Fighting Fire With Fire

Mary Ann Robinson and Kari Eissinger

It was another miserable morning in Chicago. It had drizzled rain off and on for three days, but the weather wasn't what was bothering Fraser this morning. It was the same thing that had been bothering him for almost two weeks. Ray. His wisecracking partner, the one who had a smart remark for almost any statement, the one who was ready to fight at the drop of anyone’s hat. Det. Kowalski was quiet and almost polite. It was frightening. It was a bad, detached, withdrawn quiet; a silence that spoke of something swirling under the surface. A surface that Fraser knew from experience could be breached at any moment with a violence that both he and Ray knew was there, but didn't want to see.

Stanley Raymond Kowalski, was a good cop, and of late had become Fraser’s friend as well as partner. It hadn't come easily. Ray wasn't always easy to like, and even harder to get to know, but one went hand in hand with the other. His aggravating ways were his own attempt of trying to hold people off. He was sure he was either going to end up letting them down or pissing them off anyway, so his answer was just keep them away. Ray couldn’t really believe that he was worth knowing, even with a wall full of commendations from the department. He never truly thought that he was good at what he did. All he seemed to be able to see was what went wrong and how his actions were a part of that.

Fraser was the first one to see through the smokescreen, and because of that most of the others in the squad room had too. They came to respect the blonde, spikey-haired young man who looked like he bought his clothes at a biker- grunge flea market, and reached a certain level of tolerance for his quick, nervous movements and sometimes volatile temper. They knew he was a good cop.

They also knew that something wasn't right. Most steered clear of him lately, knowing the possibility of eminent eruption. Several had come to Fraser on the side to see what was going on and even ask if there was anything that they could do to help, but no one had the courage to ask Ray himself.

Fraser did his best to assure everyone that Ray just had something on his mind, he would get it worked out soon, and that everything was going to be fine. The truth of the matter was that he had no idea what the problem was, or how to help his friend. Fraser was worried. He could usually get Ray to open up on almost anything eventually, but as of yet he hadn't found the key to unlock his friend. And he was afraid that he was running out of time.

He hadn't even reached the squad room yet when his fears were confirmed by the looks he saw on the faces of Detectives Huey and Dewey as they passed him on their way out to start their day. As he entered the squad room, Frannie looked up from her work and smiled sympathetically, and went, quite uncommonly, back to work. Ray was back in the corner at his desk trying valiantly to reduce the stack of paper work that was always way behind. He glanced up when Fraser approached, gave him a small nervous smile and a nod.

"Morning Fraser."

Fraser was stunned at the appearance of his friend. He was glad that Ray's attention was back on his work and not on the expression on Fraser's face. He quickly resumed control and began the routine they had settled into in their time as partners.

"Good morning Ray. I see you are finally making an attempt at catching up on your paper work. Is there anything I can do to help?"

The reply was automatic, and for Fraser on this day, a welcome part of the routine.

"Um... ya Fraser,... coffee, more coffee."

"Certainly, Ray."

Laying his Stetson on the corner of Ray's desk he turned, grateful for the opportunity to step away for a moment. As he passed Frannie's desk he nodded toward the coffee maker, knowing she would know to follow him. The coffee maker was just off of the squad room in a small connecting hall. As he approached it Frannie walked up quietly beside Fraser.

"Looks terrible, doesn't he?"

Fraser busied himself with the pot for a moment, his face etched with concern. Ray did look terrible. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. His already angular features looked drawn and haggard, his eyes tired and hollow, the dark rings underneath only accentuating their haunted look. But the detail that scared Fraser the most was his right hand. It was obvious he had put his fist through something last night. And from the scratches that showed around the white bandages, Fraser knew it was probably glass. Not a good sign for someone who has been in that kind of mood.

"Yes, Ray doesn't look good this morning." After another short pause the Mountie continued. "Francesca, would you do me a favor?"

"Sure Frase." Her quiet response reflected her concern for her ''bro." "But you might want to know that Macey on thirds said Ray came in about 3'oclock this morning. Gave him some kind of story about wanting to get caught up on his paper work. Like sure. Kowalski? No way."

Fraser smiled half-heartedly. "Exactly".

"Name it Frase, anything I can do to help."

"When you return to your desk, wait about 5 minutes, then page the Leftenant’s office and have him call me in. Keep it as low key as possible. That will give me a chance to talk to Ray a little bit and see if I can find out what is going on. Will you do that for me?"

"Sure Frase. I just hope he will talk to you. Ray hasn't said 10 words to me in days."

Fraser, nodding his understanding, turned with coffee in hand and started back toward the squad room. His mind raced through the possible approaches to use on his partner to open up what looked to be a very touchy conversation. The one good thing was that the squad room was unusually empty for this time of the day. The others had probably scoped out the situation and decided that the best place to be was somewhere else.

As Fraser approached he caught a nearby chair with the toe of his boot and scraped it over the linoleum to stop beside Ray's desk.

"Your coffee, Ray. It will be hot."

"I know that, Fraser."

"Undersood."

Ray worked for a few seconds before taking the coffee. He knew he was going to have to face his friend and his questions. He was in no hurry. He couldn’t hide the bandages or the numerous small cuts that covered the back of his hand. There were even a few on his arm.

He looked at Fraser for just an instant, his eyes almost pleading for him to leave it alone, but also realizing that was impossible. He knew that his friend was concerned. And he knew how bull-headed the Mountie could be when he felt that there was a bad situation and he felt he could help rectify it. So with a sigh of resignation he sat back in his chair and looked fully into Fraser's face. Again Fraser was struck by the haunted look in his partner’s eyes, but he knew he had to use this opportunity to get some understanding of what was going on.

"What happened to your hand, Ray?"

"Um...oh... that. Not much." As soon as he started to speak he dropped his eyes to his desk and rearranged some papers. "I was trying to get a stuck window open, my hand slipped and I put my fist through it. Took a few stitches, but it's fine."

They both knew it was a lie, but Ray shot Fraser a quick glance in hopes that maybe he would buy into it and drop the subject. Fraser just looked back at him with an expression that told him he wasn’t.

"I'm sorry that you feel you have to lie to me about something this important, Ray. But I suppose it is possible that I have overestimated the friendship." His gaze never left Ray's face, forcing him to return it.

"Don't get all moody on me, Fraser. We are friends. At least I like to think so. It’s just nothing that I can...ah...hell Fraser, can't we just leave it alone? I vented last night, that’s what I did. I vented, blew off some steam, you know. Are you aware of the process? And now I'm all better, so we can go on with our lives and bust bad guys." His voice had started to rise as he spoke, but it ended in a whisper.

"Well Ray, I guess the question is; did one night of ‘venting’, as you call it, take care of two weeks of stored up steam? Or is this just the beginning? Will I have to visit you in the hospital tomorrow, or maybe down in one of the holding cells?" Fraser said it very calmly, and with no accusatory tone, only deep and sincere concern.

The tone was evident and appreciated. Ray looked up sheepishly and with a sad smile just shook his head. "Nah Fraser... I swear to ya, I'll be ok... It's just ... hard sometimes...to...."

It was then that the Lieutenant’s door jerked open and Welsh stuck his head out. "Constable. I'm glad you're here. Could you step in here a minute. There are some Consulate matters that we need to discuss." He stepped back into his office, expecting Fraser to follow.

Fraser stood, pulled on his tunic to straighten it and replied, "Oh, very well Sir. As you wish." Fraser cursed the timing, but it was his own plan. "Will you excuse me for a moment Ray? I will be right back." Again a hesitation. "Would you do me a favor?" He waited until Ray looked up before he continued. "Would you wait for me here... just until I get done with the Leftenant? I need to finish this conversation."

For an instant the look of a trapped animal flashed into Ray's eyes. He had hoped that the interruption might serve to get him off the hook, but from the set look on Fraser's face he knew the conversation would be taken up again. And in a way that even surprised him, he knew that he needed it as well. But as is often the case in life, what is needed isn't always what is wanted.

"Sure, Fraser. I could work on this pile of stuff for three days and not make a dent in it.... Um...I'll be here."

"Thank you Ray."

With another hesitation the Mountie headed for the office, dropping his hand awkwardly on Ray's shoulder as he passed.

The Lieutenant perched on the edge of his desk, coffee cup in hand, but as Fraser entered he moved casually over to the couch and sat heavily at the far end, motioning for Fraser to close the door. "I got your message Constable. I think I know what this is about, and I'm glad you wanted to talk. It's Kowalski, right?"

"Yes Leftenant. I have hesitated in bringing this into the office, and I hope we can keep this on an unofficial level, but I am getting rather concerned for Ray's well being. And well...I just hoped that maybe we could talk."

Welsh took a slow sip of coffee before he answered. "I understand Constable. We will keep this off the record as long as we can, but we will have to do what is best for Ray."

"Understood. I am, to be honest Sir, at a loss. I can't seem to get him to tell me what the problem is." He hesitated. "You have seen his hand this morning, I suppose?"

"Frannie told me about it. I figure the longer I don't know the better, if you see what I mean."

"Yes, Sir."

"Trust me Constable, you aren't the only one who has noticed, and you aren't the only one who is concerned. Kowalski can be the most aggravating, smart-mouthed shit head in the place, and when it comes to the brass he's like a pit-bull on a short leash. But he is a damn good cop, and although it isn't always easy to see, a good man. But most important to me is that he's my friend, and I don't say that lightly. There are a lot of people in that squad room, all good people mind you, but there are very few that I would call a real friend."

This admission surprised Fraser, not entirely by what was said, but from the fact that it was said. The Lieutenant made a good and honest effort to come off as a rather tough,

world-weary customer. Fraser had always noticed a certain tolerance that the Lieutenant showed for his often troublesome partner, but this was more than the Mountie had expected.

"Ah... hell, Constable. You came in here to talk. Let's talk. Have a seat." The Lieutenant leaned forward on the couch placing his forearms on his knees and motioned Fraser to the chair behind his desk.

"As you wish, Sir." Fraser moved the chair to face Welsh and sat down.

"Although I asked him not to say anything, I suppose Kowalski told you about him having to baby-sit me that night I put on a pretty good drunk?"

"No Sir, Ray never said anything about it." Fraser smiled benignly at the Lieutenant's obvious discomfort with the admission.

"Really? I always assumed that he would have at least told you. Huh...well I'll be. Good boy."

"Yes, Sir."

Welsh absently rolled his coffee cup in his hands as he continued. "I always felt that Ray and I understood each other, without really having to say it. Brothers under the skin or something. And I honestly think he feels that way too. Anyway, one night we were in here wrapping up some case, I don't even know which one now, but I was totally fried, and just not ready to go home. I knew I had to blow off some steam, but because of my 'position' in the department, I have to be kind of careful. I just looked over at Ray, and said that I needed a drink. He stood there for a minute, nodded his head and said he would drive.

"We ended up at some Irish bar over on 23rd. Needless to say I got plowed, cried in my beer, and generally made an ass of myself. I don't think Ray had anything to drink at all. He poured me into his car, took me home to my wife and helped her get me into bed. Then he spent a half hour in my kitchen trying to smooth things over with her, which she thought was kind of funny and 'sweet'. Hell, he even had my car parked outside the house when I got up in the morning. Next day he never said a word about it. Things were right back to normal. Funny though, I always figured he had told you." Welsh sat back into the couch and looked into his half empty cup, and shrugged.

"Did you know Constable, that when Ray came in here for Vecchio, it was almost straight out of nearly two years undercover over at the 19?" Fraser nodded as Welsh continued. "I knew the minute that he walked in here he was in trouble. It was like looking into a mirror at myself 30 years ago. Two tours in ‘Nam. Going into it with all the right intentions and coming out questioning everything you thought was good and right. And so the natural thing is that you start questioning yourself. You start thinking that maybe you were all wrong from the start, or maybe that if you would have done something different or something more, that things would have been different, you would have been different. Ah... hell... who knows?

"But it was all there. There in his eyes and on his face, in those quick, almost paranoid moves. One minute the hunter, the next the hunted. I'd seen it on more faces than I care to remember, and I came home with it as well. If it wouldn't have been for my wife... and my faith...but shit, that's another story. The point is Constable, I know what Ray 's been going through, and I thought that things were starting to straighten out for him. I think partnerin' him up with you has helped a lot, but something lately seems to have set him off. That's the way this delayed stress shit is though, you just can't tell." Welsh shifted uncomfortably on the couch and looked at Fraser. "We got to figure out something."

Fraser smiled sadly at Welsh, glad that he felt that he could confide in him this way. "Well Leftenant, I will try to get Ray to open up a little bit today. He has promised that he will be all right, and he doesn't make promises lightly. It is just so hard to see him this way and not know why."

"I've been thinking about calling Foster over at the 19. Maybe he can give us something to help. I know he has a real high opinion of Kowalski, and I'm sure he will help if he can. And he’ll keep it quiet." Welsh rose as he finished speaking. "Don't worry Fraser. We aren't going to let anything happen to Ray."

Fraser stood automatically. With new respect they shook hands. "Yes, Sir. Thank-you kindly."

As Fraser re-entered the squad room, a brief panic washed over him as he noticed that Ray and Dief were both missing. But before he reached Ray's desk, both of his friends appeared from around the corner. Ray held another cup of coffee in his hand. Fraser knew that his partner couldn't keep running long on caffeine, but for now he was just glad that he hadn't slipped out on him while he was in the office.

Ray hesitated a moment and appeared to contemplate heading the opposite direction, but instead he dropped his gaze to the floor and joined Fraser at his desk. "Everything ok with Welsh?"

"Yes, Ray. Everything is fine. Have you had anything to eat today, or have you been pouring caffeine into an empty stomach all morning." It came out sounding harsher than the Mountie had intended.

For once, Ray had no quick comeback. He just stared at the coffee cup and shifted nervously, making Fraser feel even worse.

"I believe that I will spring for breakfast this morning. You name the place." The Mountie had softened his tone, hoping to lighten the tension.

Ray shifted again but said nothing for a long moment, as if trying to find a way out. Another moment passed before he sat heavily on the corner of his desk and shrugged his shoulders.

"You pick the place Fraser, it doesn't matter to me." The weariness in Ray's voice was evident, and for now at least he knew Ray had resigned himself to the fact that his friend was in charge.

"Very well then. Shall we?" Fraser picked up his hat, and with a motion to Dief, waited for Ray to lead the way out. He couldn't help but notice the rather unsteady gait of his friend, and he wondered again how little sleep Ray was trying to operate on.

Once in the GTO, the powerful engine purring nicely, Ray shot a glance at his friend.

"Where to?"

"I have a suggestion." Fraser was hoping this was going to work. "Do you have anything we can fix at your place? I mean something besides popcorn."

Again a nervous shift from Ray. "I don't know if that's a good idea. Um...if you want to cook, why not the Consulate? Ya, that sounds like a plan."

"Ray, I think you know how that would go over with Inspector Thatcher. She thinks I am engaged in police business. Which technically I am but... Ah...Not a good idea." Fraser shook his head. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at the thought of him bringing Ray to the Consulate just to fix breakfast.

"Well. Let’s go to The Sweet Shoppe. It’s close." Ray took his bandaged hand off the wheel to flex his fingers, and then self-consciously returned it to the wheel. He hoped Fraser didn’t notice. It would only reopen the can of worms that almost got started back in the squad room. Too late. He could tell by the look on Fraser’s face.

"Ray, we might as well cut to the heart of the matter. I have given it a lot of thought this morning. You seem to hesitate about us going to your apartment, so I would have to assume that whatever you put your fist through is there. Now judging from the fact that it has been raining for several days, I can't see the need in raising a window, and taking into account your obvious agitation lately, the likely object of your aggression would more than likely be the mirror in your bathroom. If that is the case, there is no logical reason for us not to go there and fix a good homemade breakfast. So I ask again. Do you have anything there to prepare?"

