed to get to his knees and help Handler into a sitting position.

        "Thanks Vecchio," she whispered as they both stumbled to their feet, careful of her arm. She wasn't upright for more than a minute when a heavy wave of nausea hit her and she started to vomit.

        Ray tried to hold on to her as she emptied her stomach, rubbing her back and making soothing noises.

        Finally, embaressed and shaking,  Handler was able to rise again. Ray let her lean on him, although, she suspected he barely had the strength to keep his own feet under him.

        "Have to get out," Ray insisted grimly, grabbing onto the sheet covered chair closest to them, as the pain and dizziness threatened to overtake him. "Gotta find Fraser."

        Handler returned his earlier kindness by grasping his arm with her good one, and pulling him toward her. "Are you okay, Vecchio?"

        "Yah," Ray replied, automatically. He shook his head. "No. Can't...can't think." He paused as he noticed the blood still dripping from her arm, where the syringe had wounded her. "You're hurt, I'm sorry."

        Handler glanced down at the blood, having forgotten about it once she'd hurt her shoulder. At least it was her uninjured arm. "Not you're fault," she assured. "It will be okay."

        Ray pulled out the end of his T-shirt and tore a strip from it, wrapping it around her arm to stop the bleeding. "Best...best I can do," he offered, sincerely. "Frase...he'd be...he could probably clean it better, operate maybe...better that what I can do."

        Handler almost laughed at his words. She seriously doubted her arm would require surgery, or that the Mountie could perform it. She found Vecchio's belief in his partner's skills both amusing and disturbing. Didn't he think he was just as good as Fraser? Sure, she harrassed him about his meathods, but she couldn't really argue the detective's skill as a police officer. Besides, surely he didn't care or listen to anything she said anyway, right? For whatever reason, Handler felt the need to assure the detective that his efforts were appreciated.

        "What you've done is just fine," she decided, smiling and touching his arm, almost affectionately.

        Ray almost smiled, then lowered his eyes.

        Handler was shocked at his shyness.

        They stumbled toward the door and stared below at the narrow set of steps that led down into further darkness. With no light and his senses incapacitated, Ray knew it would be difficult. He wistfully checked his shoulder holster for his gun. Nope, Jennings probably had it. Handler's weapon and phone were also gone.

        "Now what?" Handler asked, staring up at his pale face, which seemed almost transparent in the moonlight that escaped through the window.

        "Now what," Ray repeated, dazed. The feeling of utopia entering his system and making him feel incredibly light on his feet. He grabbed her hand. "Now we dance. Com'ahn Ginger. Fred'll lead you ta dance the night away."

        Handler regarded him concerned and stepped back. She knew he was probably getting high, but she was more worried about the effect it would have on him later. She'd seen the small amount Jennings had tried to inject her with, so she had to believe that Ray had taken the majority of the drug, which meant a possible overdose. She'd seen people die of an overdose, it was not pretty, and she would not allow this brash, unconventional, exasperatingly wonderful detective to die such a terrible death. Her sudden feelings for him alarmed her, but not as much as her determination to protect him.

        "Vecchio we have to…" she began as Ray started to waltz her around the room, with remarkably skilled grace. She  cried out as pain shot up her arm.

        He stopped suddenly and stared down at her. "What did I do? I'm sorry, are ya hurt?"

        "Vecchio..." she tried again.

        "Who's dat?" Ray demanded. "He yer boyfriend, or somethin'?"

        Handler gaped at him. "What?" she exclaimed, as he pulled her closer into his arms and hummed against her hair as they danced.

         "You smell nice," Ray murmured.

        Handler managed to pull away, holding her arm.

        Ray shot her a wounded look. "What did I do? Don't ya like ta dance?"

        "Vecchio, we have to go," she insisted watching a wide range of emotions passed over the detective's suddenly flushed face.

        "Go where?" he asked confused.

        "We have to find agent Young and Constable Fraser…." Handler started to explain.

        A slow grin passed over Ray's features. "Fraser?" he asked. "My buddy, Fraser? Ya know he and me, we're partners and partners are buddies 'cause ya don't need no one else, but yer partner…"

         Handler sighed in exasperation, her patience wearing thin, despite the circumstance. "You're babbling, Vecchio,"

        Ray shook off the hand she placed on his arm. "Ya think I don't know!" he screamed at her suddenly, startling her into taking a step back. "Ya think I don't notice how he misses Vecchio? How he wants him and not me? But I'm him now and he's me, but he ain't me and I ain't really him. I'm me! Just me and why can't he see dat?"

