by Lazuli
Part 1 ~ The Bullet
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Detective Ray Vecchio sat at his desk, staring blankly atthe report in front of him. It wasn’t unusual for his disinterest to get the
better of him, but today had been exceptional. From the moment he’d woken – far
too early for him – he’d been waiting. If he’d known what it was he was waiting
for he might have been able to do something to hurry it along but he didn’t
know, and it made him distracted and listless. He looked from his desk to the door, hoping someone would
walk in. He looked to the phone, hoping that it would ring. He checked his cell
phone was switched on. Back to the report with another sigh that was audible
throughout the open-plan office. “Hey, Vecchio, any chance you’ll ever finish with that?”
Max asked. Max Hemmell was heaving himself out from behind his desk and
slouching over: two-hundred-and-thirty pounds of disgruntled detective, Ray’s
sometimes partner and the man waiting for the ignored report. “It would be
quicker to run it past the station fish today, what’s the matter with you?” Ray
didn’t resist as the file was liberated from his grasp; he sat back in his
chair with another vast sigh. “And will you stop doing that!” “You ever get the feeling something’s going to happen?” “This not enough for you? The guy’s probably dead. I wonder
if he felt something was going to
happen!” “He’s not dead, he’s shot through with the girlfriend.” “How d’you know that?” “Hunch.” “Another hunch, huh?” “Wait till the wife catches him up, then he’ll be dead.” Ray
ran his hands over his crew-cut. “I just cannot give a damn about this, Max. I
need a break.” “You don’t need a break, my friend, you need a life.” Max trundled back to his own desk, opening the file and
picking up the receiver of his phone. He was a good cop, Ray acknowledged,
persistent and resilient. Something like he himself used to be. Damn, if only
he could turn back the clock… Still ruminating and wallowing in unjustified self-pity, he
didn’t notice the person who entered the squad room, took directions from the
nearest detective, made their way to his desk and stood, waiting. “Detective Raymond Vecchio?” The words penetrated Ray’s fog and he looked up. “The same.” He’d never seen this woman before; she was a little older
than him, looked tired but determined, and he wondered momentarily if this was
another wife tracking down another husband: this precinct got more than its
fair share of those. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private, Detective?” “Regarding?” She glanced around them. “In private?” “Not until I know what it’s about,” Ray insisted
belligerently. The woman fixed him with a look that froze areas of his
anatomy and he shifted uncomfortably. She dipped into a pocket and brought out
a plastic Ziploc bag, dropping it onto the desk. Ray picked it up, examining
the contents. “Bullet. So what?” “I’ll tell you what,” she told him coldly. “That bullet is
seven years old. It spent those seven years buried in the back of a very good
friend of mine, until it had to be removed because it shifted and almost killed
him.” All the colour had drained from Ray’s face; he didn’t need to hear what
came next. “I thought I should return it to its original owner.” She paused,
her rapid breathing reflecting her fury. “Good afternoon, Detective.” She turned on her heel and left. “Benny,” Ray murmured as his fingers ran over the bullet. “Oh,
God…” Ray caught up with the woman outside the building as she
stood blinking hard and looking lost in the blinding “Look, I’m sorry, come back inside and we’ll talk.” “This is a waste of time,” she snapped. “You’re a waste of
time.” Ray wanted to feel insulted, wanted to come back with a
smart reply, but he had the innate feeling that she was right. He also hadn’t
felt this guilty in a long time, but that was more about the item clutched in
his hand. “How is he?” “Do you care?” “Of course I care, what kind of a question is that?” “When did you last contact him?” “I couldn’t tell you exactly.” “Not since I’ve known him.” The guilt swelled and Ray went on the offensive. “So, what are you doing here? I’m the uncaring waste of
space that shot him, so what are you doing here?” She hesitated, looked away. Ray could feel the change,