Ray rubbed his face with his left hand, shut his eyes tightly for a moment, and felt a small shudder running the course of his gaunt frame. "No, Fraser. There is nothing at my place to eat. I don't even know what's in the fridge, but my best guess is that it is green, fuzzy, and in the process of raising a family. Are you sure that this is such a good idea? The Sweet Shoppe is just around the corner."

"What? More caffeine and sugar? No. You said that it was up to me and I feel like cooking. Harry's Market is just up the street and he has fine Canadian bacon. I believe a good solid meal would do you a world of good."

"Ok, Ok Fraser. I give up. You aren't going to back off this are you? You can't just leave it alone, can you? I told you that I was going to be all right, but you just can’t leave it alone! " Ray's voice had raised a decibel or two with every word, and he was yelling by the time he had finished.

"No Ray. I can't. You are my partner, and my friend. Those two things give me a certain responsibility. A responsibly which I cannot, nor will I, ignore. And I know that if the situation were reversed you would do the same."

"Oh? You think so huh. What makes you think that, Fraser? You start thinking that way and you’ll find yourself dead in an alley somewhere. I ain't the kind of guy you can count on. I can't even count on myself, you idiot. I've been somebody else so long I don't even know who I am! How can you count on someone like that, Fraser? You’ll just get yourself screwed up, and then I'll have that to think about that along with everything else. I don't need that Fraser, I don't need the responsibility of another life! I can't handle my own. Jeez Fraser, can't we just leave it alone?"

As he finished, Ray jammed the GTO to a halt in front of Harry's Market. The words had come out so hard and fast that they sat for a long moment, both men staring straight ahead. Fraser broke the silence first.

"I guess the question that you need to ask yourself is this: Can you afford to leave it alone? Do you really want to leave it alone? Do you want to just roll it up and quit? You’re a better man than that, Ray. You're not a quitter. Of that I am sure."

Fraser was silent for a moment, letting everything sink in. Then with a deep breath he continued as if the past few minutes hadn't even happened. "Now, Ray. If we are to fix breakfast, I am afraid that I will need some American currency. Harry won't except Canadian."

He stuck his palm out to Ray, who was so numb by the whole thing that he had his wallet out and was watching Fraser walk into the market before he could even think.

Fraser made his way through the market picking out everything he thought would be needed for breakfast, plus the basic bread and milk. He also picked up a couple of steaks for supper, just in case his plan worked. As he made his way to the front counter he noticed that Ray was outside the car, leaning against the passenger door, head down, hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket, absently moving the toe of his boot back and forth across the pavement. From the market checkout counter, Fraser could see the fatigue weighting heavily on his friend. At least he had finally gotten a little emotion out of him. It was a start.

As Fraser came out of the market Ray straightened up and folded his arms tightly across his chest. His face had gone pale, and he looked like he was trying hard not to get sick. Fraser was afraid that the shouting match had taken what little juice he had left.

Ray looked at Fraser, smiled sheepishly, and then again dropped his gaze to the pavement. "Maybe you better drive, Fraser. I think I poured too much caffeine into an empty stomach. I don't feel so good." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and got into the passenger seat.

As Fraser got behind the wheel he could see that Ray's hands were trembling, and every once in a while he would blow out some air like he was trying to calm an agitated system. "Oh dear. Are you alright?"

"Just drive! I will not throw up in this car. My dad would kill me! I will not throw up in this car!"

" Keep that thought Ray. I will hurry."

"You do that, Fraser." He closed his eyes and breathed out a puff of air, trying to calm his stomach.

They made it to Ray's apartment without any accidents, either vehicular or biological, and Fraser soon had Ray seated at his counter eating a piece of toast and sipping on a cup of hot chocolate. He hoped it would settle his stomach and tide him over until he could get a good meal down him.

Fraser busied himself at fixing breakfast while keeping a close eye on Ray. The color was coming back into his face and the trembling in his hands had almost stopped.

" So Ray, just how much sleep did you get last night?"

"None. I spent three hours at the emergency room. By the time I got out of there I figured I might as well go on into work."

"How much did you get the night before?"

Ray looked up impatiently, but had pretty much given up on arguing anymore. "I don't know. Maybe four."

Fraser had his doubts, but didn't want to make an issue of it. He had him talking and that was what he wanted. His plan was working.

"You know you can come and talk to me any time about anything. You don't need to be putting your fist through things. It's not the easiest thing for either of us, but it has to be better than stitches in the middle of the night."

"Tell me about it." Ray even smiled a little as he held up his bandaged hand. He pushed his cup to one side and crossed his arms on the counter, laying his chin on his arm.

As Fraser's father would have said, 'his eyes looked like two piss holes in the snow'. The thought brought a smile to Fraser's face.

"What?"

"Oh, really nothing Ray. This just reminds me of a story Buck Frobisher used to tell about the time he and Bud Knobs were up on the Ice Fields...." Fraser launched into one of his long descriptive stories about life in the frozen north. He continued on with breakfast as he spoke, often glancing over at Ray. He was glad when his friend rested his head on his folded arms and tried mightily to keep his eyes open. Fraser knew it was a fight he was going to lose, and within a few minutes he had roused Ray enough to get him to the couch. By the time the eggs were ready Ray was sound asleep, a blanket thrown over him for good measure. Dief curled up on the rug beside him. The plan had worked.

After Fraser had eaten his breakfast and cleaned up the kitchen, he grabbed Ray's cell phone and ventured into the bathroom. Needless to say it was a mess. The mirror of the medicine cabinet was well smashed from, Fraser guessed, two blows. Ray always did have a good, quick right. It looked like Ray had made an attempt at cleaning up. The wastebasket was full of glass, a broom stood in the corner with a pile of debris behind it, and there was blood everywhere. He made a swipe at the sink, but the dried blood wouldn’t budge. There was more on the broom handle and a few spots on the floor. Fraser sadly shook his head. He knew the feelings that could cause such an outburst. He had felt like doing this himself many times but he always had the ability to contain it. That was the one thing that Ray, in his present condition, was unable to muster.

It was hard for Fraser to understand how a person for whom he cared for so much could care so little for himself. Fraser was a good judge of character, and he knew his partner was a far better person than he was able to give himself credit for. What in his past had been so bad to cause Ray to believe that it could possibly cancel out all the good? Maybe with a little more time he could get some answers from Ray. He just hoped that he had that time.

Fraser lowered the lid of the commode, sat down and dialed the station. Welsh would probably be on a rampage not knowing where they disappeared. Frannie picked it up on the second ring.

"Yes Francesca, may I please speak with Leftenant Welsh?"

"Sure Frase. How's Ray? And where the heck did you guys sneak off to?"

"Ray is asleep on his couch, finally. And we did not sneak off. We simply stepped out for breakfast."

Francesca was amused by Fraser's defensiveness, but glad to hear that Ray was finally asleep anywhere. "Whatever you say, Frase. I'll buzz you into the Lieutenant's office. If you guys need anything, let me know. He's my ' Bro' you know."

"Thank you. We will keep that in mind. And....Francesca...could we keep this among the three of us and the Lieutenant...For Ray's sake?"

"You got it Frase. Here's the Lieutenant." Frannie transferred the call into Welsh's office.

"Ah, ya Constable. Nice of you to check in. I was beginning to wonder." Although there was a hint of sarcasm in his tone, Fraser was pretty sure that it was tempered with honest relief as well. "Where is Kowalski? Have you been able to find out anything?"

"Well Leftenant, I convinced him to come back to his apartment to fix some breakfast, and right now he is asleep on the couch. I was hoping, Sir, that I could let him sleep as long as he can. I think it is sorely needed right now. As far as discovering what is truly bothering him...well, Sir ...I didn't want to press him too hard.…"

"That's alright, Constable. I think we can afford to take it slow. Ray's a tough little bastard. He just tends to ...well, you know."

"Yes Sir. I believe the word you are looking for is 'vent'."

"That’s it. Kowalski tends to vent more passionately than most. As far as work, let him sleep as long as he will. I called Foster over at the 19. Gave him an idea of what was going on. He agreed to meet me after the watch, so we could talk, 'unofficially'. He really seems to think a lot of Ray." Fraser noticed a touch of embarrassment in the Lieutenant's tone. This matter with Ray was bringing out the man’s softer side, and the Lieutenant wasn't totally comfortable with it.

"Very well, Sir. I guess then that I will see you tomorrow. I think that I will try to convince Ray to allow me to spend the night here. He always complains that my room is too small anyway."

"You do that, Constable. I will see you in the morning."

Fraser returned Ray's phone to the counter. On the way past the couch, he took a quick peek at his still sleeping partner, then busied himself with cleaning up the mess in the bathroom. When he completed the job thoroughly, Fraser returned to the livingroom to check on Ray.

He was still out. Fraser studied his partner closely. Even in sleep his features looked drawn. There wasn't the look of peace one would expect to find on someone deep in slumber. Fraser thought for a moment then stepped into the bedroom. What he saw no longer caused him much surprise. Ray's bed looked like it had been through a 10 round fight. A wadded pillow lay in a corner of the room, and the covers were twisted and pulled up from the corners. This must be where Ray fought his war. Fraser untangled the sheets and made the bed, making sure the hospital corners were perfect and all the wrinkles smoothed.

Ray had been asleep now for just over two hours. Surely he would sleep for several more. Fraser felt it was safe to step out for a few moments. He would run over to the hardware store two blocks over, pick up a new medicine cabinet for the bathroom, and he could have it up before Ray awoke. Ray didn't need to be reminded of what he had done the night before.

After explaining everything to Dief, he ordered him sternly, "Stay with Ray. If there’s trouble, come get me." Picking up his hat and coat, he quietly let himself out.

It was starting to clear up outside. The sun finally made its first appearance in several days. Maybe that would make everyone feel a little better. He made his way to the hardware store, buying the cabinet with the money he had left from the groceries. He knew where Ray kept his tools and was certain that he could do the job with very little noise. It always helped him to stay busy when he had things to think through. He was glad for a job.

Fraser was back at the apartment in just under an hour. He opened the door as quietly as possible, but knew in an instant that something was wrong. Dief met him at the door, whined once then whirled for the livingroom. Fraser quickly set his purchase on the counter and stepped into the room.

Ray perched on the edge of the couch, his elbows on his knees, and his face buried in his hands. He shook visibly and his hair was matted with sweat. Even his arms and hands were covered with beads of perspiration. Fraser stepped quickly to his partner’s side and gently laid a hand on his trembling shoulder.

"Damn," Ray jumped like he had been shot at. "Fraser! What the hell are you doing here? Where'd you....oh shit, you scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry, Ray. I didn't mean to give you such a start." As he spoke he sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing Ray but not directly in front of him. "Are you alright?"

"Is that one of those rhetorical questions, Fraser, or are you totally stupid? Oh ya, I'm alright. I always wake up like this. This has gotten to be the routine. Doesn't everyone wake up soaked in sweat and shaking like a leaf?" Ray rubbed his good hand through his damp hair as he spoke. The shaking was starting to subside. "Damn!"

"Ray, I'm..."

"Just can it, Fraser. Damn! What are you still doing here anyway? Can't you just leave well enough alone?" Ray started to rise, but Fraser gently shoved him back down on the couch.

"Do you realize what you just said, Ray? Can I leave well enough alone? Does this situation look like it has anything to do with being well? Of course I can't leave it alone. You can get as angry as you want to, but you and I need to talk. I've spent the morning cleaning up a bloody bathroom where my best friend put his fist through a mirror that had his face in it. Your bedroom looked like a war zone, and now this. Please Ray. Talk to me."

"I can't!" His voice echoed his anguish as he quickly jumped to his feet and shoved away Fraser's hand.

For a moment Fraser thought about letting him go. But this had gone far enough. He could not stand by and watch Ray self -destruct. Ray rounded the coffee table and Fraser spun from his sitting position, stood and grabbed Ray by the front of the shirt. He threw him back onto the couch. The move cleaned most of the stuff off of the coffee table, but at this point Fraser didn't care. The fight was on.

They tussled back and forth. Luckily there wasn't enough room to throw a good punch, though Ray tried to get a few through Fraser's smothering defense. When the struggling ended, the coffee table had been shoved away from the couch and Fraser pinned Ray to the floor on his stomach between the furniture. The Mountie’s arm pressed firmly against the nape of his neck and the bandaged arm he held twisted behind Ray’s back. Fraser was surprised that Ray had that much fight left in him. He still strained mightily against Fraser's grasp.

"That's enough Ray. Just stop.... now." To emphasize the request, Fraser jammed his arm a little tighter on Ray's neck and moved Ray’s a notch higher up his back. "Please!"

Ray gave out a low groan and then relaxed. Fraser held him a moment longer and slowly released his grip, cautiously. Ray reminded him of some of the suspects he’d had to subdue in his lifetime. It pained him that he had to treat his friend like this, but if he eased up too soon, Ray might resume fighting. Fraser felt the trembling start again when he loosened his hold, and he knew that there was nothing left in Ray to inspire him to struggle. Too little sleep, too much tension and who knew what else, but for now he was spent.

Fraser slowly got to his feet. He hated what had just happened, but at this point he didn't know what else to do. Ray slowly pulled his arm down from behind his back and crossed his arms under his head. His breathing was ragged and the shaking was worse. He made no attempt to get up. After Fraser straightened his clothes and brushed himself off, he took the blanket that lay on the couch, tucked it in around his friend and gently squeezed his shoulder.

"I'll fix us some tea, Ray. Just lie still. It will all be alright.....ok?" Fraser really didn't expect a response, and none came.

Fraser reached for the kettle on the stove and noticed blood smeared across the back of his hand. Great, he had probably ripped some of Ray's stitches. He may end up in the emergency room two days in a row. What a friend I am if I put him there. Fraser silently berated himself for being so self-critical. He was doing the best he could. Despite his despondency, Ray had a lot of fight in him. It was just a matter of tapping into that and using it effectively. The hard part was figuring how. He put the water on to boil then stepped back into the room. Ray hadn't moved, but his breathing was returning to normal, and the shaking diminished.

"Ray . Let me see your hand. I think you might be bleeding."

Ray slowly raised his head and looked at his bandaged hand. There was fresh blood showing, but it didn't seem to be too bad. Ray studied it, put his hand out onto the carpet in front of him, and laid his head back down on his other arm. By the time Fraser got back from the bathroom with fresh bandages, Ray was asleep. Fraser removed the old dressing, made sure that no stitches had been pulled, and gently rewrapped his friend’s hand. Ray didn't move.

The teakettle whistled. Fraser poured a cup, stationed himself in the chair near the end of the couch and kept the cell phone beside him. After an hour Ray stirred restlessly, an occasional low moan escaping on a ragged breath. Fraser knelt down beside his partner, laid his hand on the back of his head. "It's ok Ray. Everything is ok. You can go back to sleep. It early yet, and I'm right here. Just relax and go back to sleep. " Ray stiffened for just a moment then slipped back into a more relaxed sleep.

And so the pattern was set. Ray would sleep for awhile, stir uncomfortably, and Fraser knelt on the floor to reassure him that everything was ok, and that he wasn't alone. Then he watched as his friend went back to a better sleep. And so the hours passed.