        Handler was appalled at the pain that contorted the detective's face. What on Earth was he talking about?

       Ray turned away from her. "I got no life, so I gotta live his, but it ain't my life an' I want it ta be. I want Fraser to be my partner, my friend. I want Frannie to be my sister an' I want ta be known for who I am not who I hafta be."

        Handler listened to him, bewildered. He wasn't making any sense, was that because of the drug or was he trying to tell her something she couldn't comprehend? She had to get his mind back on track, she needed his help, whether she wanted it or not.

       Softening her tone, Handler stepped forward and placed a hand on Ray's trembling shoulder."You're all those things," she offered, trying to remember her psyche lessons from college. "Everyone appreciates you for who you are."

        Ray turned to her and there were tears swimming in his eyes. " No. Nobody wants me, unless I'm  someone else. Stella didn't want me. Fraser is..it's all pretend and my folks...." Ray paused and shook his head, dejectedly. His gaze rested on her face once more. "You don't," he charged. "You hate me because I'm mean to you."

        Ray looked so forlorn that Handler had to force herself not the throw her arms around him and comfort him. She had to remember that it was the drug talking. He didn't know what he's saying.

        "I don't want to be mean to you," Ray confessed. "I don't know why I am, why you don't like me…" he dropped to his knees in front of her and wrapped his arms around her waist like a child. "Please like me, I can't stand that you don't. even if I…"

        Ray paused again and Handler stared down at him. She was unable to stop herself from raising a hand to comb through his hair in comfort.  "Sssh, it's okay. I don't..."

        Ray pulled away from her caress and stared up at her, disconcerted.

        "Vecchio?" Handler asked, seeing a spark of reality in his eyes.

        Ray stumbled back from her, running a hand through his hair. "What…what?" He looked to her for the answer and she saw the fear in his eyes. "Handler, what...I don't feel...right."

        Handler helped him to his feet with her good arm. "I know," she agreed, gently. "Com'on we have to go." She needed to get them out of there before the next phase of the drug hit, but it was already happening. She felt him stiffen as they approached the darkened stairwell.

        "No," Ray refused. "Don't make me go down there, it's dark!"

        Handler turned and registered the terror in his eyes, his voice seemed almost child like. She took his hand. "It's okay," she promised. "I won't let you get hurt..."

        Ray shook of her hand and started to back up against the wall. "No! They'll get me!" He shook his head, vehemently. "I've seen them. I've seen them!"

        He cowered into a corner as Handler approached. She was one of them, he thought. She had to be. One of the people who had made him come here, made him enter this dank, old house. His Mother had told him to stay away, but they'd dared him and now he couldn't get away. She was there, at the bottom of those stairs, staring at him with her dead, vacant eyes. The voices were all around him in the darkness, their faces hideous and deformed. Heard the key in the lock, barring his escape. He heard them laugh as they walked away, leaving him alone, all alone with the dead; to die.

        "I didn't know!" Ray continued, trapped in his own horrified past. "I didn't know she was here, why is she here? I didn't know. Please don't leave me with her!"

        Handler watched as the tears streamed down Ray's face and he called out for his Mother, with a voice so young and pitiful it truly frightened her. She stood and made a decision. He was too far-gone in the paranoia, and whatever terrible memories he was dredging up from his past, to be of use to her. She had to go find the Mountie and get help. She prayed the backup she called, before they were captured, would arrive soon.

        Fraser and Young had heard the crash from above them, but could find no way to get to the unseen third level of the house. A large iron door that offered no way through, blocked the stairs leading to the third floor.

        Suddenly, a thought crossed Fraser's mind. Why would the man pick a room on the second floor, with an open window that could be seen from the drive? Wouldn't someone who didn't want to be seen use a back room, or one that was more difficult to see. He started back to the room where the camping equipment had been

        Young following closely, puzzled. "Where are we going?" he asked the Mountie.

        "Jennings must have chosen that particular room, because it gave him better access to the house," Fraser explained. "It would be ideal for a quick escape, to have a secret passage that led to other areas in the house."

        Young caught on and they hurried to the room, only to collide with a figure running toward them. The man fired at them, as they dived out of the way, and headed back the way he had come.

        They reached the room in a matter of minutes and saw Jennings preparing his escape through an adjacent wall, with his duffel bag over his shoulder.

        Agent Handler stumbled through the opening, as Jennings turned to fire at the officers a second time. He grabbed her up, before she had a chance to move, and put the gun to her head as Fraser and Young moved closer. "I'll kill her!" he screamed at them, backing up toward the window.
 