could feel uncertainty and sorrow. “I need the bullet back,” she eventually said, her voice
now devoid of everything but exhaustion. Ray handed it over with a perverse
reluctance. “Thank you.” “I’m surprised you want it.” “I don’t. But Ben would never forgive me if I lost it. He
says it’s the bullet that saved his life.” She looked into Ray’s eyes,
searching. “It reminds him of the best friend he ever had…” Ray was amazed to
see a hint of a smile that changed her face to something substantially less
scary. “Before me.” “Does he know you’re here?” “Of course.” “Where is he? Does he need me?” “Chicago. And, yes, he needs you.” “Give me an address, I’ll be there.” The woman dug into her pocket and brought out a card,
hesitating only slightly before handing it over. The address was unfamiliar,
but the pull was old. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Ray assured her. A hand was abruptly offered; Ray shook it then held on. “Miriam Appleby.” “Miriam, hello. Is Benny okay?” “If you mean what you say, he might be.” “Just need to arrange some time off and I’ll be on the
first plane.” Miriam eased her hand from Ray’s, still studying him, still
doubtful going by her expression. “I’ll see you in Chicago then. Maybe.” “Definitely.” Ray watched Miriam walk away. She looked so tired, he should
have at least offered her a coffee and a seat. Ray took a couple of steps after
her then stumbled to a halt, the memory of that bullet flashing through his
mind and wiping out every other concern. Seven years. Seven years it had been
in Benny’s back and now it almost killed him. Fresh shock trembled through his
body, and he needed to walk around a block or two to allow himself, if not to
calm down, to accept this horrible situation, before going back to the station
and making his arrangements. He was owed leave, but if they said no? He now
knew what he’d been waiting for today. If his boss said no, he’d quit on the
spot. … Two days later Ray was sat in a hire car, staring across the road at the place he’d been directed to by Miriam. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but he supposed it made sense that it was an Inpatient Rehabilitation Facility. He’d rushed to be here, despite a few delays due to his work cases, and now he’d arrived he was so full of anxiety he wasn’t certain he was up to going in. “Benny needs me,” he told himself for…had to be a number in three figures by now, and there was no turning back. He started the car, resisted the cowardly urge to put his foot down and take himself away from there, and manoeuvred into the parking lot. It was too much of an effort to raise a smile for the friendly receptionist behind the front desk, but she didn’t seem to mind. Probably used to traumatised visitors visiting traumatised patients. “I’m here to see Constable Benton Fraser.” “And your name…?” “Ray Vecchio.” “Do you have ID?” Ray flashed his badge, and the nurse nodded as she checked a stack of notes on the desk beside her. “Dr Elliott would like a word before you visit your associate.” “Friend,” Ray corrected. “Friend,” the nurse repeated with a sympathetic smile. “Sir, if you’d care to take a seat, I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.” Ray followed her gesture to a seating area that was more about appearance than comfort. Probably looked good in the brochures, he told himself as he shifted around trying to find a spot that was remotely body shaped. It shouldn’t matter but it did. Was Benny comfortable? Was it more of the same when you got to the inpatient beds and the treatment rooms? The constant wash of anxiety was gradually being replaced by irritation, and Ray liked that, it made him feel less on the back foot. A young man in a wheelchair rolled past, heading for the
exit, pursued by an orderly and, what looked like his parents. They were all
happy and smiling, celebrating the escape, but all Ray could focus on was that
damn chair, and the memory of Ben being stuck in one before because of an
ill-judged gunshot that had come so close to ruining his entire life it didn’t
bear thinking about. Which was all that Ray could do. “Detective Vecchio?” Ray began to stand but the doctor, a brisk
middle-aged woman with a practised but clearly fake smile, waved him back down.