Welsh arrived at the office early. He was anxious. He wanted nothing more than to see Kowalski come rolling in, back to his old obnoxious self, with Fraser at his heels. He was pretty sure that it wouldn't happen, though. He met with Foster from the 19. It was an informative meeting, and he felt he had a pretty good slant on what was wrong. Hell, he had trouble sleeping last night. He could just imagine what Kowalski was dealing with! Now he understood why Ray often resented any remarks made about his various commendations from the department. Kowalski was one of his best detectives, and Welsh had even made a point of telling the young man that, but Ray's pat response was that he was just doing his job, and that it was nothing special. Now Welsh had another small piece of the complicated puzzle that was Det. Stanley Raymond Kowalski.

Welsh stepped to the door of his office for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. Each time, Kowalski's desk was always empty. He kept telling himself that it was still early. Hell, Ray was never on time anyway. What was he worried about? He was about to return to his desk when Dief came bounding around the corner followed by Ray and Fraser.

At first glance everything looked fine, but after watching them for a moment he could detect a certain tension in their body language. "Kowalski! Constable! My office now!" Knowing the situation, he figured the best approach was to try to keep things as normal as possible. For him, yelling at Kowalski was the status quo.

The two men entered the office. Welsh sat behind his desk, leaning back and eyeing them. "I'm very honored that you two fine gentlemen have decided to grace us with your presence this morning." Kowalski looked tired, but a lot better than the last time Welsh had seen him. Fraser as always looked like the poster boy for the RCMP, not a hair out of place.

" I don't even want to know what you two have been up to, but we do have a department to run here." As he spoke he looked from one to the other, more to see if he could get a read on what might have happened yesterday, but also trying to act as normal as he could.

"Well sir. You see..."

"I said I didn't want to know, Constable"

"Understood."

"Thank you."

"Ray, you need to get over to that warehouse operator on 17th and get a statement about the stolen shipment of computers. Warner said he would be back in town today. Give any information you get to Huey and Dewey. We have a hunch it’s going to tie into that hijacking case they’ve been working."

Ray only looked up briefly as he muttered a reply. "Yes, Sir."

"Constable, you and I need to finish that Consulate matter we started the other day. Inspector Thatcher is expecting your report to be on her desk by this evening. By the time we finish that up, Det. Kowalski here should be back and then the two of you could maybe get something accomplished today. If that’s not too much to ask, Gentlemen?'"

The two partners answered in unison. "Not at all, Sir. We will, Sir."

As Ray turned to leave, Fraser shot a guick look at the Lieutenant. "Sir. If you would just excuse me for one moment, please." With an understanding nod from Welsh, the Mountie turned and followed his partner back to his desk. He was still worried about Ray, and he was afraid that leaving him alone to work might be a bad idea.

Fraser thought about how the morning had gone so far. "Are you going to be alright, Ray?" The two hadn't said much to each other since Ray awoke. About 3:30 in the morning, Ray finally got up off the floor. Though it hadn't been the most restful sleep, it lasted almost 10 hrs and seemed to improve his mood. While Ray was in the shower, Fraser fixed a couple big bowls of hot oatmeal and some toast. They ate their breakfast in silence.

Ray cleaned up the kitchen while Fraser took his turn in the bathroom. They swung past the Consulate before going to the station, so Fraser could pick-up a clean uniform and check in.

Ray pulled into the station parking lot and shut down the GTO before either one said anything. They both started to speak at the same time, then fell silent again.

"Excuse me, Ray. You were going to say?"

"No Fraser, you go first." Ray's eyes never left the wheel.

"No Ray, I insist."

"Fraser!"

"As you wish."

Fraser dropped his eyes to his lap while he collected his thoughts. He wanted to say the right thing. "I'm sorry if I hurt you yesterday. I just didn't know what else to do. I couldn't stand by and do nothing. Do you understand that?" Fraser looked over at Ray, and watched him as he dropped his forehead to rest on the wheel.

"It's ok, Fraser. I'm sorry I put you in that position. None of this is your fault."

"It's not your fault either, Ray."

Ray glanced at Fraser, and with a sad shake of his head replied, " I just wish I could believe that."

Ray quickly got out of the car and started for the station. Fraser sat still for just a moment, then hurried to catch up with his friend. Ray waited at the top of the steps, ready to open the door for his partner. Fraser reached the door and Ray hesitated, turned to him, and for the first time all day looked fully into his face.

"Thanks Fraser."

With that Ray jerked the door open and hustled Fraser and the wolf inside.

Now Ray was headed out to gather the information needed from the warehouse operator, and Fraser needed a little reassurance that his partner would be fine on his own.

"Sure Fraser, I'm good. Um...hey look don't worry about yesterday, I just needed to get some sleep ya know, and now , hey... everything is cool." He smacked Fraser on the arm as he spoke and even smiled like he really felt like smiling. It was good to see.

Dief whined loudly as Ray turned to leave, causing him to pause. The wolf first looked at Ray, then turned to Fraser and gave a small bark. Dief spun around and joined the detective. The partners just shrugged at each other and smiled. Ray and Dief turned as a team and disappeared around the corner.

Welsh looked up from his paper work as Fraser re-entered his office. He motioned for Fraser to close the door, rose and took a seat on the corner of his desk.

"Ray get out of here, already?"

"Yes Sir. I hope it is no problem, Leftenant, but Dief insisted on accompanying Ray this morning. I believe he senses that Ray is not at his best right now."

"Oh. That could be very interesting, Constable. I just hope the wolf knows what he is getting into by running with Kowalski."

"Have no fear, Leftenant. Dief usually knows what he is doing."

The Lieutenant's attempt at a joke sailed right over the Mountie's head, which wasn't all that unusual. This morning, though, he didn't have the patience to explain.

"Well Constable, how did things go yesterday? Find out anything from Ray?"

"Yes Sir, in a manner of speaking. Well what I mean to say is, I really don't know what it is that is bothering Ray, but I do know that he doesn't seem to be able to sleep. I didn't get anything out of him, information wise. It was more of an observation, and well you see Sir...we...."

"Constable, please! Will you just say it."

"Yes, Sir. As you like." The Mountie shifted uncomfortably for a moment before he continued. "You see Sir....we..."

"Fraser!"

"We got into a fight, Sir." Fraser gave a thorough run down of the events of the day, leaving out only the things that he felt didn't need to be said. It wasn't an easy story for him to relay. It had been a painful experience, but judging from Welsh's reaction he understood how difficult it had been on both of them.

"I know what that kind of a night can be, Constable. I've had more than a few in my life. Once in a while I still do. But not near as often anymore, and in a strange kind of way you learn to live with it." Welsh got up from the corner of his desk, rubbed both hands across his face and returned to his chair. "There was a time when I woke up screaming in my bed, almost every night. Ghosts of Vietnam. That's what my wife always called them. I don't know what I would have done without her. She would have to baby-sit me at night and then watch the kids all day. I really don't know how she did it, or why for that matter."

Fraser was surprised at the Lieutenant’s openness on such a personal subject, but he believed that Welsh respected the fact that the Mountie had been open with him as well.

"She must have felt that you were worth it, Sir."

"So is Kowalski, Constable. So is Kowalski."

Fraser nodded in agreement. "Indeed."

"Ben, we've been given a pretty big piece of the puzzle, but I'll tell you right now it ain't too pretty a picture." As he spoke Welsh dropped his gaze to his desk and fiddled absently with a paper clip, missing the startled expression on Fraser's face at the Lieutenant's use of his first name. It was, if his memory served him correctly, a first.

"I talked to Foster last night, and he filled me in on what he believes could be the problem." Welsh continued to mess with the paper clip, as if it would help him find the right words. After what seemed to Fraser like a very long time, the Lieutenant continued with his tone very professional and practiced, as if this were only a routine case.

"Ray had been working narcotics undercover for almost 2 years. The 19 was his base and he worked directly for Foster, but he ended up all over, anywhere the trail led. He was clear over on the southeast side, working in cooperation with the Gary police on a couple of guys that they were having trouble with. Real whackos, hard core types.

"Ray was real close to wrapping up a main supplier that he had been involved with almost from the beginning. The Gary boys wanted him to introduce these two hard cores to the supplier so they could all go down together, get 'em all off the street at once. Wasn't a bad plan or anything, only someone just forgot how whacked these guys were. To make a long story short; Ray made the introduction, they started doing business, and two weeks later these two goons walk in on the supplier at his home and take out the whole family. Husband, wife...and two little kids. I guess they didn't like the way he did business." The Lieutenant finished talking and rubbed his hands across his eyes, the pain he felt for Ray marked evidently on his face. He looked over at the stoic Mountie.

Fraser sat in stunned silence. He returned the Lieutenant's gaze for a long moment before lowering his eyes to his lap. He studied his hands and mulled over what was said. "Oh dear." For now that was all he could think to say.

"I'm afraid that isn't all the story, Constable. This supplier was one of Ray’s first contacts when he went under.... Hell....He lived with this guy and his family for almost a month before he 'got himself a place'....He lived in that house with those people ...those kids ...for almost a month. And then because of his introduction they all get blown away." The more the Lieutenant thought about it the angrier he became. "Jeez! Of all the guys this could have happened to, why Ray? He tries to be so tough, but the guy ain't got a mean bone in his body. He would lay down his life in a heart beat for a kid...hell...any kid...much less one that he knew. Damn it to hell!!! " Welsh smacked his palm on the desk as he rose to his feet. Jamming his hands deep in his pockets, he turned from Fraser to stare out the window.

Fraser dropped his chin down onto his chest for a long moment, letting the meaning of what had just been said work its way deep inside. My God, this had happened to the man with whom he had been a partner for almost a year and a half! This happened to Ray, his friend, and he never had a clue. He knew how sensitive Ray could be. He knew his capacity for guilt and how easy it was for him to find fault with himself. How was he able to cope with this secret for so long on his own? If he had found no other release, it was no wonder that it finally caught up with him. What was it the Lieutenant had said the other day....delayed stress... ?

Fraser suddenly found himself feeling very lucky that he had a partner who only had a few stitches in his hand. He was suddenly feeling very lucky to still have a partner at all.

At last Fraser raised his head, and cleared his throat in an attempt to return Welsh's attention to the conversation.

"Sir. If I may ask, did Foster give any indication as to Ray's response to the situation?" Fraser knew what his reaction would have been, but he wasn't Ray Kowalski.

" Oh ya." Welsh turned back to face the room. His face was a reflection of pain and empathy. "Foster is an alright guy, and he feels pretty bad about it now, but he didn't handle it very well. He knows Ray is a good cop, and he knows that he let him down. That’s one of the reasons he was so willing to help."

"Exactly what did happen, Leftenant?"

Welsh was having a hard time getting around to the point. He appeared lost in his own contemplation of the events. "Sorry Constable, I guess I can't help but wonder how I would have reacted if I were in his shoes. " The Lieutenant returned to his desk and sat down heavily in his chair.

"I'll tell you exactly like Foster told me. Then we’ll go from there."

"As you wish, Sir."

"Ray showed up at the scene shortly after the shooting. He must have heard the call or something, I can't be sure on that. Anyway, Foster was told later that Ray showed up, entered the house, stood in the livingroom for a half hour just staring down the hall that led back to the kids’ bedroom, then turned around and walked out. Never said a word to anyone. Now here is the part that really gets me, Fraser. This is the part that I don't understand. Ray leaves the car he drove there parked outside the house and walks away. No one sees the guy for over a week, and no one even bothers to try and find him. Jeezes Fraser! No one went after him! They just let him walk away." Welsh’s anger boiled and wasn't sure where to direct it.

"Foster said that at first he wanted to give Ray some time, didn't want to get him in any trouble for not showing up to work. Do you believe that!! After three days he sent a patrol around and even he himself got out trying to find him, but by then he was pretty sure he was going to get a call from some motel manager who found a dead cop in some seedy room somewhere." Welsh rubbed his big hands across his face and shook his head in total disgust. "Ray had spent so much time undercover out there by himself, ... hell, most of the guys in the squad room hardly even knew him. Foster was his one firm point of contact and he didn't even try to find him for three damn days!!! Jeezes Fraser, if I ever do anything like that, just shoot me will ya? Just do everyone a favor and shoot me."

"I don't think that it would ever come to that. You’ve always been very good to your men." When Fraser realized what he had just said he began to blush. It broke the anger that the Lieutenant had been feeling, and a small sad smile appeared in the place of the dark rage that had marked his features.

"Thank you, Constable. I needed to hear that. I would certainly hope that I would have done something more than that. Jeezes....no one went after him...Ah hell .... anyway....Foster said a little over a week goes by, Ray walks into the station, says that he wants out from undercover. Foster said he looked a little tired, but other than that seemed pretty normal. Foster was so embarrassed by the way he handled things that he didn't want to bring it up. Hell, he never even talked to Ray. He just let him out of the undercover assignment and went on as if nothing had happened. To top off the whole deal, he gets two commendations, one from our side and one from the Gary side. That gives you an idea of why Ray doesn't have anything good to say about Departmental Commendations. He probably equates it with getting those kids killed." Welsh again shook his head sadly.

"What happened wasn't Ray's fault," Fraser stated matter of factly.

"You know that and I know that. But we both know Ray well enough to understand how his mind works. That’s what we have to deal with here: how Ray feels about it. Damn! He doesn't deserve this."

"Indeed, Sir."

Welsh rose to his feet as he continued. "He got to be Stanley Raymond Kowalski for just over a month when this deal with Vecchio came up, and he jumped at the chance to get out of there and start over. I'm just afraid he wasn't able to leave it all behind."

"That would appear to be the case. The question is, what do we do to help Ray get through this?"

Welsh ran a frustrated hand over his face. "I don’t know. I’m not a freaking psychologist or anything. And I don’t see Ray putting up with being under psychiatric care."

Fraser nodded. "Is the matter so terribly drastic that we have to have him institutionalized?"

Welsh’s features twisted in disgust at the thought. "No! We can’t let that happen." He sighed. "But I don’t know what else we can do."

"Perhaps a change of scenery will do him some good," Fraser suggested.

"Maybe. I’ll have to check into it, but I think I might have an assignment for you two that will get him out of town for a few days." He shuffled a few papers. "I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, keep an eye on him, okay? I don’t want to get a call in the middle of the night telling me he did some dumb-ass thing like slash his wrists or shoot himself in the head. Got it?"

Fraser nodded. "I will do anything in my power to prevent him from hurting himself further."

"Thanks. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for us, and for Ray."

Fraser blushed a shade lighter than his tunic. "I could do nothing less, Sir. Ray is my best friend. I would lay my life down for him." He stood, straightened his tunic and left the office. He emerged as Ray returned from his assignment.

"Hey Fraser," Ray mumbled as he passed. Within spitting distance of his desk, he suddenly turned and detoured to Huey and Dewey’s station. "Here you go, guys. You’re gonna like this." He dropped a couple sheets of his notebook paper on their desk and retreated to his own.

"Ray, how are you doing," Fraser asked as he fell in step with his friend.

Ray shrugged. "Fine. Why?"

"You still look tired."

"Don’t worry. I’m good. I got over all that stuff yesterday, remember? Nothing to worry about any more, Fraser buddy." Ray sat at his desk and tackled some of the paperwork.

Fraser sat across from him. "I can’t help but worry about you, Ray." He leaned closer. "What happened yesterday, well, I have to admit it scared the hell out of me. When we fought, you were so out of control. It was a good thing I was there."

"Hmhmm, yeah. So now can we just drop it?"

Fraser nipped his rising anger. How could Ray expect him to just drop it? That was a terrifying display of unbridled rage yesterday. Ray was angry at the world, but even more so, his own self. He felt responsible for something beyond his control. Fraser feared that he would not be at peace until he sufficiently punished himself for his sins. But what would Ray consider enough? That is what scared him the most.

"Fraser, Ray. The Lieutenant wants to see you guys," Frannie reported and hooked a thumb at the commander’s office.

