Such A Special Man
Detective Ray Vecchio knew that he was in trouble; the blood from the wound in his leg was showing no sign of letting up and he was starting to feel dizzy.
"Ray... Ray?" came the distant, insistent tone of Benton Fraser.
"What…?" Ray asked, his tone that of a belligerent child, although his voice was slightly slurred… a fact that was not lost on the Canadian.
"We've got to stop the bleeding," Benton said as he continued his frantic efforts to loosen the bonds that held him. He was growing desperately concerned over his friend's pallor and the sweeping lassitude that he could see seeping in to replace the lost blood.
"Me… all… right," Ray offered weakly, leaning his head back against the wall. He had been feeling desperately thirsty for the last ten minutes; one part of his mind was screaming at him to do something, not just to sit there and bleed to death. The only problem was that another part of his soul just wanted to let his problems float away, towards the beckoning darkness.
"Ray..." Fraser called frantically as he saw his friend's eyes begin to flutter shut. "Stay with me, Ray," he begged, knowing that once the man slipped into unconsciousness his chances of surviving lessened dramatically.
"You know, Benny, I always thought that I would die in a shoot-out... you know... a flash of fire, searing pain, and then nothing... nothing but a hero's death..." Ray said in total seriousness, tilting his head to look at his friend, as if wanting to remember what he looked like. "Not bleed to death like this," he continued in a conversational tone, "in a God-forsaken hole like this."
"You're not going to die, Ray," Fraser stated firmly, renewing his efforts to get free.
"Yeah, right..." Vecchio replied with a lopsided grin as he shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable. "We've been here for over an hour now, and you're still no closer to getting free than you were when they threw us in here." He stopped, gasping slightly as pain flared and the room tilted.
"I'm nearly... nearly... there," Fraser gritted out through clenched teeth as one hand slipped suddenly free of the rope, slick with the blood that was seeping from his own rope-burned wrist. He held up the hand in triumph, which turned to frozen fear when he saw that Ray had closed his eyes and was slipping sideways to lay huddled upon the floor. "Ray... Ray," Benton kept repeating as he hurriedly freed himself from the rest of the rope and fumbled his way over to his friend. The light was barely enough to guide him.
Fraser's actions were frantic as he began to strip off his own clothing to reach his shirt, which he swiftly ripped into bandage-length strips. He caught at the wounded leg, ripping the trousers without a thought to the protest that a conscious Ray would have made at the destruction of such an expensive pair of designer trousers.
Within a short time he had effectively bandaged the leg and applied a tourniquet. Then, untying his friend's hands, he retrieved his jacket and gently placed it under Ray's head, trying to make his friend as comfortable as possible. Finally, knowing there was nothing further he could do until he got them free of their prison, he turned his attention to that problem.
He was very conscious of the fact that he had, once again, led Ray into a potentially dangerous situation without a thought to either of their safeties.
The investigation was a relatively simple one, he believed: a spate of rather nasty bank robberies had caught Fraser's attention because the style of the crime had seemed familiar and, after checking a few facts, he had discovered that the man who was committing them, a Harold Cutler, had in fact been arrested by him quite a few years previously - it was one of the first crimes he had solved after joining the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Cutler had served his time in jail, portraying himself as the model prisoner, and had been released a few months before the first robbery in Chicago had been committed.
Fraser had managed to track Cutler and his gang to a rundown area of the city and, with only Ray's assistance, had attempted to capture them. Unfortunately, the man had not been as unprepared as the Mountie had at first believed and had turned the cards neatly, capturing the two men instead.
During the brief struggle, Ray had been wounded in the leg - this action alone had caused Fraser to freeze for an instant as the sound of the shot resounded about the warehouse, then the gun being held steadily at a downed Ray's head had prevented him from continuing.
Now here they were, tied up and left in the abandoned warehouse, locked securely in one of the old storage areas, their only light a small, weak bulb that looked as if it could die at any moment. Fraser had no way of knowing if Cutler had any intention of coming back for them. With nervous energy, he began to check their prison, looking for a way out.
After several minutes, he heard Ray begin to stir and moved over to kneel beside his friend. "Ray?" he questioned, gently wiping at his friend's face as the policeman fought his way back to consciousness.
"Benny?" Vecchio asked, blinking up at the other man, squinting to see him in the meagre light. "What happened?" he continued as he made to push himself up, but a firm hand upon his chest prevented him.
"No… stay still… you've been shot and lost a fair amount of blood." Fraser could feel his friend trying not to shake, and knew with a sinking feeling that shock and reaction were setting in.