“I’m Doctor Elliott. Do you mind if we talk here?” Ray glanced around; the area was deserted except for them. “Sure.” The doctor joined him on the couch and checked through the
folder she was carrying. “I’m at liberty to share details of Mr Fraser’s treatment
due to a document he signed in 1995, naming you as his primary contact and next
of kin should anything befall him.” Ray hadn’t known that; the information left a lump in his
throat that he could barely swallow down. “Okay.” “Just so you know I’m not breaking his patient
confidentiality or being indiscreet.” Ray nodded for Dr Elliott to continue. “I
have a note here that…” she checked, “Miriam Appleby informed you of Mr
Fraser’s condition.” “She just told me he’d had the bullet removed.” “Nothing more?” “That it shifted and almost killed him.” “She told you that?” the doctor fought to keep the disapproval
from her voice. “Very heavy handed.” “I don’t think she trusted me.” Dr Elliott nodded, “That sounds likes Miriam. She’s a
highly respected Patient Advocate, but she does tend to behave like a mother
hen with her special cases.” “Benny’s a special case?” “To her, clearly.” “What sort of special?” “Well, he didn’t want the bullet removed, that was
unusual.” “He was told it was too dangerous to operate because of its
location.” “That didn’t seem to be his concern.” “So what happened?” “Approximately one month ago Mr Fraser was involved in a
traffic accident. He was struck by a car in…let’s say, unusual circumstances.” “There’s that word again. Unusual. Unusual how?” “Hard to define. He refuses to discuss the accident. You
may be able to help with that.” “Does it affect the outcome?” The doctor stopped pondering and got back to business. “The operation to remove the bullet was a complete
success.” Ray couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath at that. “He’s okay?” Dr Elliott hesitated. “Okay is a subjective term in these circumstances.” “So…?” “Mr Fraser is currently paralysed from the waist down.” The room swam. Ray leant forward, head between his knees as
he tried to fight the panic that had swept over him. Breathing would help, so
he concentrated on that. The dizziness slowly passed, and he felt Dr Elliott put
a hand on his arm and pat. When Ray eventually sat back up he couldn’t bear to
look at the doctor, such was his crippling guilt. “I did this,” he admitted. She nodded. She knew. Thankfully, she didn’t judge. “The background is irrelevant.” “Not to me.” “Now… What really concerns me is that we can’t find a physical cause for him not being able to walk.” “Isn’t it obvious?” “No. It appears…” “I don’t care what it appears. Do more tests, find out what’s wrong and fix him. I’ll pay, just do it.” “The Consulate has everything covered financially, Mr Vecchio, but this isn’t physical. We can’t treat a condition that isn’t there.” “You’re missing something,” Ray insisted, almost buzzing with indignation. “I realise that this is a huge shock, but please try to remain calm.” “I’m— Okay. Sorry.” A few deep breaths and Ray was ready to hear the rest. “The nearest diagnosis I can get to Mr Fraser’s condition is trauma-induced paralysis. Have you ever heard of that?” Ray shook his head. “It’s an involuntary trauma response, somewhat related to tonic immobility. Simply put, trauma causes the body to shut down.” “But not physical trauma?” “Not in this case, no. The operation site has healed well, and we would have expected that, once any swelling had gone down, he would be able to gain full mobility.” “You’re saying this is all in his head?” “You do understand that this wouldn’t be a conscious decision?” “It’s in his head?” Ray repeated in disbelief. “No. You don’t know this man.” “And you’re attempting to simplify an extremely complex issue, probably due to your own feelings of guilt. That’s not going to help, nor is denial.” Ray peeled his fingernails out of his palms, unclenched his fists, and took yet another deep breath. “Okay. What do I do?” “The best way you can help your friend, is to urge him towards therapy.” “Doesn’t he have a physiotherapist helping him?” “Yes, he does, for his physical wellbeing. For his mental, he needs a psychiatrist.” “He’s not crazy.” “No, he’s not. But he’s clearly very troubled.” “What does he say about this?” “Nothing. He’s closed down, it’s impossible to have a conversation with him.” “But this is Benny,” Ray said, still bewildered and in shock. “You can’t usually shut him up.” “And that’s where you come in. He may feel able to talk to you, he’s likely to trust you more than us.” “What do I say?” “That will be up to you. You know him best. There’s a good chance your presence alone will be enough to reassure him. People can recover from this kind of paralysis, Mr Vecchio. Sometimes it’s just about making them feel safe to move forward.” Dr Elliott fished in her folder and handed Ray a printed information sheet about the related condition of tonic immobility. “That may or may not help, as I don’t have a definitive diagnosis. The causes are pertinent.” She handed more pages over. “These are about living with a disability; they’ll be useful, however temporarily.” “You really think he’ll get over this?” “My clinical experience indicates a firm yes, so I very much hope so. If you have any further questions, let reception know and someone will find me for you. Meanwhile, please encourage him to see a psychiatrist, or at least help him reconnect with better times.” The doctor shook Ray’s hand and went back to her duties, leaving him stunned and as unsure as he’d ever been about anything in his entire life. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Miriam approaching. She sat beside him, silent for several minutes. “The doctor told you,” Miriam confirmed rather than asked. “Yeah. No wonder you thought I was the spawn of the devil when you met me.” “Time to stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with helping Ben.” The instinctive defensive response was pressed down. She was right, of course she was right. “Where do I start?” “You come and say hello. See if he’ll acknowledge you.” “But he does acknowledge you.” “Barely. Sorry,” she apologised without showing any signs of being genuinely sorry. “I lied about being his best friend, I just wanted to force you into action.” Ray finally looked at Miriam. All the hostility he’d previously witnessed was gone, and all he saw now was concern. “It worked. Thank you. I think.” Miriam gave him a sad smile. “I know it’s awful, and it’s hard to face up to, but he needs you. I have to go away in a couple of days, and I couldn’t leave him with strangers.” “When will you be back?” Ray asked, once again teetering on panic at the thought of the responsibility he now faced. Miriam shrugged. “Family,” she sighed wearily, as if that was all the
explanation needed. She dragged herself to her feet. “Come on.” Ray followed as slowly, putting the moment off despite
being desperate to see Ben. “You know any more about this accident Benny had? The
doctor said the circumstances were unusual.” “Witnesses say he just ran out into the road. There didn’t
appear to be any reason for him to do that, and we don’t know what he was
thinking because he won’t talk about it. He won’t talk about much at all.” They
stopped outside room twelve. “I hope you can help him, I really do.” “What if I can’t?” Once again Miriam shrugged. “While I’m being honest, he doesn’t know you’re here. I
lied about that too – him knowing I was coming to find you. That was difficult.
All your contact details on Ben’s form were out of date and the Consulate was
useless. I went to your old police station and it was only by luck I found
someone who was prepared to give me your new work address.” “Who was it?” “Mr Welsh. He had to look you up on a database. He said he
wasn’t allowed to share your details, so I shouldn’t say it was him. I liked
him. Very decent man.” “He is. Better than most.” For just the splittest of split seconds Ray’s mind popped
into the future, seeing himself back at the 27th and Ben fit and
healthy and working alongside him in as unofficial a capacity as ever, but
always there. That would be a miracle. Ray doubted he was due one. “Come on,” Miriam encouraged, and led the way into the
room. It was a pleasant space – well, pleasant for an IRF room. Miriam
had clearly made an effort to lessen the clinical and make the place look a
little more homely. Amid the array of disability aids there were fresh flowers,
and magazines, and a bowl of fruit that appeared untouched. A framed photo of
the Canadian Rockies sat alongside a couple of ‘get well soon’ cards, side by
side with a ‘thinking of you’ from someone apparently far more realistic. There
was a brightly patterned crocheted throw across the bed, and a fluffy orange teddy
bear sitting alongside the pillow. And there was Ben, after… It seemed a much longer time than
it was in reality, but the changes were significant. Ben was thinner, paler, bearded,
his hair was growing out and had threads of grey in the untidy loose waves. It
was yet another shock as Ray had rarely seen Ben anything other than groomed to
perfection. It had been a running joke between them, the state Ray would get
into while Ben remained sparkling clean and groomed to within an inch of his
life. “He may not be asleep,” Miriam said as she made her way
over and and pointlessly tidied the covers. “He plays possum a lot.” Smiling
with satisfaction at her efforts, Miriam stood back with a nod, before turning
and heading for the door. “I’ll leave you to it. if you need anything use the
buzzer.” All at once Ray was alone with his friend. He’d missed Ben
so much and now he had no clue what to say or do. He edged closer to the bed
and dared a touch to Ben’s hand, gently stroking with the back of a single
finger. “Hey, Benny,” he whispered, forcing the words out. He felt,
or did he imagine, the merest twitch of a reaction. “Sorry I’ve been gone for
so long.” No further movement, so Ray pulled the visitor’s chair close
to the bedside and sat. He stared at Ben for several minutes, hoping he’d at
least open his eyes, but no. Settling down, Ray pulled the first information
sheet he’d been given out of his pocket and began to read, but struggled to
take anything in. Hyper aware of even a hint of change from the bed, he started
when Ben took a deeper breath, remaining poised to leap to his feet for the
following few seconds. When the tension grew too much he stood and wandered,
shaking out his tense neck, shoulders and arms, and clenching, unclenching,
clenching his fists. After repeatedly checking Ben over the course of five
minutes, Ray finally allowed himself to settle at the window, staring out into
the parking lot and missing his old Buick Riviera. Any of his old Rivs because,
thanks to the Mountie, he’d got through a few. He’d seriously thought about
tracking down and buying another one after his spell undercover, but… But what?