"Thank you, Francesca," Fraser smiled. He knew Welsh must have come up with something good for them to do. He watched Ray get up slowly, as if he were eighty years old. Involuntarily, his hand reached for his shoulder blade and he rubbed it. Fraser winced. I must have been a tad too hard on him yesterday. Ray’s eyes met his. I’m sorry, his communicated.

"Not your fault. I deserved it," Ray mumbled and shuffled past him.

"Sit down, fellas. I’ve got a detailed assignment for you." Welsh indicated two chairs in front of his desk. Opening the file before him, he began. "Remember when we helped my brother find out who was sabotaging the baseball team and all those other places in his town?" They nodded. "Well, they’ve got another problem now. And I’m afraid my brother has been a sheriff in that cow town for way too long. He’s calling me for help again."

"What does he need," Fraser asked as he crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knee. He portrayed an air of casualness, but Welsh knew he was chomping at the bit to know more.

"He needs a couple of pros is what he needs." Welsh sighed. "A few months ago, some new families started moving into the area. Willison is far enough from the big city, yet close for the commuters. A couple housing developments have sprung up since we were there." He paused. "Of course, this brings in a whole new set of problems. The biggest of which, from a crime point of view, is gangs."

"Gangs?"

"Yes. You wouldn’t expect a bunch of upper middle class kids to get into that, but apparently they are. It started innocently enough. Graffiti showing up on buildings in town. The war statue in the square was decorated green and yellow, the local high school’s colors, and a noose was hung around the General’s neck. Needless to say, people got really upset."

"Oh great, a vandalism streak. That really sounds exciting, Lieutenant," Ray spoke in a monotone.

Welsh restrained the smart remark he intended to toss at him. "That’s not even an issue any more. The mayor and everyone else is more worried about the rising drug use among the teens. The kids coming in from the city are bringing all these influences with them. It’s causing a lot of problems, and no one knows what to do."

Ray looked defiant. "What are we supposed to do?"

"I want you to go in there and clean things up. You’ll get all the backup you need."

Frowning, Ray asked. "Why don’t they send more sheriffs in there? This isn’t our jurisdiction."

"Are you questioning my order, Detective?"

"Just wondering, Sir," Ray shook his head.

"This is a special favor. The new mayor of Willison is related to the deputy mayor of Chicago. He wants us to go in and give all the assistance we can. Why us? I knew that would be your next question," Welsh beamed, anticipating Ray’s next query by noting his body language. "I have no idea. I just follow the orders. And you should too." He grinned. "So, why don’t you two go home and pack, and on your way there Fraser can brief you from these files. You can figure out your strategy on the way."

"Thank you, Leftenant," Fraser said as Welsh handed him the file.

"Yeah. Thanks, Sir," Ray mumbled half-heartedly as he stood and shuffled out of the office.

"I hope this works, Constable."

"As do I, Leftenant. I only hope that we aren’t pulling Ray out of the frying pan and into the fire."

"Well, sometimes you have to fight fire with fire, Constable. Keep me posted."

"You know I will, Sir." Fraser left the office, but not before stopping at the door and turning back to the Lieutenant. "Did you speak with Inspector Thatcher about this?"

"Oh yeah. I told her there may be a Canadian connection, but it was too hush-hush to go into detail over the phone. I figure that should keep her off our backs for a few days."

Fraser stifled a smile. "Yes. She has a conference in Ottawa this week. That should buy us some more time."

"Good. Take care, and keep an eye on him. Not like I really have to tell you that, but…" Welsh sighed.

Fraser nodded, left the office and closed the door behind him. He found Ray at his desk, finishing up the last file. The surface was spotless, which startled Fraser. There were usually papers all over, but all the files were piled neatly in his out box. Was this a bad sign? A chill went through him. Ray is getting things in order, like people who know they have little time left. What was he planning to do? It would be a tough job, but Fraser resolved to not let Ray out of his sight for more than a minute until he was certain what was going on in Ray’s head. He would not let him have the opportunity to do anything drastic.

"Okay, you heard the Lieutenant. Pitter patter, let’s get at ‘er," Ray said in that old lilt that Fraser remembered. "You wanna stop at the Consulate first and pick up your things? Then we’ll go to my place. I’m closer to the freeway."

"Makes sense." All the way to the Consulate, Fraser stole glances at Ray. He seemed more cheerful. Why should this assignment change him so? They had an hour’s drive ahead of them. Maybe he could get an answer in that time.

After throwing his gear in the trunk, Ray stopped to gas up the GTO and then they were on their way west to Willison. The radio played softly in the background and Ray tapped the beat out on the steering wheel. Now and then he even hummed along. It was like watching Jeckyll and Hyde, and it puzzled Fraser. It was difficult to figure out how to broach the question to Ray, but after some time Fraser screwed up the courage.

"Ray, I can’t help but notice how much more, um, chipper you seem today."

"Ah, I think I just needed some sleep, that’s all. I had some things on my mind and it took me over, you know? But I'm okay now, really." He grinned.

Fraser saw right through the façade. What happened with that drug case was still in his partner’s mind. He couldn’t fool Fraser. He was probably feeling unease at having to deal with another one. But the environment was different, as well as the circumstances. That thought reminded him of the file he stuck between the seats. Fraser fished it out and opened it.

"Oh God, you’re gonna read that while we ride? Don’t get carsick on me, now!"

"No, I assure you, Ray. I will be alright." Fraser dipped his head to read the pages.

"So, what are we up against?"

"There is a gang at the high school called the Flaming Youth. They’re composed mainly of students who have recently moved to the area. They have one or two local members. No one can pin any of the crimes on them, but it’s pretty hard to believe anyone else commits them." He held up a photo and Ray glanced at it before returning his eyes to the road. "That is a photo of the graffiti."

"A flaming torch, huh? It’s artistic, if nothing else."

"Yes. Last week, a literally flaming torch was found burning on the lawn of a student who accused one of the gang members of assault. There is a report on the assault in the file." Fraser flipped through the other papers quickly. "There are a lot of complaints here that can only be pinned on the Flaming Youth."

"They’re dumb, Fraser. Dumb kids who think just because no one saw them, they’re clear. Never mind the evidence has their signature."

"Well, it is fairly difficult to hide when you’re the only gang in town," Fraser agreed. He flipped through the file. "The trouble is finding out who in the gang is committing these acts of vandalism."

"So how are we going to play this," Ray asked.

"Leftenant Welsh said we were to report to the principal when we arrived."

Ray nodded and drove in silence. He parked in the high school lot and the two approached the small building. "This has to be the tiniest high school I’ve ever seen. How many students do they have? I’d be surprised if they had fifty."

"There are 356 students in this school," a voice spoke behind them and they whirled. A short, balding man stood before them with a disapproving look. "You must be the big city flat foots Welsh imported. I’m Tim Gottsacker, the principal of this school."

"I’m Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, and this is Detective Ray Kowalski, Chicago PD."

Gottsacker frowned. "What’s a Mountie doing here?"

"Long story, you don’t need to know," Ray replied. "Let’s get down to brass tacks, okay?"

"Fine. My office is this way."

The students were all in class and the halls were empty when they entered. It was just as well. They didn’t have a cover yet and did not want to be recognized later as the two strangers who came into the building together. Gottsacker showed them to his office, closed the door and invited them to sit. Fraser did so readily, but Ray moved around the room warily. From the look on his face, it was obvious he had spent more than his share of time in the office when he was in school.

"Now, I’ve been in contact with Sheriff Welsh, and apparently he and his brother cooked up this scheme. You," he glanced at Fraser, "will be assigned to teach our English classes. The present teacher was begging for a vacation, so we’re giving it to her. I have to warn you, those kids are not easy to deal with."
"I wouldn’t worry about Fraser," Ray declared. "What am I going to be doing?"

Gottsacker smiled. "You’ll be our new janitor’s assistant."

"What?"

"Oh, that’s good. Pretending to be hard of hearing. Once word gets around, you’ll be able to infiltrate any group without fear of blowing your cover." Gottsacker chuckled.

Ray mimicked him. "Hardy har har. Isn’t there anything else I could do?"

"Sorry, that’s it. At least there’s nothing else that will give you as much exposure to the kids."

"He has a point, Ray," Fraser agreed.

"Why can’t I be a teacher too?"

"What would you teach? Small arms certification," Gottsacker snorted. "Yeah, that’s what we want all those little delinquents to learn!"

Ray, whose anger and agitation still boiled below the surface, leaned his fists on Gottsacker’s desk and bent over until his face was mere inches from the man. The threatening chill in his blue eyes frightened the principal. "You want our help or not?"

Fraser’s posture tightened at the show of anger from his partner. This was not good. Ray wasn't usually this easily stirred to such a level of anger by someone as inconsequential as this little man.

"W-well, of course we do! Welsh wouldn’t have called you in otherwise." Gottsacker swallowed hard.

"Then can the degrading remarks," Ray spat. "I didn’t get where I am by being stupid, so don’t treat me like I’m dumb. Understand?" Gottsacker nodded vigorously. "We’re the only weapon you have to get control of your school again. You ought to show some gratitude that we’re here." Ray straightened again. "Okay? Good. So I’m gonna ask again, is there anything else I can do?"

"Ray, barring Mr. Gottsacker’s attitude, I do believe he has a point. The janitor has access to everything. Your role in this will be even more important than mine," Fraser suggested. Fraser was watching Ray closely, hoping to defuse what was becoming a rather tense situation.

Ray sighed, "Yeah. It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it." He smirked. "When do we start?"
"Tomorrow? In the meantime, I have some notes I’ve written on some of the students, and here are their records. It might help you to study them." Gottsacker handed them a stack of papers and folders.

"Thank you kindly."

"Yeah, thanks."

"I believe there is a room waiting for Detective Kowalski at the motel. Constable, we’ve arranged for you to stay with Mrs. Thompson. She’s an old widow. Her children and grandchildren live all over the country, so we’re using the name of one of them as your cover."

"Oh sure, he gets the nice cozy grannie’s home and I get a cold motel room," Ray muttered.

Gottsacker glanced at a piece of paper. "I’m sorry, but I didn’t come up with all this. The Sheriff and his brother did."

Ray nodded. "Okay. Welsh has got it out for me, then. Fine. I can hack it." He picked up his copies of the files from the desk and turned. "What time do you want me here?"

"Six thirty." He cringed inwardly at the cold look he received.

"That figures." Ray left the office without another word.

"Mrs. Thompson’s home is just a few short blocks. You can walk from here. I’ll expect you to be a little early tomorrow so Miss Tanner can fill you in on what she’s attempting to teach her class."

"Thank you kindly," Fraser said as he stood. "Tomorrow at seven?"
"Yes, that would be fine. Classes start at eight."

"See you tomorrow, then!" Fraser hurried out of the office. He had to catch up to Ray and retrieve his things from the car. Thankfully, his friend waited outside, leaning against the trunk.

"This assignment really sucks, Fraser."

"Ray, don’t forget that you have a very important role in this."

"I don’t know if I can do it."

"You can."

"We’ll see. You want a ride?"

"No thank you. We don’t want to blow our cover before we’ve even started."

"Yeah." Ray turned and opened the trunk. Hauling out Fraser’s suit bag, he handed it to him.

Fraser hesitated for a rather long moment before reaching for the bag. Curious, Ray look up into his friends questioning eyes. "Are you sure you are going to be alright, Ray? You got very angry in there and I'm just not comfortable with us splitting up right now."

"Geez Fraser. What in the hell is wrong with you? I told you I got all that stuff out of my system. I might still be a little tired, but I ain't goin' to do nothin' stupid." Ray slammed the trunk lid shut with such force that it was obvious that he was still very near the boiling point.

Fraser looked from Ray to the trunk lid then back at Ray. This only seemed to anger Ray more. "What? I swear, Fraser, you act like you think I'm losing it or something...That's it ain't it? You think I'm going to go off and do something crazy...You think you have to baby-sit with the wacko...keep him from hurting someone..."

Before Ray could finish his thought, Fraser quickly reached down and grabbed the wrist of Ray's bandaged right hand. He put enough force into the grip to let Ray know that he was very serious. Surprisingly, Ray didn't try to pull his hand away. Even in his anger he was instantly aware of just where this conversation was heading. As Fraser raised the bandaged hand up to eye level, the concern in his expression drained away any urge that Ray might have had to continue the argument.

"Ray, I can't believe that you expect me to forget what happened yesterday so easily. I could have really hurt you. I almost did. I’m not proud of what happened." As he spoke, Fraser released Ray's wrist and leaned heavily against the trunk of the GTO. "Ray, I don't want to lose another friend."

Ray stood in silence for a very long time. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest and then joined Fraser in leaning against the back of the car. "I'm sorry, Fraser. I know that was the pits. You didn't deserve to be dragged into that."

"It's okay, Ray. I'm glad that I was there for you. It just bothers me that you will be going to that motel room alone." Fraser stood and shouldered his bag as he spoke.

"Ah heck, Benton buddy. I'll be alright.... I just need to get some sleep.... We got a job to do here. I won't screw it up. You have my word."

"It's not the job that I'm worried about, Ray."

Ray sighed and straightened, facing Fraser. "I know.... and thanks....But you have my word on that too....I ain't goin' to do nothin' to hurt myself." Ray dropped his gaze to the ground, suddenly ashamed that this was something that he even had to say. "Well, we better break this up. Get goin', and Good luck."

"Thank you. You too."

"You better scram before someone sees you here. Later."

Fraser began the short walk to Mrs. Thompson's. He knew that Ray would be true to his word, but he was still worried. He didn't like these arrangements. Ray wasn't getting any rest at home in his own bed. How was it going to be trying to sleep in some motel room? He needed to talk to Welsh.

Welsh arrived at Ray's motel room just before nine that night. Fraser was right. These arrangements weren't the best, but they had to try and work out something that wouldn’t jeopardize their cover. He stopped at the Motel office and explained that he was meeting his associate here and would need an extra key. If Ray was asleep, Welsh didn't want to disturb him.

When he reached the room, he could see that the lights were on and heard the TV. Sounded like a hockey game. That was no surprise. He knocked on the door several times before a certain fear began to rise up in him. Fraser said that he had given his word. Ray was no Mountie, but when he gave someone his word he meant it. Didn't he? Welsh swallowed hard and steeled himself for whatever might be on the other side of that door. He carefully unlocked it, took a deep breath and stepped in.

Ray lay on his stomach with his head at the foot of the bed. His arms were crossed under his head, which was almost hanging over the edge. The local paper was spread out on the floor between the bed and the low dresser that held the blaring TV. It was open to the sports page. It was obvious that he hadn't intended to go to sleep in such an awkward position. He wore a pair of sweat-pants and tee shirt, and his hair was still damp from his recent shower. Welsh released the breath he had been holding and smiled. No wonder he didn't hear him knock. His head was only a few feet away from the TV! It would have drowned out a tornado.

Welsh turned down the volume, afraid that if he turned it off completely the silence would wake the sleeping detective. He then took both sides of Ray's blanket and carefully pulled them up to cover him. He gathered up the paper and read until he felt that he too could sleep. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the other bed. He would be here if Ray needed him.

The dream always began the same way. A child screamed. Ray drew his weapon and ran down the short hall towards the kids’ door. He could still hear the screams for help. He ran as hard and fast as he could, but the distance never seemed to shorten. He chest burned and his lungs ached for oxygen. But he must keep going! He had to save those kids! But the door was just as far away as when he first heard the scream. The hall lengthened with every step he took.

He heard two shotgun blasts, and then silence. Ray froze in his tracks, still so far from that door. Suddenly a figure backed out into the hallway, a smoking shotgun in his hands. "Freeze! Chicago PD!"