 

        Ray curled up and refused to look toward that darkened stairwell. She was down there, that woman with the gray dress and the missing shoe and the deformed body. The woman that looked like she had died such a terrible death, and Ray was locked in with her. She had stared at him with those horrible dead eyes and wide grimacing face, pleading for help, and Ray couldn't help her. He couldn't even stand to look at her, but he was trapped. He had run back up the stairs, of the basement, only to find he was locked in and his so-called friends were laughing and intended to leave him there.

        Reality started to creep in and Ray began to realize that he wasn't trapped at the top of those stairs, waiting for the dead woman to come up after him. He was in come kind of attic. Where was he? Where was Fraser? Hadn't there been someone else in the room with him? Another agonizing thrust of pain shoved all questions from him as he tried to concentrate on just being allowed to breathe.  Handler, that was the person's name. Where was Handler?

        Suddenly, there was a young girl beside him. She couldn't be more than nine or ten years old. Her long, raven hair was pulled back in a series of intricate braids and her pale, rounded face glowed in the moonlight. She smiled with the softest pink lips Ray had ever seen and placed a hand on his arm. Immediately the pain and delusions were gone and she beckoned him to stand beside her.

        "Who are you?" Ray asked gently, afraid he'd frighten her.

        The girl smiled and reached a tiny hand up to place in his larger palm. She pulled him over to the window.

        Ray noticed the boards were now gone and the brisk scent of the night air filled his nostrils. "Where are your parents?" he continued, kneeling down beside her.

        The cop in Ray wanted to protect her and find where she belonged. He watched her climb out onto the gabled roof and tried to stop her, afraid she would fall, but she simply reached inside and grasped his hand again, encouraging him to join her.

        Not wanting to take the chance of her falling, Ray kept hold of her hand and tried to gently pull her inside. "Com'ahn, honey," he insisted. "It's too dangerous to be out there, come back inside."

       The girl shook her head and beckoned him with her other hand, her beautiful smile never wavering.  The white material of her dress caught in the night breeze and flapped playfully at her ankles. An intricate pattern of pink roses and green leaves, in pink were stitched across the bodice and hem of her dress; as though hours had been spent sewing the painstakingly, delicate designs. Again she beckoned Ray, more urgently this time.

        Ray wondered if she must need to show him something, or perhaps someone was in trouble. He carefully climbed out beside her and, with her hand in his, they cautiously picked their way across the roof to another open windows a few feet across and down.

        Fraser paused, as he noticed a movement in the window behind Jennings, and then trained his gaze back on the gunman. "You don't want to do that," he assured calmly, as Young held his gun aimed at the Jennings. "Just let Agent Handler go."

        Jennings shook his head stubbornly. "No way!" he refused, pulling on Handler's bad arm and causing her to scream out in pain. "Where's the udder one?" he demanded of her.

        "I don't know!" Handler sobbed, trying to get him to release her arm.  "I left him behind."

        Diefenbaker finally made an appearance and growled menacingly as he continued to approach

        "Get him away or I'll kill her!" Jennings he panicked pressing the gun hard against Handler's temple.

        "I'm sorry, but he never listens to me," Fraser informed, as the man backed up, until his back was pressed against the window. Fraser finally realized it was Ray out on the roof, behind Jennings, just as the sounds of sirens echoed from below. Young had called for back up earlier, after they heard the crash from above.

        Jennings took a hasty look at the police arriving below, and that was when Ray reached through the window to grab him, as Fraser moved forward to rescue Handler, simultaneously. Unfortunately, Diefenbaker decided at that moment too charge and in fear Jennings reared back, too quickly, and the momentum pushed him out the window and down over the roof, with Ray tumbling behind.

        Fraser ran to the window as the squad cars surrounded the area. "RAY!" He watched his partner and the suspect roll off the roof and disappear below,  as Diefenbaker whined next to him.

       Young caught hold of Handler, as Fraser moved past her and out of the room. "Now the backup arrives," she muttered. "Let's get out of here."

        Fraser sprinted down the stairs and out into the evening air, as the police were handcuffing Jennings, who had miraculously survived the fall by landing in the bushes below. Ray, however, had hit the ground and lay at a distressing angle on his back, with one of his legs twisted upwards.

        "Ray!" Fraser exclaimed, kneeling beside his friend, concerned. Blood was spilling out of Kowalski's mouth and Fraser could hear one of the police officers demanding an ambulance, over the radio.

        "Fraser?" Ray croaked. "I've …." He coughed up some blood. "I've fallen and I can't get up." He grinned weakly as Handler and Young joined them.