It didn’t suit him anymore? It didn’t suit the life he made in Florida? Maybe
the Riv wasn’t a Florida car and he instinctively knew that? What a load of
baloney. “Y’know,” he told Ben, “the Riv will always be a superior vehicle,
and I’d be stupid not to have another one.” He pointed out of the window. “The
hire car? Should be named the Ford Disappointment. It doesn’t even come in green.
Do they make green cars anymore?” He peered round the parking lot, hoping to
prove a point. No green cars. “I’m coming home and getting a Riv. All I need is
a Mountie and—” Ray cut the sentence off. A Mountie and…a wolf. Here came
the panic again. Where the hell was Diefenbaker? He glanced back at Ben’s
unmoving form. Was that what this was about? Dief went under a car and Ben, acting
purely on instinct, ran into the road to save him? In the midst of the response
to Ben being hurt, what would be presumed to be a dog as a casualty would mean
nothing. Emotion caught in Ray’s throat as he thought of Diefenbaker being
thrown into a dumpster and forgotten about as Ben was whisked away to hospital.
Was that what was undermining Ben’s recovery? As if he could ask him such an
emotive question, even if he did ever admit to being awake. And there was no
way to find out. Damn, it hurt. The wolf was an extension of Ben, and therefore
an extension of him. He took his diary out of his pocket and flicked through the
contacts section. Who might know? Family? Difficult. Communication became near
impossible when Ray was undercover and he rapidly fell out of the habit of
keeping in touch. No excuse for afterwards though, and he inwardly cringed at
the thought of, probably dozens of messages on the answerphone for his old
bowling alley number that he never checked, and had never bothered to update
when he moved on. At some point it may have occurred to him to add a new number
to the message, but that notion evidently came to nothing. Looking back, his
family had vociferously questioned his bizarre life choices after Las Vegas,
and Ray really, really hadn’t wanted to hear those arguments. Was that a reason
or an excuse? He carried on flicking through his contacts. Old
colleagues? He wondered momentarily if Huey and Dewey had ever cracked the
comedy circuit. He’d ask Lieutenant Welsh when he saw him. If he saw him. Okay…
Stella’s name brought an affectionate smile to his face, and she led to Ray
Kowalski. Ray paused over that number. Would Ray Kowalski know anything? The
timeline was all over the place regarding who was where and when. When it came to contacting Ray Kowalski, Ray had issues. He’d
never got over someone else playing at being him for so long while he was away,
and the association made him burn with…something or another. Post Las Vegas, if
he ever had to talk about Ray Kowalski, he’d have to explain to people that he
was talking about Ray Vecchio the second, who wasn’t Ray Vecchio at all, but
who too many people now recognised as Ray Vecchio period. And all this when the
actual Ray Vecchio was struggling to reclaim not just his identity but his life.
By the end of too many conversations Ray would end up wondering who the hell
was who, particularly because, at the time, a part of his brain was still only
answering to Armando Langoustini. Maybe Benny wasn’t the only one who needed a
psychiatrist. So… Ra— Kowalski. He,
Ray Vecchio, was Ray. Think Kowalski.