As the command left his lips, the man turned, raising the gun to fire. No choice. Return fire, or die. In the same instant that Ray fired and the figure slumped to the floor, the distance was gone. He was suddenly at the end of the hall, right outside the door. The man lay bleeding at his feet.

Ray reached down, pulled the shotgun away from the dying man and threw it behind him. Only then did he look into the eyes of Stanley Raymond Kowalski. It was like looking into a mirror. Eyes staring into eyes, that were staring into eyes, that were.... staring...into. Suddenly he was a vortex, spinning faster and faster. The very force of it pulled and sucked him closer and closer to its deadly center. If he gave into that force, if he allowed himself to be drawn into that emptiness, he knew that he would be lost forever. He fought with all the strength of his being. But it was so strong.... it was just too big.....he was being pulled into the emptiness. The terrible fear of being forever lost was overpowering his soul...

If Welsh hadn’t been so sound asleep he would have heard the struggle Ray waged in the other bed. It wasn't until the detective screamed, reared up on his knees and fell headfirst off the end of the bed that Welsh awoke. By the time Welsh had himself untangled from his covers, Ray scrambled over to the stub wall that separated the bathroom area from the main room. His back was pressed tightly against it. His knees doubled up against his heaving chest, and he shook like a leaf in a gale. Ray's eyes were wide with fear and confusion, his body covered with sweat.

Welsh approached him carefully. He knelt down beside Ray, and gently laid his hand on his trembling shoulder. Only then did Ray even become aware that anyone was there. He had been so far into his own thoughts that it took him awhile to return to this small motel room.

"It's alright De...Ray. I'm right here.... It’s going to be ok." The look of fear in Ray's eyes changed to embarrassment. "Come on Buddy. Let me help ya up." Welsh stepped around in front of the slighter man, gently took hold of his arms and helped Ray to his feet.

Ray dropped his gaze to the floor and sadly shook his head. His breathing was beginning to slow, but he was still shaking violently. "I'm sorry Lieutenant....I.... I...guess I...don't know.... I don’t.... shit!"

"Don't worry about it, Ray. You know the old saying: been there, done that? Well join the club, my young friend."

Ray looked up into the eyes of his boss. A puzzled expression formed on his face.

"Don't think you're the Lone Ranger here, Detective. I've had to deal with dreams like this for a lot of years. Don't worry. If you handle 'em right, you can learn to live with it. I don't have them near as often as I used to. In a funny kind of way, they just become another part of living this life. "

Ray studied the Lieutenant's weathered face for a moment. His gaze returned to the floor, then snapped back up. "What the hell are you doing here anyway? Fraser called you didn't he? I told him I wasn't goin' to do anything stupid. Jeez, what is this? "

Welsh saw the anger burn inside the younger man. He stepped back a foot. "He was worried about you, Ray, and so was I." Welsh eyed him closely. Ray's face was turning red. He was really getting mad now. Welsh remembered what Fraser had said about the fight at the apartment. He wasn't going to let that happen here. Welsh's reaction to Ray's escalating rage was quick and decisive.

He quickly grabbed Ray's left wrist, spun him around and slammed him tightly against the wall. It was basically the same hold that Fraser had used. Ray's left arm was twisted up behind his back and the Lieutenant’s forearm was pressed against the back of his neck. Ray struggled for only a short while before giving it up. He knew that it was useless. The Lieutenant was too big, and Ray was just too tired.

"Now I want you to listen to me, young man." There was no anger in Welsh's voice, only patience. "I’m going to stand here and hold you against this wall until we can both count to ten. Then you and I are going to sit down and have a good long talk."

Ray made an attempt at saying something, but the Lieutenant shut him up by increasing the pressure on his neck. " We haven't counted to ten yet, Detective, so just shut it up. Now, when we have counted to ten, I am going to turn you loose. I ain't Fraser. There ain't goin' to be no wrestling matches here. You give me any trouble I'll just cold-cock ya and leave you layin' on the floor. You're a tough little son-of-a-bitch, and it would bring me no pleasure, but I will do it. Do you understand me, Detective?"

Ray nodded his head as much as he was able.

Ray and Welsh sat on the two beds facing each other. The shakes were almost gone, but not quite. He had given Ray his jacket and had to smile when the younger man slipped it on. It nearly swallowed him up. Welsh thought it made him look like one of those little kids on a Norman Rockwell Calendar. But he knew better than to tell Ray that.

Ray, as was his custom when he was nervous, had his hands in his lap absently playing with his fingers. Welsh sat with his arms on his knees with his fingers laced together.

"Ray. What I'm going to ask you to do isn't easy. But it has to be done if you want to start to get past this thing. I want you to tell me about your dream." At Ray's startled glance Welsh put his hand up to stop any interruption. "I said it wouldn't be easy. I know it’s hard. I've had to do it myself. Its hard, its embarrassing and it's painful, but we have to pull that damn thing out of the dark and put some light on it. If you’re lucky you only have one dream. I had three different ones to deal with. Each time I had one my wife would sit me down and make me talk about it. We've got to lay that dream out here and look at the truth in it, and the distortions in it. We got to separate the two things and then face 'em. You understand?"

Ray looked up, but said nothing. The pain and sadness on his face almost broke the Lieutenant’s heart. Ray didn't deserve this. It was the price that a tender soul sometimes had to pay for living in a cruel world.

Welsh gently laid his hand on Ray's knee. He felt the trembling. "Look at me, Ray." When Ray looked up he continued. "How does the dream start?"

"It always starts the same. A child screams..." It wasn't easy. At first, Ray talked a little and stopped. Welsh gave him a prod to get him going again. "But the distance never shortens...." As he got further into the dream it was as if it were taking him over. He couldn't sit still. Welsh watched as the younger man paced the room. His hands laced up behind his neck one moment, then they clamped almost painfully tight across his chest the next. At first his words were directed towards the older man, but as he progressed into the terror of the dream he was talking to himself. It was as if the Lieutenant was no longer there. Ray began to shake. The sweat was visible again on his upper lip and forehead.

Welsh ached to step up, grab the younger man and take away his pain, but he knew this was something that Ray had to do. He watched helplessly as the pacing shortened down into a smaller and smaller area until Ray was standing in one spot just turning in an ever shrinking circle. Welsh felt that he was watching a spring tightening to the point of fatigue. An exploding spring. Not a pretty thought.

As Ray reached the end of his explanation of the dream, Welsh rose from the bed and stepped closer to the trembling storyteller. Tears were streaming down Ray's angular face. His eyes were focused on the terror of his dream. He didn't even notice the Lieutenant’s slow approach. The shaking had turned into a full body quiver. Ray's arms were wrapped tightly against his chest, and he turned slowly in a circle.

Welsh laid his hands gently on Ray’s shoulders. Ray couldn't look at him. It was so hard to face the feelings that were tearing at his soul. Welsh slipped his right hand up behind Ray's head and grabbing a hand full of hair, gently shook the young man's head.

"Look at me, Ray." When he got no response, he used his handhold on Ray's hair to tip his head up. When Ray finally looked at the Lieutenant, he was surprised to see tears streaming down the face of the older man as well.

"It's ok, Ray."

Ray couldn't speak. The quivering gave way to a terrible shaking. He felt that his body was betraying him. There was nothing he could do to stop it. Welsh gently took the younger man into his arms and held him tightly against his chest. Heavy sobs began to rack his body.

Welsh felt Ray's knees buckle. He held on even tighter, gently rocking him back and forth before he lowered him to his knees. Welsh leaned his back against one of the beds and carefully pulled the still sobbing man onto his lap "It may not seem like it now son, but things are going to get better from here on. You're an important part of my life. You’re a good cop, and you’re a good friend. Hell I ain't figured out why yet, but you are. You can be pretty darnn aggravating. But I guess if I would have ever had a son of my own, I would-a- been damn proud if it could have been you."

It was a long time before Ray calmed. He had cried himself out quickly, but he couldn't stop shaking. He tried to apologize for his actions, and made an attempt at getting up, but his legs just wouldn't respond. Welsh just held him tighter. "Just sit still awhile. Once the shakin' stops, we got some talking to do."

"Nah. It's ok Lieutenant. I’m okay now. I'll be fine."

"I know you will be Ray. But we are going to talk about that damn dream. We are going to tear it apart, just like we were workin' a case. Just give yourself a little time here."

At last the shaking subsided. Ray got slowly to his feet and headed for the bathroom. Welsh heard him washing his face as he slowly rose as well. Damn, he was getting too old to sit on the floor that long. But he wasn't going to complain. In a strange way, what had just happened made him feel really good. He was able to help someone for whom he cared very much. That was always a good deal.

For the next hour the two men dissected Ray's dream. They took the truth of it, which was that Ray would have done anything in his power to save those kids, and added some other facts in as well. Ray was only following orders. No one knew that anything that terrible would happen. No one wanted those kids to be hurt, except the man who pulled the trigger. And that man was not Stanley Raymond Kowalski.

That was the distortion in the dream. Ray would never do anything to hurt a child. It wasn’t Ray’s fault those kids were dead. The only fault lay with the man who pulled the trigger.

"That's all easy to say Lieutenant, but there is a part of me that still feels responsible." Ray ran his fingers through his spiky hair and looked up. The pain of the last few hours showed clearly in his still tear-bright blue eyes.

"I know, Ray. This is just a start. It will take a lot of time for your brain to convince you heart. But now you know the truth of it. It's like a new pair of shoes. Sometimes ya got to wear 'em awhile before you get comfortable with 'em, but that don't change the fact that they are shoes. Jeez- oh -pete." Welsh glanced at his watch. "Ray, you better get some sleep . It's almost 2:30 and you 're suppose to be at work by 6:30, aren’t you?"

When the wake up call came the next morning, Ray slept right through it. Welsh got up, trekked to the Motel office and came back with two cups of steaming coffee. The two men moved around the room in silence. Ray was thankful for the Lieutenant’s help, but he was deeply embarrassed as well. Welsh sensed what he was feeling but wasn't sure of how to put the younger man at ease.

Soon Ray was ready to go. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. Welsh suddenly stepped over beside Ray and knelt down on one knee. He looked like a basketball coach getting his men fired up to take the field. He placed one arm on his own knee, and laid his other arm across Ray's shoulder, gently cradling Ray’s head in his hand.

"There are a few things I want you to understand about what happened here last night."

Ray looked at his boss, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. God. He was really starting to love this big old bear of a man.

Welsh continued with a smile playing across his face as well. "First off. There is nothin' to be ashamed of. You aren't the first person to have to deal with something like this, and you’re sure not going to be the last. The only shame comes in letting this thing win, and that just ain't goin' to happen. Right? Right!

"The second thing you got to understand is that dream may be with you a long time. You got to just keep dragging it out into the light, just like we did last night. OK? OK.

"The next thing you got to understand is that you’re gonna survive this, cause the time will come when you can show the next guy how to survive it. You understand what I'm sayin'?"

Ray nodded slowly, letting everything that had been said have a chance to soak in.

Welsh straightened up and rubbed at his back. "I'm gettin' too old for this field work. I gotta start leaving it to you young bucks." Welsh stuck his big mitt out for a handshake. When Ray took his hand, Welsh pulled the younger man to his feet and took him again into a tight hug. Ray returned it. The tears welled up in their eyes.

"I got to get back to Chicago now, but I'll be back before this thing is over. You goin' to be ok?"

"Ya…Harding." He dared to use the Lieutenant’s name. "I'll be fine. I just want to tha..."

"Just shut-up and get to work, Kowalski." For some reason, Welsh suddenly felt embarrassed. Both men had to take a swipe at their eyes before parting.

For the first time in a long time, Ray began to feel that maybe things would be all right again. He felt a little spark of hope. It was a beginning.

High school was never one of Ray’s favorite places. When the invitations for reunions came around, he always discarded them without reading them. He barely scraped by in school and he never knew why it just bored him. He could never focus on the work. Going back, even though he’d never attended this school, gave him the jitters. It was the principal of the thing, he guessed. And the really scary thing about it was dealing with the students. He liked kids, but something weird happened to them when puberty struck. They turned into anti-social rebels. Yeah, he was a bit of one himself, but at least he didn’t get into a gang or do the things these kids did. Smoking and drinking were the extent of his rebel days. He could guess at the mayhem they were sucked into with the variety of drugs out there.

He stopped at a diner on the way to work and discovered that getting a good hot meal in him cheered him a little. He needed to be on his toes and alert to keep an eye on the kids and hopefully listen to their conversations in the halls as he went about his business. He arrived on time, got the rundown from the head janitor, Mr. Cherofsky, and went to work.

He caught Fraser’s arrival and nodded good morning to him before going back to work. If only I had a couple minutes, I’d ream him out for calling Welsh in to watch me! Instead, he hoped the cold gaze he gave his friend was enough to convey his displeasure. Despite the help Welsh gave him, he couldn’t stop feeling anger towards Fraser for butting in. He couldn’t trust me to be okay! But then, I haven’t given him a reason to, now have I? He pushed the thought from his mind and pulled a mop from the janitor’s closet.

Being a janitor really sucked. Ray spent the entire day pushing a mop around, up and down the halls. He emptied trash barrels into the incinerator and was glad he kept his hair trimmed short. Otherwise, the heat from the thing might have singed him. It was hard to do anything while the kids roamed the halls. Some of them attempted to steal his supplies or tip the cart, but he was quicker than they were. He showed them he wouldn’t take any of their crap. It earned him a few looks of respect, a couple nods and whispered comments to their friends as they retreated.

When the school was abandoned for the day, the job was not over. Technically, it should have been, but to make the cover look good he had to stay and actually work. He found Fraser in his classroom preparing the lesson for the next day.

"You having any luck with these little truants," Ray asked as he pushed the mop up and down the aisles between the desks.

"Actually, Ray, they aren’t truants. Truants skip school."
"Whatever."

"I believe I was able to adequately get their attention today."

"You didn’t tell them any Inuit stories, did you? On second thought, that might not be a half bad idea. It’ll put them right out!"

Fraser gave him a sour look. "Ray! I did tell one story that intrigued them enough to inspire them to read the lesson."

"And that is," Ray asked.

"Jack London’s ‘Call of the Wild’. Chapters one through five are due tomorrow." Fraser smiled with satisfaction.

"Wow. You’re in the right place. Me, I’d never be able to get them to do that." He stopped to empty the trashcan. "Damn, these kids really leave some disgusting stuff behind! I don’t even wanna know what this is!" He tipped the can into his portable one and let out the breath he held. "Well, gotta run. See ya later, and good luck with the kids."

"Thanks, Ray. Have you heard anything?"

"Nah. They’ve been spending too much time harassing me. Something’s gonna happen, though. I can feel it."

"Keep on your guard."

He nodded. "You too, Fraser." He stopped at the door and turned. Leaning on his mop handle he said, "I had a little surprise in the other bed last night. Why’d you have to call Welsh? I told you I wouldn’t do anything dumb! You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?"

Ray pulled his trash barrel out of the room and felt immediate remorse for his coarse words. But he still felt the hurt from Fraser’s actions. He stood a moment and mentally swiped the feelings away. He had to concentrate on the job. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply for a few seconds, felt himself focusing on the matter at hand, and opened them again. Ray grasped the trash barrel and moved to the next hall.

This was the art wing. I can just imagine what the creative ones leave behind here, he sneered to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two figures disappear around the corner and down the steps. The construction of the school was such that a wide bridge connected the two segments. The architecture was large enough to hold the school library, and underneath was a columned breezeway. Ray suspected the kids went there to smoke and get high, because it was remote and the narcs didn’t bother going out there. He made a mental note to lecture Gottsacker about that the next time he saw him.