"How long?" Ray asked, wishing his teeth didn't feel like they wanted to chatter their way out of his head.
"About two hours," Fraser answered, again gently wiping the sweat from Vecchio's face, noting the rising heat.
"This is not good," Ray stated, letting his head flop back against the makeshift pillow. He felt tired. He could vaguely remember the events that had led to his present situation, but wasn't able to recall the actual instant he'd been shot, nor the details of how they had ended up in the small room that now housed them. "I don't suppose they let me keep my phone?" he asked after a few moments of silence.
"Sorry, Ray," was all Fraser said in reply.
"Great… not only do I get to die in a hellhole, but Ma gets to pay a humungous phone bill."
"You're not going to die," Benton snapped uncharacteristically, before moving away from Ray as he continued to hunt for a way out.
"Right…" Ray said, too weak to argue as he watched Fraser move about the room. "I keep forgetting that part."
Suddenly Fraser stopped and sniffed, then he did a slow turn as if seeking something. Ray watched from his prone position, before he ventured, "You're not going to taste anything weird... are you, Benny?"
Fraser spared him a quick glance before he explained, "Fresh air."
"Yeah," Ray shot back. "It's not as fresh as Canadian air, but it's not that bad once you get used to the smog." Even as he delivered the line, he knew that it was not spoken with his usual panache.
"No," Benton said, pushing the other's words aside. "This is fresh air…. We've been in here quite a while... the door is air tight - that means that there must be some form of ventilation." As he spoke, he began to move slowly about the room, using his keen senses to locate the fresh air that was seeping into it. He came to a stop across the other side of the cell. "There's a ventilation shaft about two feet above me," he said to Ray as he scrambled up the wall, struggling to get the small metal grid from its front. "I might just be able to get in…."
"No!!!!" The one word was filled with such panic that it caused Fraser to stop his attempt to reach the ventilation shaft and stumble over to his friend, fearing a seizure of some sort.
"Ray… what…?" he cried, falling down beside his injured companion. "What's wrong?" he asked, swiftly running his hands over his friend's body, looking for further damage.
Vecchio reached up and gripped Fraser's arm, almost pulling the other man off his feet in his effort to speak. "Don't... leave me.… Not here...."
The words were spoken with such terror that Benton reacted to the other man's tone. "Ray...." Fraser licked at suddenly dry lips; he could still feel tremors rippling through the body beneath him, knew it was the growing fever that was talking. "You're not going to die," he stated again, thinking that this was the direction of Ray's fear.
"You'll get... stuck up there... die, and I'll... I'll just lie here and starve to death," Vecchio panted as he pulled at the man's arm, trying to force him to understand his fear.
"Ray, I won't get stuck... I'm sure I can…" Fraser began, his tone calmer now that he knew the reason behind Vecchio's irrational terror.
"No…." Vecchio was shaking with reaction. "You can't promise me that... and you know... you can't," he said, swallowing hard as he fought to sit up. Fraser tried to prevent him from moving, but it soon became obvious to him that he was causing Ray more harm by trying to stop him, so reluctantly he helped Ray until he was sitting up, slouched against the wall. "I'll come with you," Vecchio offered weakly.
"Ray... you're in no condition to go climbing about in any ventilation shaft. Besides," Fraser argued, "it might not even lead anywhere."
"I'm not staying here... alone." Ray was determined, and Benton knew from Vecchio's expression that he was not going to win this particular argument.
"Ray…" he began, wanting to reassure his friend, "I promise that I'll come straight back."
"No… damn you… I'm not staying here alone." Ray shoved the other's hand away, his temper flaring as he began to struggle to his feet. His injured leg refused to co-operate and finally, with a gasp of raw pain, he slipped back down against the wall to lay huddled upon the floor.
"Here, let me..." Fraser offered. He had wanted to help Ray the moment the man had begun to move, but something had stilled his hand. Now he gathered the man to him, positioning him so that he rested in his comfortable embrace.
"I can't stay here... not alone, Benny... it's too painful," Ray's stated as his head came to rest against the bare shoulder of his best friend.
"I promise I will be as quick as I can... you won't even know that I've gone..." Fraser began, but stopped as Ray weakly shook his head.
"You don't understand, I can't stand being in small, dark, enclosed spaces." There was such defeat in the injured man's tone that Fraser knew he spoke the truth.
"You seemed fine in the cupboard at the station," Benton offered as he gently checked the bandage. He felt his lips tighten when he saw the new blood that seeped through the dressing.