Ray shook his head at his screwed up self, wishing for what had to be the
thousandth time he’d said no to that particular job. Back on track: he liked and trusted Ray Kowalski, who was a
decent guy, and that was someone he could ask. But not now, and particularly not here. Ray returned to the bed and stared at Ben for a while
longer, remembering what Benny had once told him about animal instincts letting
you know when you were being watched, and that prickle you felt was always
worth responding to. Well, he wished Ben would respond to it now, he couldn’t
stare any harder if he tried. Of course, Ben could actually be asleep. He frowned, trying to figure out the obvious: Ben’s hair
hadn’t grown out this much over the month he’d been in hospital. He certainly wouldn’t
have been left to lose this much weight if he was under medical care. The beard
he could dismiss, that was probably a month’s growth. But what had happened, at
least several months previously, that had allowed Ben to let himself go like
this? Ray needed to talk to people, but he didn’t have the contacts anymore. As
far as he knew, there was no-one left at the Consulate that would appreciate
his and Ben’s background and therefore be willing to give him any kind of
information at all. Still, if Lieutenant Welsh was around he could start there,
however pointless he suspected that would be. For now, Ray settled back into his chair and once again
tried to take in what was on the tonic immobility sheet. Doctor Elliott had
said that the causes were pertinent and ‘highly associated with PTSD’ managed
to sink into Ray’s brain; that made sense, and it could possibly tie in with
what he’d just been thinking. Ben had always appeared incredibly resilient, but
if something particularly traumatic had happened recently, combined with all
the problems of the past? Wracking his brain for anything that could help, Ray recalled
the occasion when Ben had been thrown from a moving car, hitting his head and
losing his memory for a while. Maybe that meant he was susceptible to a certain
kind of damage? When Ben had been involved in the traffic accident, could there
have been another head injury and now he’d forgotten how to walk? Thinking about
it, something similar had happened before, when Ray had ended up carrying Ben
halfway across Canada. Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but it had
felt like that at the time. He wondered if they’d tried a simple knee to the
spine. Ray was about to charge off to inform Dr Elliott of what
he’d remembered, when he saw a mental picture of the folder she’d been
referring to. Ben’s medical records, chunky enough to contain every mishap,
surely? Standing and stretching, Ray wandered to the other side of
the bed, giving in to his curiosity and looking to see who the cards were from.
The first get well card was from the Consulate, containing a collective
message, no individual signatures. Horribly impersonal despite Ben having
worked there for years. The second get well card was, predictably from Miriam. This
one was genuinely affectionate, and included a photograph of a plump,
self-satisfied tabby cat, who co-signed the card with a pencilled paw print and
‘Tigger’. The ‘thinking of you’ was from someone named Ethan. And just that,
Ethan, no message. Due to his absence it was hardly surprising that Ray had
never heard of this person, but was Ethan a part of the missing picture? “Hey, Benny, any chance you could wake up and fill in the
blanks?” No. No chance apparently. Back at the window, Ray leant against the sill and studied
the room, wondering how this was going to go. The wheelchair, commode, lift
sling and grab bars were a cold and clinical reminder of how different life was
going to be. Temporarily going to be.
Ben was clearly finding the new reality impossible to come to terms with; how
was Ray going to help? How could he pretend to be optimistic about this when
crushing pessimism, admittedly weighed down by years-old guilt, was surely the
order of the day? Hating those thoughts he went to the bed and sat on the
edge, taking up Ben’s limp hand and rubbing it as if he was trying to instil it
with warmth. Life. “I hardly recognised you when I walked in,” Ray told Ben. “The
whole new look is…a whole new look.” Ray reached over and ran his fingertips
through the ends of Ben’s wayward hair. “Was something else going on? Were you
ill? You didn’t get this thin overnight, and your hair… I like the hair. I mean,
I’m jealous, but I like the hair. No man should have that much hair, it’s like
a deliberate insult to certain friends who shall be nameless and coincidentally
balding.” He gave up rubbing Ben’s hand and started tapping, not
hard, but enough to be annoying. “C’mon, Benny. Give me a break. I need you to wake up and