Yanking the first room’s door open, he stepped inside. His breath caught. "What are you doing here?"

The girl whirled, wide-eyed and startled. She gasped and dropped the paintbrush she held, knocking her palette off its resting spot. Like a piece of buttered toast, it fell paint side down on the floor.

"Oh God! I’m sorry," she exclaimed when she found her breath.

Ray whipped out a rag and hurried to her side. "Hey, it’s okay. If I hadn’t scared ya, it wouldn’t have happened." They both knelt to attend to the mess and came close to butting heads. "It’s okay. Here, take this. I’ll have the rest cleaned up in no time." He carefully picked up the pallet, flipped it paint side up and handed it to the girl.

She had the prettiest green eyes he’d ever seen. Her hair was the color of fine oak and hung loose, dribbling off her shoulders in big soft curls. Her smile was warm and friendly. "Thanks. You’re that new guy, aren’t you?"

"Yeah." Ray grinned shyly. "I’m the new guy."

"My name is Holly. My friends were talking about how cute you were, but I hadn’t seen you until now." She smiled again.

Ray ducked his head and made an attempt to swipe up the paint before it stained the tile. Then he sprayed some cleaner on the floor, finished with a new rag and tossed them onto his cart. He straightened. Holly had gone back to her task. He examined the painting over her shoulder.

"Hey, that’s pretty good. You like Stuart Davis?

Holly turned her sweet smile on him. "Yeah. You’re pretty smart for a janitor."

Ray chuckled. "You’d be surprised." He took a step closer and gazed thoughtfully at the work in progress. "There’s a little Dali in here too. How long has this taken you?"

Holly shrugged. "A long time. That’s why I’m here. The teacher lets me stay until the janitor is ready to lock up the school. I’m almost done with it."

"It’s great."

"Naw, it’s not great." Holly ducked her head shyly.

"It is. There’s a lot of depth to it. I can feel the emotions just jumping off the canvas."

"You can," Holly asked, frowning.

"Yeah." Ray looked her in the eye. He saw a sadness there that was screaming at him from the painting. "Maybe it takes someone who’s hurting to see it."

"I’m sorry," she said softly.

"It’s not your fault. It’s nothing you did." Ray’s expression turned sober. "It breaks my heart to see a nice kid like you have such despair locked up inside."

Holly laughed uneasily. "You’re reading way too much into this painting!"

"Am I?" His look said, ‘You can’t hide, Holly. I’ve got your number.’

Holly closed her eyes and covered them with a hand. Wet paint on her index finger tinted her temple where she touched it. Ray could see her fighting a valiant battle to keep from breaking down in front of a stranger and it only made him feel more empathy for her.

"Hey, no crying," he teased, "Water and oil don’t mix, don’t you know that?"

Holly laughed despite herself. Sniffling, she mumbled, "Thanks."

"Here," Ray said. He tipped up her chin and wiped away the paint with a rag soaked in some linseed oil.

"Thanks. At least you didn’t use turpentine," she joked.

"Very funny, kid. I didn’t want to contribute to all those things that pile up over the years and give you cancer."

Holly laughed heartily. "You’re cool. Way cooler than that jerk Mr. Cherofsky. What’s your name?"

"Ray."

"Ray?"

He shrugged. "Just Ray."

"A mystery man." Holly grinned. "I like that. Wait til I tell the girls tomorrow!" She slipped off her stool. "I should probably let you get back to work. Maybe we can chat again some time, huh?"

"Sure. Any time."

"You’re serious, aren’t you," Holly said as she bored into his gaze with her own.

"You bet. Any time."

"I may just have to take you up on that, Ray. Good night!" Holly picked up her books and stepped out of the room. She seemed in a better mood than when Ray first arrived, and he hoped he had done some good for her. Now if only he could do the same for the others around here who were getting themselves into deep trouble!

Ray saw Holly every day after school. A week after they first met, he was surprised to find the art room empty. A sense of panic rose up in him, and he didn’t know why. But he knew he had to look for her. He tried every room, every lavatory and the locker rooms, but she was nowhere to be found. Maybe she went home instead of working on the painting. But it was almost done! He went back and checked the art room again. A brush lay in a gob of paint. It was obvious from the way the handle scraped marks across the pallet that she left in a hurry.

"Holly," Ray called down the empty halls. Her name echoed on the walls. He started up the ramp to check the other side of the building, but he halted. Turning, Ray headed for the stairs that led to the breezeway. A feeling of dread filled him. He patted the gun under his coverall, reassuring himself that it was there. For a second, he considered letting Fraser know what he was about to do. But if Holly was in trouble, he might be too late if he held off any longer.

Ray took the steps cautiously, noiselessly. He heard voices beyond the wooden doors, one sobbing. A shriek startled him, followed by more sobs. Ray held his ear to the door and recognized Holly’s voice pleading with her assailant.

"You’ve been talking with that mop jockey, Holly," the one male voice said sternly. "That’s not cool!"

"B-but he-he’s a nice guy, Danny. He understands my work."

"Ah, who gives a shit about art? Ain’t nothing gonna come of that anyway! Come on, Holly! You’re my girl! You know what it looks like when you’re hanging around the art room instead of partying with us? What’s the matter with you? You gotta be cool, woman, and you’re not doing it!"

"Maybe I don’t want to be cool," she said defiantly.

"Everybody wants to be cool, baby. Now come on. We’re going to score some stuff from Roe’s Drug Store and have us a good time at the game tonight!"

"No, I don’t want to!"

Ray heard her short screech and imagined what Danny could be doing to her. Now was the time to act. He quickly dialed Sheriff Wilson Welsh’s number, and when the Sheriff answered, he whispered, "Something’s going down at the school, under the library. I’m going in." Then he flipped his phone closed, tucked it into a pocket and pulled out his gun as he pushed on the door.

"Ray! Look out!" Holly screamed as he emerged from the building. The silent kid held a knife and took a slice at him. Ray ducked out of his way, twisted around and elbowed him in the back. He went down hard in the dirt and Ray swooped after him to retrieve the knife. Continuing the momentum, Ray twirled to face Danny and Holly.

"Drop it, Danny!"

"Since when do janitors carry guns," Danny asked petulantly. He pressed the small pistol against Holly’s throat.

"Since guys like you started bullying the decent kids," Ray replied. "Put it down!"

Danny shook his head. "You’re not gonna shoot me. You might miss and mess up poor Holly." He sneered.

"Help me, Ray! Please!"

"If you do anything to jeopardize her life, you’re looking at some serious jail time, kid."

"Nothing’s gonna happen to her. You, maybe. But not her."

"Ray!"

Ray heard Fraser’s call and saw him in his peripheral vision. The momentary distraction was enough to get Danny’s attention as well. But Ray still did not have a clean shot, and the way the kid’s finger squeezed the trigger had his nerves jumping.

"Danny, put the gun down now!"

"Listen to him," Fraser commanded.

Danny’s eyes darted between them. He backed up a step, then another. They could see he was trying to find a way out, but little did Danny know he was heading for a corner of the building. He moved consistently now, and Ray and Fraser took a step each in his direction. Ray lowered his gun and said, "Danny. The only way this is going to end is badly if you don’t put the gun down. Look, I’m putting mine down. How about you do the same and we can talk about this?"

"There’s nothin’ to talk about, man! You don’t know nothin’." He took one more step and hit the corner hard.

The way he held Holly hostage, she saw the corner before he hit it. When he did, she was ready. In the moment of impact, a startled expression crossed his face. She threw up an elbow and caught the gun hand, pushing it away from her head. In the same instant, Ray reached out for her, and she escaped to his arms.

Everything stopped at the sound of the gun going off. Holly buried her head in Ray’s chest and he didn’t protest. He looked up and registered horror at the sight before them. Danny lay on the ground with a gaping wound at his temple bleeding profusely as he screamed in pain. Somehow, Ray managed to get out his cellphone and toss it to Fraser.

"Call an ambulance!" Holly was welded to him, her arms locked tightly around his waist. He couldn’t go to Danny’s aid if he wanted to. Thank God it wasn’t her! If Danny had shot her… the thought was too terrible to complete.

"Oh, this is just dandy," Gottsacker groused as he paced his office. Fraser and Ray stood between him and the desk, watching him. "You nearly killed one of my students, Kowalski!" He stopped, planted himself inches into Ray’s personal space and bellowed. "Is that your way of getting things under control here? If so, why don’t we just line the kids up against the wall and get a firing squad?"

"Sir," Fraser interjected softly, "It was not Ray’s intention to cause any harm. There are always incalculable factors, and sadly, such was the case here. You can’t blame Ray for the outcome."

"I’ll blame anyone I damn well please! I didn’t want you guys here, and now I see I was right. Sheriff Welsh has had some lulu ideas, but this one takes the cake!" Gottsacker returned to pacing.

"May I remind you, Mr. Gottsacker, that by our being here we have gleaned some important information?" Fraser smiled. "Ray also inadvertently stopped a robbery of the drug store. With Danny in the hospital, his cronies abandoned their plans."

"Danny must be the ringleader," Gottsacker whispered.

"Indeed."

Gottsacker stopped in his tracks, grinned sheepishly and addressed Ray. "Okay, maybe you have done some good. But I don’t think the end justifies the means."

"I didn’t plan it to go down the way it did," Ray said coldly.

Fraser stepped in between the two. "Gentlemen, that’s not the point. The point is, we need to know more about Danny. From there we may be able to learn about the others involved."

Gottsacker turned away from Ray and sighed. "Danny came here from Chicago with his folks. He’s one of those troublemakers. And he’s sneaky as hell. I suspected him of being in this gang, but the leader? I don’t think he has the brains." He shook his head. "He’s cocky, won’t listen to authority. It’s no wonder. Both his parents have worked all his life, and they never have any time for him. They’re always no-shows at conferences. It’s like they don’t give a damn." He clenched his fists. "They’re responsible for this. Sometimes I think they should lock up the parents and not the kids who get into trouble. See how they pursue their almighty dollar then!"

"Yeah, whatever," Ray mumbled. "So what else you got on this kid?"

"A file about an inch thick filled with complaints, truancy reports, detention slips, you name it."

"Any other kids with similar files," Ray asked.

"Yeah. Scott Howard. Scottie was a good kid until he fell into this crowd." Gottsacker rifled through a cabinet and pulled out a file that was only half as full as Danny’s. "Here are some others. Lots of reading for you fellas this weekend. Enjoy!"

"Thank you kindly," Fraser said as he took them. He glanced at Ray. "How should we do this? We don’t want anyone seeing us together."

"How about I come over tomorrow, try and make it look like the old lady needed some work done?"

"Well, she does have some shelving I’ve been meaning to tighten for her."

"Great! I know my way around a hammer. I’ll be there, say two or so?"

Fraser nodded. "That will give me time to go over some of these. I’ll brief you on what I learn."

"Sounds like a plan. See you tomorrow."

Ray showed up on time with a small toolbox and that haunted look Fraser found so familiar lately. It was obvious to see that Holly’s brush with death rattled him. Fraser hoped he wouldn’t have to call Welsh again. Ray didn’t seem to appreciate it the first time, though he did appear more on an even keel afterwards. If only I could speak with him on the matter!

Mrs. Thompson greeted Ray at the door. The old lady glanced up at him and beamed. "You must be that sweet young man who’s helping Constable Fraser. Come in!"

"Thanks. And yes, I am." He blushed at the attention and looked down at his work boots.

"Would you like some tea before you two boys start?"

"No thanks. I’m fine."

"I’ll have a cup, Ma’am," Fraser said from the dining room table. Ray approached and found the files spread on the surface.

"Anything good?"

"Danny is our best bet for ringleader. Scott doesn’t have the profile of one, and neither do these other boys. Some of them were model students until Danny arrived." He glanced over a sheet. "Here’s a letter from Scott’s mother. She was worried about his sudden change in temperament and wondered what the school intended to do about it."

Ray snorted. "Jeez! Haven’t any of these parents heard of a good kick in the behind and a grounding?"

Fraser looked at him. "They consider that tantamount to child abuse these days, Ray."

"I don’t get that, Fraser," Ray made a face. "What kind of world do we live in where you can’t discipline your kid? It’s no wonder things are going the way they are!" Ray sat in a chair at the table, rested his elbows on the surface and let his chin fall into his palms.

"Are you okay, Ray?"

"I’m fine," he replied coolly.

Fraser sighed. "I hope you didn’t take to heart what Mr. Gottsacker said yesterday. You were not responsible for Danny’s actions."

"Holly . . . " He wiped a hand across his face.

"She’s safe, thanks to you. If you hadn’t intervened, she might have been taken along to the robbery."

"Yes! And with all the goings on, the shopkeepers are arming themselves now," Mrs. Thompson declared with a nod.

"You see," Fraser reiterated, "She could have been killed or injured in a robbery attempt. You saved her life."

Ray shrugged. "I’ve got a feeling, like this isn’t over yet."

"Well, I think we have a good idea who the gang members are, now. It’s simply a matter of catching them in the act."

"Once Danny’s out of the hospital he’ll be spending some time in jail. He’s the backbone. Maybe with him out of action, the rest will settle down."

"It’s possible, but I don’t think we should count on that. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything."

Ray nodded. "You bet." He yawned.

"Not sleeping again, Ray?"

Ray begged off the subject. "So, what is there to do in this cow town, anyway?"

"Other than baseball at this time of year? Not a whole heck of a lot," Mrs. Thompson replied. "It’s no wonder those hooligans get into trouble. They don’t appreciate the things we had when I was young. We went roller skating, and Saturday nights at the park there was a band and we danced under the stars." She struck a pose as if her partner had just arrived. "Alvin and I were there every Saturday night until the frost was thick on the grass and the band packed up for the winter." She danced a couple steps with her imaginary partner and smiled at the memory. "Goodness, that seems like ancient history now."

Ray watched her and couldn’t help but smile. In that brief moment of time, fifty years slipped from her old face. He imagined her in those glory days, dancing with the man she loved after all the boys came home from the war. Impulsively, he stood and snagged her as she neared his chair.

"Oh!" She exclaimed in surprise as Ray put his arm around her waist, took her raised hand in his and led some steps into the living room. Mrs. Thompson laughed as he swung her in a circle. "My, my, my! I haven’t done that in years! You’re a very good dancer, young man!" She smiled sweetly at him when their dance ended, and arched an eyebrow. "I have some CDs here, if you’d care to really cut a rug."

"Well, I . . . ." Ray stepped back and shyly stuffed his hands in his back pockets.

"Knock, knock!" The couple turned and stared at the face peering through the screen door. "Hey Ray! What are you doing here?"

Ray stole a frightened glance toward the dining room. He saw Fraser scrambling to shove the files into his briefcase. "Uhhh, Mrs. Thompson asked me to fix some of her shelves."

Holly pulled open the screen and entered, grinning. "Didn’t look like you were fixing shelves. Looked more like you were putting the moves on her." She snickered.

"Holly," Mrs. Thompson chided with a twinkle in her eye. "You know I’d never rob the cradle." She laughed and teasingly pinched Ray’s cheek, delighting in the blush that again crept to his face.

"So, um, what are you doing here, Holly?" Ray deflected the attention off himself.

"I help Mrs. T put her flowers in every spring," Holly explained with a smile. "I’m going to college to study botany, so helping out here helps my studies." She said it so matter-of-factly, as if her act of kindness was no big deal.

"I didn’t expect that."

"Why not?" Holly’s defenses went up.

"Well, you’re hanging out with those guys. Those gang members."

"They’ve got you pretty scared, huh? Why else would you have been carrying a gun," Holly asked and approached him. "Correction, still wearing it." She poked the butt that revealed itself under the shirt hanging loosely over his tee shirt.