        "Jennings shot us up with something," Handler informed, as she placed her good hand against Ray's cheek. "I think Vecchio's dose was more lethal."

        Fraser's eyes widened  at the thought of Ray dying from anything, especially an overdose.

        Ray turned his face toward Handler's touch. "I told ya I'd protect ya babe," he whispered.

        Handler continued to stroke his hair and ignored the looks from Young and Fraser."He's hallucinating," she explained. "It's the drugs. He thinks I'm someone else."

        "Where is she?" Ray suddenly asked. "Where's the girl?"

        "What girl, Ray?" demanded Fraser as his partner's eyes wandered upward toward the open window he'd crawled out of.

        Ray smiled up at the white form waving at him from her perch. She was safe. That's all that mattered. "There you are," he whispered, gratefully.

        Fraser and Handler turned to follow his gaze and saw nothing. "There who is, Ray?" Fraser asked.

        Suddenly, Ray started to shake violently.

        "He's going into convulsions!" Handler exclaimed. "Quick get a blanket and something to put into his mouth to keep him from biting his tongue!" As Fraser removed his wallet and inserted it into Ray's mouth.

        An officer hurried over with a blanket, as Handler took hold of Ray's wrists to prevent him flailing and hurting himself. Suddenly the convulsions stopped and Ray's eyes closed.

        "No." denied Fraser, pulling the wallet away and wiping the blood at Ray's mouth. NO! He quickly began to administer CPR, and breathed into Ray's mouth as Young pressed on his chest. "Com'on Ray." he encouraged, after another breath. "Breathe, Ray. Breathe!"

        "Don't you dare die, Vecchio!" ordered Handler, unaware she'd was fiercely gripping the detective's his hand like a life line, while trying to keep her tears from escaping, and as the two men frantically worked on him. "Com'on damnit! You've got paperwork to file! No one dies on my watch!"

        "Please Ray," whispered Fraser close to tears as he pushed more air into the detective's lungs. "Breathe, for me, be my buddy, Ray. Breathe."

        Handler felt a slight movement under her fingers and she pressed them harder against his wrist. "A pulse!" she exclaimed as the ambulance arrived. "You did it Fraser. He's alive."

        Fraser sat back as the paramedics rushed over and placed an oxygen mask over Ray's face and prepared him for the stretcher. Handler was also escorted to the ambulance as Fraser and Diefenbaker climbed into the GTO and followed.

        At the hospital, both Handler and Kowalski were rushed to emergency to have their stomach's pumped and their injuries attended to. Both had their veins flushed to get as much of the drug out of their system as possible. Handler was placed in recovery two hours later, with a cast on her arm and an IV attached to her good hand. Ray was still in Intensive Care, his injuries had been much worse due to the fall.

        Fraser was sitting in the waiting room with Diefenbaker, as Young entered. He briefed Fraser on Handler's condition and then inquired about Ray's.

        "How is he?"

        "They had to resuscitate him twice so far," Fraser explained, as he stood and began fidgeting with his hat. "He was injected with some kind of laced heroin and they tried to get it out of his system. Agent Handler was also injected, but apparently not as high a dose and she managed to vomit shortly after, which is probably what saved it from running through her as quickly as it did Ray's system. He's suffered massive internal injuries from his fall off the roof. That's all I know right now and that he is in surgery."

        They turned as Doctor Thomas entered. "Vecchio made it through the surgery," he informed them quickly, " But only time will tell if he will recover. There was some heavy bleeding and the drug slowed down his natural healing process. All we can do is wait and see if he wakes up."

        "If?" repeated Fraser "What do you mean if he wakes up?"

        Dr. Thomas shook his head, grimly. "You're partner has a serious concussion, a broken leg, two broken ribs and possibe other injuries, which we can't really ascertain until he wakes up. Right now he is in a coma. I'm sorry we've done all we can. I'm afraid his chances are very slim of surviving the night."

        Everyone grew silent. Finally Fraser spoke. "I should call his parents," he decided.

         In the lobby Fraser placed his change in the pay phone and dialed the Kowalski's number. He informed them of their son's condition and assured them he would wait, until they got to the hospital. He then contacted Welsh and Francesca, to let them know the situation. Finally he called the consulate and asked Turnbull to leave a message with Thatcher that Fraser would not be in tomorrow morning.

        He hung up the phone and headed back toward the waiting room. He glanced at a door marked Stairs as he went by, then backed up and pushed the door open. He settled on the stairs and put his face in his hands. Finally, he allowed himself to cry.

To be continued...

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PART TWO