tell me this is all nonsense. Wake up and confide that you’re doing this to
investigate some kind of pharmaceutical scam. Or you’re infiltrating a medical
group selling body parts. God, no, I don’t want that, who knows what you’d be
missing by now. Wake up and tell me… Please, Benny,” he said weakly, “wake up
and tell me you’re going to get over this.” Having thoroughly upset himself, Ray carefully laid Ben’s
hand back on the bed, then stood and made for the door. “I’ve got to get out of here for a while. I’ll be back.” With one hand on the door handle, Ray stopped and
considered. He opened the door, took a few steps in place, then closed the door
again. Silently he stared at the bed, waiting for a reaction. Ben’s eyes popped
open. “Hey, Benny.” Ben glanced over and gave a single huff of a laugh to
himself. “Hello, Ray,” Ben said, voice hoarse through lack of use. “Would ‘gotcha’ be wrong under these circumstances?” “No.” “Gotcha,” Ray said with as much false glee as he could
force into one word. Ben paid no attention. He was looking distinctly
disgruntled, scratching at his beard. “I hate this. Can you shave it off for me?” “Just like that? No catch up or explanations or…” “I’d appreciate it.” Everything had changed and nothing had changed. Actually relieved
to be taken for granted on this occasion, Ray took off his jacket and threw it
over the back of the chair before looking through drawers and cabinets in the attached
bathroom, eventually gathering what he needed. Once everything was placed on
the overbed table, he rolled it to the head of the bed. Ben’s eyes were closed. “You trust me with this? I could prune it into something
ridiculous.” “I trust you.” Those words were enough to start Ray’s hands shaking. He
put down the safety razor he’d picked up seconds before. “Wouldn’t an orderly be better for this? Miriam?” No answer, and Ray braced himself before going back to his
task. Logical that Ben wouldn’t attempt a conversation while a razor was gently
swiping around his face, but Ray couldn’t think of a thing to say. Every
question was gone. He clung to ‘I trust you’, repeating it endlessly to himself
until the last swipe, and a quick wipe with a damp paper towel to remove the
remains of the shaving soap. “Done,” he announced, waiting for a response that didn’t
come. Studying his handiwork, Ray couldn't fail to notice that
the weight loss was even more pronounced now.
It could only mean bad things and Ray hated it. “Damn it, Benny, why are you so thin?” Deep breaths indicated that Ben was legitimately asleep
this time. Ray took that as a good sign. Benny really did still trust him,
enough to relax into a nap while Ray held a razor to his throat. Ray sighed at
that overly dramatic thought and set about cleaning up. Ray gave up on company and read through a few of the
magazines Miriam had been kind enough to leave. He was on the verge of nodding
off when a knock on the door announced the arrival of food. Ray watched with
interest as Ben’s sleep was unsympathetically interrupted by an orderly and a
nurse, and he was briskly brought to life and rearranged so he could sit up and
reach the overbed table and its fare. The nurse turned to Ray. “Can I get you something?” “I, umm…” “Sandwich?” “Thanks.” The nurse and orderly departed without so much as one
direct word to Ben, who’d been talked at rather than to; the orderly returned,
thrust a pre-wrapped sandwich and a coffee cup into Ray’s hands, then swiftly
exited. “Wow,” Ray said with feeling. “That’s some energy.” Ben
agreed with a shallow nod, and proceeded to poke around his food. “They ever
talk to you?” “They know I’m not interested.” Ray ate half his sandwich, and once again attempted to
start a conversation. “Anything you’d like to tell me?” “No.” “Or…” “No.” The rest of the sandwich consumed, and the coffee drunk,
Ray sat back in his chair with a resigned sigh. “You want me to leave? Stay?” At least Ben took time to think about that. “I’m sorry, Ray.” “Sorry that you want me to go, or sorry that you want me to
stay?” “I don’t know,” Ben replied stiltedly, sounding like he’d
cut off the end of that sentence, no doubt the pertinent part. “You’re allowed to say you’re struggling. You’re allowed to
ask for help, or time, or privacy, or anything you want, just… Benny, please
don’t shut me out. I may deserve it, but…” “No,” Ben said sharply, finally looking at Ray and sharing
an expression that sang of trauma and sorrow. “Ah, Benny.” Ray crossed to the bed and snatched up Ben’s
hand, squeezing tight. “Let me help. Can I help?” Less than gently, Ben took his hand back. “You can take the table away.” “Not exactly what I meant.” Ray rolled the table to the end
of the bed. “That food doesn’t look awful. Sure you don’t want to try some?” “You sound like Miriam.” “Well, Miriam’s a trooper, you should appreciate her. And eat