"And you aren’t? After yesterday, I’d think you’d be petrified of them."

Holly shrugged and absently flipper her hair behind her shoulder. "Danny thinks I’m his girl, so he leaves me alone most of the time. Sometimes, he gets a little crazy. Like yesterday." She shoved her hands into her pockets. "I think they were desperate for drugs."

"That’s why they were intending to rob the drug store," Fraser stated as he appeared beside Ray.

"Mr. Gross! What. . . oh, Duh! I forgot you were staying here." She glanced about the room and her eyes stopped at Mrs. Thompson. "I bet it’s nice for you to have someone else around again, huh Mrs. T?"

"Yes, Paul is delightful company."

"And now you have Fred Astaire, too," Holly joked. She turned serious. "Well, I’d love to stand and yak all day, but I have some peonies and pansies to plant. Mrs. T? Are they out in the garage, as usual?"

"They certainly are!" Mrs. Thompson exclaimed with a grin.

"Great! See you guys later," Holly waved and let herself out the back door.

Mrs. Thompson sighed heavily. "She’s such a sweet girl. I just wish she hadn’t gotten mixed up with that terrible boy."

"He proabably didn’t give her much choice," Fraser said as he rubbed his eyebrow. "From what I’ve been reading, everyone who gets involved with him does so involuntarily. The threat of violence on their person is so great, that they do his bidding rather than risk harm."

"He takes bullying to a new extreme," Ray observed. Silence crowded into the living room. Ray broke it by asking, "Where are those shelves you need fixed, anyway?"

Mrs. Thompson chuckled. "Fraser repaired them last night." Ray gave him a look. "Why don’t you go outside and help Holly with the planting? It might give you a chance to get some information from her."

"Yes ma’am," Ray saluted her smartly and turned toward the back of the house. Mrs. Thompson gave him a playful swat on the seat and he jumped forward. "Hey!"

"That’ll teach you to smart off to me, young man," she grinned with a false threat in her expression.

"Yeah, right." He nodded with a playful grin of his own, waved a short farewell, and stepped onto the back porch.

Holly worked with a vengeance on the plantings. She wore oversized garden gloves as she dug holes. Once the holes were in the right place, she stood to admire them and make certain it was exactly as her mind’s eye saw it. She was dropping the seedlings into the depressions when Ray’s shadow blocked out the sun.

She looked up. "Hey."

"Hey. Mind if I help?"

Holly shrugged. "If you don’t mind getting your hands dirty. These are the only gloves Mrs. T has, and I have to keep my nails looking decent. I’m sure you understand."

"Oh yeah, I hate it when my nails get messed up from working in the garden," Ray cracked a smile.

Holly laughed. She placed a tray of plants between them. "Go ahead and dig in, literally." She took a couple, upended them to remove the plastic temporary pot and plopped them into the holes. Ray followed her lead. "Make sure you get the colors mixing. Don’t put all one color together. But then, I shouldn’t have to tell an artiste that, eh?" She grinned.

Ray smiled reluctantly. He didn’t understand how she could be so happy and carefree after what happened the day before. Just looking at her made his stomach jitter unpleasantly, and it wasn’t from feelings of interest in her. She was just a kid, after all. The only emotion he felt in her presence was fear. He was afraid she was in danger and she didn’t know it.

"You know something?"

"What," Ray asked and tamped some dirt over a peony’s roots.

"Something struck me the other day. Something you said about my painting."

"Oh yeah?"

Holly snorted. "Don’t pretend you don’t know. When I accused you of reading more into the thing than you were supposed to, you said something about being sad enough to see it." She frowned. "What are you so sad about?"

Ray glanced at her. "Who said I was?"

"It shows. Something is really bothering you. I can tell it’s doing it again." She glanced down and back to his eyes. "It isn’t me, is it? You don’t hate me for hanging out with Danny, do you? I hope not! It’s not like I really want to, you know? It’s just . . ." Holly sighed. "It’s very complicated. Please, don’t look down on me because of him."

Ray shook his head. "I never thought that for a minute. I’m just worried about you."

"You’re sure that’s all?"

"Yeah."

"I don’t believe it."

"Well, that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it," he drawled and caused her to laugh again. "So, quit jawin’ and get back to work, okay? We got a lot of plants to get in the ground today."

"With your help, it won’t take long to get this done."

Indeed, in an hour they stood side by side at the garden hose, washing off the grime from digging. They glanced back at their handiwork, than smiled at each other.

"I really appreciated the help," Holly said. "Thanks! It helps to have good company, too. You know I already said this once before, but for a janitor, you’re pretty smart."

"I read a lot," Ray responded with a small smile. During the task, they talked about a lot of things. Unfortunately, nothing regarding the case. Every time he tried to steer her in that direction, she unwittingly found a topic that veered off. It was frustrating. Did she know what he was doing and in turn play her own little game? If she only knew how important it was to get the lowdown on what was going on in that gang!

"You wanna go to the Dairy Queen and get an ice cream after this," Holly asked shyly.

"Huh?"

"Yeah. You, me," she made walking motions with her wet fingers. "Ice cream."

Ray laughed. "I, uh, I don’t know."

"Oh come on! It’s not like I’m asking you out on a date or something! You’re too old for me!" She smiled. "I just like you, that’s all. You’re fun to be with."

"Oh," Ray spoke quietly. His look softened. "You’re a good kid, Holly. I like being with you, too." So why the hell do you have to hang with those jerks?

"Okay. Let’s go. I’ll buy." She grinned, shook off the water from her hands and wiped them on the backside of her jeans. Ray followed her around the house. At the front porch, Holly yelled, "All done, Mrs. T! We’re going to get some ice cream!"

"Alright, Holly. Thank you again!"

"She’s great. She reminds me of my grandma, and she’s become a substitute ever since Granna died." They fell into silence. Ray struggled with how to ask her questions, and she hoped he wouldn’t ask any more. Telling too much would get her into trouble. If he knew about the drug abuse and the plans of retaliation the guys were planning, all hell would break loose. But if she didn’t tell, it would only happen later and someone might get hurt or killed.

Holly’s conscience bothered her even as she enjoyed her vanilla cone with sprinkles. She stole glances at Ray. He looked very troubled, more than before. Telling him anything now was definitely a bad idea! She saw Scottie and another boy from the gang and reacted by turning from Ray.

"Something wrong, Holly?"

"No. Nothing wrong. Let’s walk. It’s not cool to hang out here too long." She pasted on a smile. "Besides, if people see me here with you, they’re going to think we’re seeing each other or something."

"You keep bringing that up," Ray noted. "Image means a lot to you, doesn’t it? Is that why you got in with that crowd, to look cool?"

"No! When Danny moved here, he was really sweet. Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, he lured me in. Same thing with the other boys. By the time his true colors came out, everyone was in deep. Anyone who thinks of trying to get out. . . they quickly change their mind."

"Hm. Mafioso in training, huh?"

She nodded. "You got it! And they’re so afraid that they let him drag them into all kinds of things. Whatever strikes Danny’s whim, gets done." She sighed. "I really hope the police can keep him in jail for awhile. I think with his influence gone, the boys will drop out of the gang and everything will go back to being normal."

"That’s what we’d like to see."

Holly swiped at the remnants of ice cream cone on her fingers, tossed the paper napkin in a trash barrel and glanced at her watch. "Oh, shoot! I have to get home!"

"Want me to walk you there," Ray asked, hoping for more time to ask questions.

"No! I’ll, um, see you Monday!" Holly turned down a side street and ran. Behind him, Ray heard the sound of a muffler in the early stages of going bad, and he turned. A beat up pickup truck idled on the street. Scott and two other boys he didn’t recognize glared at him from the cab. Scott grinned at him evilly, pantomimed a gun and pretended to shoot Ray. Then Scott stepped on the gas and peeled away while he and his friends guffawed.

Ray awoke with a start. He heard something big go bump in the night, and it was loud enough to possess him to reach for the gun on his nightstand. He sat poised on the edge of the bed, but nothing followed the noise. He was tense as a spring, heart racing, waiting for the danger. It was alarming how long it took for his body to settle down. He didn’t like it.

As a way to relieve the tension, he paced the room. He did not turn on a light. Ray was afraid if someone was out there, they would see it and he would become an easier target.

He heard the sound of footsteps nearing, then fading away. Taking a chance, he peeked out the curtains. Whoever it was had passed far enough out of range that he could not see them.

This is ridiculous! Those kids wouldn’t dare try anything with their ringleader laid up. But what if Fraser’s wrong and Danny isn’t the head of the gang? Scott looked pretty confident. Cocky enough to hold his own and keep things afloat. If only there had been a way to infiltrate the gang, but he was too old. Befriending Holly was a poor substitute, because she was only on the fringes. Yet it was better than nothing at all.

Ray regretted her involvement in the investigation. For one thing, she didn’t know that he was an undercover cop. He could imagine how hurt she would be when she found out. She would probably accuse him of using her. He did, but not like she would think. Worse than having to face her when she knew the truth, he was putting her at a great risk. If the other boys discovered she was talking to him about gang things, she might be in danger. Perhaps that was the root of the confrontation the other day. I can’t kill another civilian for a case. I can’t. Monday, I’ll walk into that school and ignore her. We’ve gotten about all we can from her, anyway. It’s getting too dangerous for Holly, and it would kill me if something happened to her because of my putting her in harm’s way.

A soft knock sounded on the door and caused him to freeze. It rapped again. "Ray, it’s me. You awake in there?" He paused. "I know it’s late, but. . . ."

Ray pulled the door open quickly. "Lieutenant! What the hell are you doing here?" He stepped back and let him inside.

"Thanks for the warm, hearty welcome," Welsh retorted. He dropped his jacket on the bed and sat beside it.

"Sorry. I just didn’t expect you out here again. This is Fraser’s and my case. I think we can handle it."

"You sure? I heard about the kid."

"Yeah, well, that was an accident." Ray sat on the corner of the bed and hung his head.

"I was worried you might not be holding up."

"Why?" Ray’s head snapped up. "There’s nothing wrong with me!"

"Sure. Then why are you walking around awake in the middle of the night, with a death-grip on your gun, pacing the room?" Welsh smirked. "Give me a report on what happened."

Ray told him everything that occurred since their arrival in Willison. Hesitant to mention it, he related how he befriended Holly and relayed all the information he gleaned from her. They sat in the dark, and for some reason Ray found it easier to reveal everything in that setting. He finished by saying, "I can’t let her get deeper into trouble with me. I know those guys know she’s been talking. If she gives me any more information, I’m afraid they’re going to hurt her. Maybe even kill her." He choked on the words and let out a shuddering sigh. "I can’t live with that. That would be too much guilt for me to handle."

"Fraser said he would help keep an eye on her. She’s in one of his English classes, I guess."

"Fine. That’s one hour out of the day. It wouldn’t do any good for me to watch over her. If they see me, it would only make things worse on Holly."

"Ray, I think you’re blowing this out of proportion. The situation is not that critical here."

He glared at Welsh, and in the dimness the Lieutenant saw the hardness in his eyes. "How do you know, Sir?" The term of respect had an edge to it. "You haven’t seen the way they watch her. They made it only too clear that, given the opportunity, they would kill me. I don’t think they would hesitate to hurt Holly."

Welsh slid closer and spoke softly. "I know, but this isn’t the case from the 19^th. You can’t spend the rest of your life punishing yourself over something you had no control of. Those people didn’t die because you introduced them to a killer. They died because he felt like wasting them, and he just went and did it."

"I was the beginning link in the chain," Ray disagreed. "Funny how that happens with me. First them, then Beth Botrelle, now Holly is in danger."

Welsh shook his head. "Hey, now don’t go getting all critical about the Botrelle case! If it hadn’t been you, it would have been some other cop!"

"But I screwed up," Ray lamented.

Welsh tilted his head and in an impatient tone countered, "That doesn’t matter. Even if you’d played it by the book, that evidence you moved would have disappeared anyway. Sam Franklin was a dirty cop, and he wasn’t going to let a little piece of paper with damning words on it ruin his plans. He didn’t give a rat’s ass that an innocent woman might die, or that she’d spend several good years of her life behind bars." Welsh paused. "Sounds to me like there’s a pattern here with this gang. They have the same attitude."

Ray sighed heavily and swept a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. "I know you’re trying to help, but I can’t do anything but think I contributed to these disasters. It’s the ongoing pattern of my life, and this situation turned out the same. Damn! Why can’t I go into an operation and not jeopardize someone’s life?"

"Okay, give me an example of the other times you’ve screwed something up." Ray stared at him. "Go ahead."

"There are dozens of them. You want me to pick one?"

"Yeah. Prove to me you’re as big a screw up as you think you are."

"Well, let’s see."

"The ones you already mentioned don’t count, by the way."

Ray nodded. "Okay, I got one for ya. I was on the force two years, and I had a partner. He and I went into the middle of a domestic disturbance. It was a real mess, everyone shouting and neither of us ever got the gist of what the hell was going on. The husband punched out his wife right in front of us. It took us both to cuff him. Meanwhile, the wife is beating on us for taking him into custody." He let out a breath. "Why do they bother calling us, if they don’t really want our help? Ah, I think it was one of the kids." He shook his head. "Anyway, we’re in the process of trying to get her so we can put on the cuffs, and one of the kids got in her way. She pushed him right down the porch steps! I couldn’t believe it. I was in shock. Man, she had a good left hook!"

Ray rubbed his jaw, remembering the blow he took. "My partner wound up with a split lip and a cracked cheek bone from her. She was one tough mama."

"How was the kid who went down the steps?"

"Oh, he was fine. Thank God. The way he went flying, I thought for sure he was going to the hospital." He snickered. "Kids. Sometimes they’re like rubber balls, huh?"

Welsh laughed softly. "Yeah." Then he sobered. "So, where do you think you screwed up on that case?"

Ray shrugged. "I dunno. We should have been able to take them in easier than we did. And the kid almost got hurt."

"Ray, a case like that is a good one in my book. Sometimes you gotta step back, ignore the details and look at the bottom line. You got the perps and nobody was seriously hurt. End of story." He clamped a hand on Ray’s shoulder. "I know you have trouble with that, but it will save your sanity if you don’t dwell on the bad.

"I know how you feel about commendations, but maybe some time you should sit and think about how you got them. You did some damn fine police work, and you did some things that only an idiot would do. Or a hero. And I’m betting you’re not an idiot. To outsiders, it might not look like you’re using your full bag of marbles in a crisis, but I know better. You’re a real smart guy, Kowal . . . Ray. A great cop.

"You know, when Foster told me you were coming in for our special project, he was practically glowing when he talked about you. I thought, Jeez, either this guy is the biggest moron on the planet, or Foster is trying to reassure me the higher ups made the right decision. I was really glad to see he was telling me in a roundabout way that he was going to miss having a talented detective in his ranks."

Ray shrugged off the praise. "There are other guys there better than me."

"Maybe," Welsh declared, "But they aren’t as unique as you. You know, sometimes it drives me crazy the way you operate! But you get the job done, and done right, in the end. I really admire you for that. I wish I could emphasize more how valuable you are to us." He paused and a grin crossed his face. "When you first came on board, remember the mess Vecchio left behind? All those unsolved cases?"

"Yeah. How could I forget," Ray replied with annoyance.

"I’ll never forget how you came in and took them over. In no time at all, you had a lot of them figured out, or you found new angles on things Vecchio was working on for months. The really impressive thing was, Fraser was nowhere near when you were doing your magic. Vecchio would have been lost without him."

"Really? Sometimes I feel like I’d be lost without Fraser."

"Nah. Maybe for a day or so, but you’d bounce back. If you didn’t dwell on the negative so much, you’d probably do it even quicker. You’re a survivor, Ray. You just have to learn how to beat back those demons of the past. Don’t let the past reflect on what you do today." Welsh paused for a breath. "I remember one of those rare moments when I had a chance to read to one of my daughters. She wanted me to read from ‘Anne of Green Gables’ or something. One of the ‘Anne’ series of books, anyway.

"So I was reading to her, thinking what a girl’s book this was, when the character of Anne says something like, ‘Each day is like a new slate with nothing written on it, no mistakes.’ God, I wish I could remember the exact quote, but that at least was the gist of it. I was going through a tough time at work, doing the sorry for myself introspection thing, just like you, and it hit me. It was like a brick between the eyeballs. Here was the answer in a simple children’s book. Every day is a new one, not influenced by the day before or the ones to come. If you treat it that way, you don’t have all that baggage dragging you.

"That’s the way you gotta think, Ray. Sure, you can use what you’ve learned in the past, but don’t let your mistakes from before color your present world."

Ray looked lost in thought. He straightened at the end of Welsh’s speech. "You’re right. I’ll have to see if I can remember that line." He yawned. "But right now, all I really wanna do is sleep."

"That’s good." Welsh glanced around the dim room. "You mind if I bunk here on the other bed? I’m too tired to drive home tonight."

Ray snorted. "You came all this way just to give me that little pep talk?"

"Yeah. Fraser called me tonight. He was really worried about you. Again!" He grinned. "Then I got worried. I couldn’t sleep, so I came out here."

"Fraser worries too much."

"And so do you."

"I guess so. Probably one of the reasons he and I get along so well." Ray pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. After Welsh settled into the second bed, he said, "Thanks for coming. I guess I needed that little extra kick in the pants. And thanks for the last time, too. I don’t think I said that before."

"Anytime, Ray. I think a lot of you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here."

"Thanks. . . again." Emotion choked Ray’s throat. "Good night."

"’Night."

The next morning, Ray slept in. When he awoke, Welsh was gone. At first, he wondered if his visit was only a dream. If he hadn’t found the tie hanging over a chair back, Ray would not have believed that Welsh was actually there. After getting some lunch, he decided to check out the afternoon baseball game. The Willison Hawkeyes were playing the Carlysle Crows. He recognized some of the players warming up, so in order to avoid blowing his cover, he sat along the baseline opposite their dugout.

Ray spotted Welsh and his brother behind the Hawkeyes dugout. Fraser was behind home plate. Their eyes met and Fraser touched the side of his nose with his thumb. Ray returned the signal. Then the game started, and Ray turned his attention to it.

Sometime during the fifth inning, Ray noticed Fraser had disappeared for quite some time. When he returned, he looked as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He glanced up at Ray, checked to see everyone else had their attention on the game, and used hand signals to communicate.

There’s trouble.

What kind of trouble?

The gang is congregating in the square.

Any idea what they’re up to?

Fraser shook his head. Just something bad. I can feel it.

Ray smiled. It always amused him when Fraser went with his gut instincts. Okay, I’m going to check it out. Ray carefully passed the spectators in his row and ducked down a ramp to the bowels of the stadium. He didn’t expect to find Welsh at the concession stand. The last time he saw him, he was well stocked with hot dogs and popcorn.

Stopping beside him, Ray ordered a soda. Moving out of the way for another customer, he got close to Welsh. "I’m going to the square. Get me backup in fifteen minutes." Welsh nodded and Ray left the stadium.

He drove the GTO to the square and parked close to the diner on one of the corners. Across the street, he saw Scottie’s truck, but no sign of any of the gang members. Ray peered into the diner window and discovered the place was empty except for Scottie and the two boys from the day before. They were harassing the man behind the counter. It was obvious from the unpleasant, pressured look on his face.

Shit. Definitely need backup. He glanced inside again as he rounded the corner and had to keep himself from stopping dead in his tracks. Holly was with them! Scotty had a tight hold on her, preventing her from leaving. Ray passed the windows, pressed his back against the warm brick wall and quickly dialed his cell phone.

"Welsh."

"I need help now! At Hope’s Diner in the square. Three males inside, harassing the guy behind the counter. One of them is Scott Howard. The other two look like Trent Malloy and Curt Weber. Holly is with them," he added in a low voice, "and I can tell she’s not there by choice."

"Okay, we’re on our way," Welsh ordered, "Sit tight. Don’t try anything!"

"Are you kidding? I do not want to be responsible for another screw up. But you better hurry, cause I don’t think this situation can go on much longer without an escalation."

"We’re in the car right now. Fraser’s with us."

"Good."

"Have patience. We’ll be there in a couple minutes."

"Yeah." Ray broke the connection, slipped the phone into his pocket and waited. He counted the seconds. He got to 65 of them when he heard a gunshot from inside the diner. Part of him screamed to wait, but the rest of him said ‘Hell no!’ and ducked down enough to peer into the windows.

Scott, Trent and Curt still stood, and so did Holly. Scott was hurting her arm. He could see how it pained her, and the red marks he left from changing his grip were obvious. She wore a sleeveless dress, and he grasped her upper arm tightly. She tried to slip away, but he only held tighter. Ray heard her protest through the glass. He cringed as Scott brought his armed hand down and swatted her across the face. Holly fell hard.

Dammit! Ray’s blood boiled now. He heard the sound of a car screeching to a halt and turned. The Welsh brothers burst as one out of the Blazer, followed by Fraser. Ray sprung up and met them half way across the street.

"I was right, there are three of them. Scott just pistol whipped Holly! I don’t know if she’s okay or not. Damn! I should have gone in when I wanted to!"

"Where’s Randy," Sheriff Welsh asked.

"Randy?"

"The guy behind the counter. He’s the owner."

"Oh. I didn’t see him. I heard a gun go off just before I got a glimpse of what was going on. I’m guessing they shot him." Ray shook with agitation. "We gotta go in now, before they kill anyone."

"Is there a back way," Lieutenant Welsh asked his brother.

"Yeah."

"Okay, you and I will take the back. Ray, you and Fraser take the front. Just walk in real innocent like you’re going to buy a burger or something." He paused. "Give us enough time to get situated in the back, and when I give the signal we’ll subdue them. Got it?"

"Understood," Ray and Fraser chorused.

Sheriff Welsh gaped at them and shook his head. He and his brother searched for the back entrance. Ray and Fraser waited a few seconds before crossing the street.

"Fraser, this better work. What if they’re pumped for shooting up everything that gets in their way?"

"You know what you have to do. Do what you’re trained for, Ray."

Ray swallowed hard and put his hand on the door. "That’s what I’m afraid of." He pushed on the door and entered the diner with Fraser.

"It’s really quite a treat," Fraser spoke as if they had been discussing something.

"Oh yeah? What was that again?" Ray played along.

"Brown lichen tarts with chokecherries. Very tasty."

"Well, I don’t think you’re going to find any of that on the menu here." Ray acted as if he was surprised by the scene before him. "Woah. Hey there, guys."

"What the hell are you two doing here," Scott barked. He aimed his gun at them. "Just back out of here and pretend you didn’t see nothin’. Otherwise, you’ll be getting an idea of why we call ourselves the Flaming Youth."

Ray saw the Welshes in the small hallway leading from the back of the diner. "Yeah, well, I wouldn’t bet on that."

"You wanna bet I don’t shoot you right between the eyes if you’re not out of here in five seconds?"

Ray grinned cockily. "I don’t think you’re that good a shot, kid." In a few seconds he had assessed the situation. The Sheriff and the Lieutenant were at a right angle to Fraser and himself. They were not in the line of fire. Holly lay on the floor to his left, in his peripheral vision. Concern for her threatened to shake his concentration.

"I have to agree. Judging by the way you’re holding that gun, I doubt you could get off a good shot," Fraser echoed. "Perhaps if you simply dropped it now, we could avoid . . . ."

Scott growled. "What planet did you come from, anyway?"

"He’s from Canada," Ray explained. "But he’s got a point. Drop it now, let us get Randy some help, and if he lives you’ll get a lighter sentence. Sound like a good deal?"

"The only good deal is us getting out of here with the money and you bozos lying in a pool of your own blood!" Scott’s thumb pulled back the hammer on his revolver.

"Scotty, no!"

Scott turned his attention to Holly. She sat up, leaning against a booth bench. "Shut up!" He re-aimed the gun at her.

"Don’t do it!" Ray leaped forward and had his gun against Scott’s temple before he even knew what hit him. "I’d advise you to put it down now. Hey, I’m no Felix Unger, but I’d at least like to keep Randy’s work light, you know? It would really suck for him to get out of the hospital and have to clean floors. Know what I mean?"

Scott slowly dropped his arm. Fraser came forward and twisted the gun from his grip. The Welsh brothers already had his friends disarmed and cuffed. The sound of sirens neared.

"Fraser, watch him." Ray left Scott’s side and went to check on Holly.

"We’re gonna need an ambulance here for sure," Lieutenant Welsh declared from behind the counter.

"Is he seriously injured," Fraser asked.

"Shoulder wound. He’ll live." Welsh glanced to where Ray knelt beside Holly. He watched for a moment as Ray caressed her jaw where it was already swelling. "Ray. Is she okay?"

It took a beat for him to turn and answer. "Yeah, she’s gonna be okay." Then he smiled. "She’s gonna be okay." He repeated it as if the realization had suddenly hit him. For once, something good happened. They didn’t lose the victim because of anything he did. As a matter of fact, his quick movements prevented her from being killed. A warm, tingling thrill ran through him. He glanced down when he felt Holly’s arms go around his waist and hold him tightly.

"Thanks, Ray. You saved my life!"

"You don’t know how glad I am that you’re okay, Holly!" He hugged her back. When she broke the contact, he took her hands and helped her stand. Seeing the bruises forming on her arm, he winced. "I’m sorry about that. I should have gotten in here sooner, but I was ordered to wait for backup."

"Backup? You’re a cop?"

"Yeah. Fraser and me, we were both working undercover." He looked guilty. "I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think we were just using you. But you were our best line to what was going on in the gang."

"It’s okay. I just wish you would have told me," Holly breathed. "I would have spilled my guts for you guys!"

Ray looked at her incredulously. "Do you realize how much more danger you would have been in if you had?"

"It might have prevented this. You could have arrested them sooner, maybe." She noticed the guilty look on Ray’s face deepen. She clasped his arm soothingly. "Hey, I’m sorry! You guys did great, really! I mean, who knows what would have happened if I’d told you everything that I knew sooner? It might have made things worse." She smiled. "Good thing tomorrow’s another day . . . ."

"With no mistakes in it," Ray finished with a smile.

"Don’t tell me! You actually read ‘Anne of Green Gables’?" Holly eyed him.

"No. But a friend told me about that line," Ray replied and threw a grin at Welsh. Welsh smiled back.

"So where do you really work?"

"Chicago."

Holly frowned. "Guess I won’t get to see you any more, then. Although, I am going to the University. Hey, maybe we could do lunch sometime? Or tour the art museum." She smiled.

"I’d like that," Ray returned the smile.

Welsh interrupted by clearing his throat sharply. "Excuse me Detective, but we’ve got some cleanup work to take care of here. You can plan dates later."

Ray scowled. "It’s not a date! Jeez! She’s young enough to be my kid, almost."

Holly crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "Thanks a lot, Ray!"

Ray’s shoulders sagged. "I didn’t mean it like that."

"I know." A smile tugged at her lips. "You better take off and finish your work. Just let me know where I can find you in Chicago."

"You bet. I’ll stop by the school before I leave."

She smiled sweetly. "I’ll look forward to it."

Ray stopped outside the art room door. A class was in session. Through the tiny window in the door, he spied Holly sitting with her painting. She was putting the finishing touches on it. The teacher saw him and motioned him inside.

"Holly told me you would be coming in," Mrs. Sturtevant said with a smile. "I don’t know what influence you had on her, but it was amazing!"

"What do you mean," Ray asked with a puzzled look.

"If you go see her work, I think you’ll understand." She pointed him to Holly’s easel. From the door he didn’t have a very good view of the painting, but when he came around to see it, he gasped.

"Holly, it’s beautiful," he finally breathed.

Holly turned and smiled. "You really like it?"

"I love it! How long did it take you to fix it?" His eyes pored over the canvas. All the drab, sad colors had been covered by a wash of bright sunny hues. Rays of light came down from the corner to illuminate the abstract world of Willison that Holly recreated.

"It didn’t take long. I came in early this morning and started it. Shocked the hell out of Mrs. Sturtevant when she saw it." Holly grinned.

"This is great," he whispered in awe.

"I’m glad you like it so much. I’m entering it into an art competition. And from there, it’s making a road trip to Chicago. It’s a one-stop deal. Making a permanent appearance in the home of one Chicago Police Detective known as Ray Kowalski."

"You’re giving it to me?" He looked at her in disbelief.

Holly laughed. "It’s all yours. I really want you to have it." She looked down shyly, then back at him. "You saved me from a lot of things. This is the only way I can think of to really repay you. Thank you."

Ray accepted her careful embrace. Her hands had paint on them, but he wouldn’t have minded if she dirtied his sweatshirt with it. "Thank you, for helping me see that patterns can be broken." She looked at him strangely. "Some day I’ll explain it to you." She nodded. "Well, I gotta go. And you have work to do. See you again real soon, Holly."

"You too, Ray. ‘Bye." She waved and watched until he left the room and closed the door. Some day he would explain what he meant. She knew when he did, the cause of the sadness she sensed in him would be revealed and she would be glad that she helped him heal.

As Ray stepped out the door of the high school, he slipped on his ever-present sunglasses and smiled at the warm sunshine beating down on him. The weather had been fine all week, but this was the first day that he really noticed it. The heat felt so good. He remembered what the Lieutenant told him. This was just the beginning. The dream would probably come back, but somehow that thought didn’t scare him as it had before. Somewhere he found the confidence to face it. He was glad they talked.

As he rounded the corner, he saw Fraser leaning against the passenger side of the GTO. He faced away from Ray and watched a pair of Canadian geese pick their way across the football field. Ray stopped in his tracks. For the last three weeks he felt so empty and lost. He suddenly realized how fortunate he was to have a friend that refused to let him stay that way. Even in the face of Ray’s awesome anger, Fraser refused to back off. Ray knew that somehow he had to find a way to thank him…some day. But how? It wouldn’t be easy.

Fraser turned as he heard Ray’s footsteps on the pavement. The friends stood looking at each other over the top of the car.

"Fraser, buddy, I want to apologize for getting short with ya the other day…you know…because you called Welsh. I was just kind of…ya know…tired, I guess."

"Not to worry, Ray. I am aware that you have been functioning under somewhat ‘diminished capacities’ of late. An aspect of your personality to which I have learned to adjust."

Ray leaned his arms on the roof of the car and slowly pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. He studied Fraser carefully. He saw the twinkle in the Mountie’s eyes, and just a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"What is this, Fraser! Is that humore, or what? You can’t tell a joke to save your skinny butt…Is that what that is? ‘Cause if it is, you got to start leavin’ that stuff to me…you suck at the humor stuff…ya crazy Canadian."

Ray’s warm smile was so good to see. Fraser couldn’t help but return it. Their eyes met and held, and in that instant Ray understood; though he would some day try to thank his friend, it would never really be necessary. Their’s was a partnership that went beyond words. It was past Ray’s limited vocabulary, at any rate. Maybe some day Fraser could voice it for both of them, but for now they didn’t need words. They just knew.

Fraser straightened and tapped out a rhythm on the top of the car. "Well Ray, ole buddy Pitter-patter, let’s get at-er."

THE END