the food.” Ben showed a hint of a smile at that. He didn’t seem any
further inclined to eat, but at least it felt like he was engaging. “How about I go out and get a pizza? Or Burgers? Or
Chinese?” “No, don’t.” “You mean lying around doesn’t take up a lot of calories? Can
we do something about that? Fancy getting out of here for a while?” Ignoring the question, Ben used the buzzer and the nurse
and orderly duly appeared, not even needing to be told what was wanted, and as
quickly as Ben had been sat up, he was laid down. The food was whipped away and
that was that. It was frigidly businesslike, but Ben simply sighed and closed
his eyes, shutting out the world. Shutting out Ray. Back to the chair, the magazines, the frustration and the
guilt. But Ray’s mind was in overdrive. It was as if Ben wanted him there
despite not wanting him there. It made sense that Ben would feel protective of
himself, and maybe not want to rely on Ray after his prolonged absence, but… I trust you. And he’d probably wanted
that beard off for weeks but only trusted Ray to shave him. But he didn’t know
whether he wanted Ray to stay or go. Because he thought Ray would be leaving
again soon, and it would be harder to cope alone after having him there? Ray’s thoughts were a jumbled mess of pointless conjecture
and random second guessing, mixed in with a questionable interpretation of not
enough information. It was exhausting and upsetting, and Ray tried to switch
off his need to dissect the evidence he was presented with. Lack of evidence. Damn,
he needed Benny to wake up and give him some straight answers. An indefinite amount of time later, and to Ray’s unbound
relief, Miriam reappeared, coming to admire the clean-shaven version of Ben,
and giving Ray a warm smile. “He ask for that?” “You think I’d do that without his permission?” Miriam chuckled and ignored the question. “There’ll be someone coming around soon to help him wash up
and use the bathroom, so you may want to go and get some rest and we’ll see you
tomorrow.” “Is it that late?” Ray asked in surprise, checking his
watch and being amazed at how long he’d been in this room. “Yeah, I’ll do that.
I haven’t even found a hotel yet.” “There’s a nice one a few blocks away. Go out of the parking
lot and turn right.” “Okay. Thanks.” Ray slipped on his coat and went to say
goodbye to Ben. Asleep again? No idea. “Night, Benny. I’ll be back tomorrow. You
happy with that?” Of course there was no answer. Acceptance was hard but Ray
took Ben’s withdrawal on the chin. They were never going to pick up where
they’d left off all that time ago. “Can you bring something in with you when you come back?”
Miriam asked. “Like what?” “You knew him. What did he like?” At the question, Ray’s tired mind went entirely blank. “I’ll take some time to think.” Ray was almost out the door
when he remembered the card, and the unfamiliar name. “Hey, Miriam. Do you know
who Ethan is?” “No. I wondered about that. Someone he used to work with?” With a shrug and a wave, Ray departed. Walking away felt as
uncomfortable as staying and, once in the car, he sat trying to figure out
which was Ben’s window, although knowing made no sense and no difference. What now? Hotel, sure. Or the airport? He didn’t feel
wanted, and there was little worse than being no more than tolerated by someone
who used to be his best friend. But he hadn’t been asked to leave, much as he
hadn’t been asked to stay. He’d apparently been useful though, and if that was
all he was good for now, under these traumatic circumstances, he’d suck it up. He
gave himself a shake; if that was it, it’d have to do. Walking away was not on
the cards. He started the car and drove out of the parking lot. His
driving mind on autopilot, he thought about Diefenbaker, and calling Ray. The
other Ray, he reminded himself, Ray Kowalski, who was no longer him. Wouldn’t
it be great to hear that Dief was tucked up with one of Ben’s old neighbours
rather than buried at a landfill. His gut rolled. “Call Ray, find Dief, fix Benny,” he recited as a mantra
until he found what he was looking for and pulled in at the hotel. And then he had to remember what Ben liked so he could take
it with him tomorrow. Benny, he knew, liked adventure, and the freedom to roam,
and chasing crooks and ruining suits. He liked hiking and getting lost in the
Canadian wilderness. Tears prickled at the back of Ray’s eyes. There was
nothing to take Ben that he could possibly want right now, because a moment’s
calamitous mistake, a single bullet, had ripped his life away. Finally home, finally back on the Mountie’s doorstep, Ray realised they’d never been more distant.
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