"That's different," Ray replied weakly. "I know... I know... I can get out of there.... It's never locked... not like...." He stopped, suddenly unwilling to go on.
"Like what?" Fraser asked, a knot of fear tightening in his gut as a suspicion began to grow in his stomach.
Ray turned his head away, not wanting Fraser to see the pain reflected there, and Benton thought that he was not going to answer, but slowly, hesitantly, the words began to trickle out, until they seemed like a never-ending gush and the picture they painted tore at Fraser's very soul.
An empty house one Saturday afternoon, only a father and son at home. A small boy, five or six, upsetting his father over some silly, childish prank. A large dark, empty attic. The father's rage, and then the solution to the problem of a disobedient child. Ray's father had subjected his son to the cruel, abusive act of being locked in the attic most Saturdays while his mother was out. That had lasted until the boy reached the age of ten. Ray had never told anyone, not until this day. That particular abuse had only really stopped after Ray had thrown himself downstairs during the weekly struggle, rather than go to the attic. The resulting broken leg had effectively stopped his mother going out on Saturdays for a period, and after a while his father had found other forms of entertainment.
Fraser listened to the unfolding story with growing horror. He knew that he was only hearing it now because of Ray's weakened state, due to his fear, fever and blood loss. By the end of the halting telling, he wanted to hold his friend tighter and wipe away the silent tears he could just barely see trekking down the other's face.
After a short while, Ray seemed to gather his emotions and gently pushed away from Benny's comforting embrace. He swallowed convulsively for a few more seconds before he said, "I don't care whatever else happens, Fraser, I can't stay here... not on my own. I'll go... I'll go with you...." Seeing his friend shaking his head, he hurried on, "Damn it, Benny, I'm not joking here."
"Ray..." Fraser said, turning the other man's face so that he could look him in the eyes. "You're not going to be able to negotiate that shaft... not with that leg… and I need to get us out of here, otherwise..." he repeated when he saw Vecchio begin to protest, "otherwise you are going to bleed to death." He stopped, not knowing what other arguments he could use against his friend. Finally he finished, "I can't lose you, Ray... I'm sorry, but I don't have that many friends that I can afford to lose one… and, besides, I wouldn't survive here without you."
Vecchio had stopped breathing some time during his friend's speech, and it returned with a whoosh at the realisation that Fraser believed every word he spoke. He looked hard at the man beside him, then at the small room they were trapped in, the meagre light…. Clenching his teeth, he pushed himself away from the Canadian, forcing the other away, saying, "Go... go now... before I change my mind. Go... GO!" He shouted the last words, and Fraser, knowing that this was the only chance he was likely to get, began to move away.
Within a few moments, he had broken through the grid that rested in front of the small shaft and struggled to get his body into the narrow opening. As he moved, he kept talking, hoping that the sound of his voice would help Ray as he fought against his fear of being alone in the dark cell.
"Do you know, Ray, this reminds me of the time when I was caught in the canning factory in Uklucka. I was only eight at the time, and Tommy Jameson had dared me to see if I could..." he continued, as he pushed and fought his way through the tunnel until he finally reached another opening. He stopped talking as he gathered his strength and forced the grid out away from the opening. With ease borne of an athletic body, he slithered out to the floor below then, taking a moment to gather his bearings, he turned and began to sprint in the direction of the locked room.
When he reached the door, he noted with growing frustration that the padlock was without a key. He spun about, looking for something... anything… that he could use against the lock. After a few frantic moments, he found a crowbar of sorts. Without a thought for his own safety, he applied his full weight against it as he forced the lock, and with a groan of defeat it slowly gave.
As the door opened, Fraser rushed into the room, his only thought for his friend. He came to a skidding halt when he saw that Ray had dragged himself over until he sat in the halo of the small light. His face was drawn, eyes closed, uncontrollable shivering rippling through his body. Benny knelt beside him and, reaching out, he gently rested a hand upon his shoulder. The reaction he got was not what he expected: Vecchio cried out and began to struggle against him. Fraser instinctively tried to stop the man before he hurt himself further, but the action was wrong because it only caused Ray to struggle all the harder.
"Ray... Ray, it's me - Benny," he kept repeating, holding the man tightly so that he was safe from harm, until finally the struggling ceased and Vecchio slowly opened his eyes, blinking up at his friend.
"Benny... you're here... but you left me..." Ray croaked, trying to push himself away from his friend.
"I had to, Ray," Fraser explained, helping the other man sit up and then leaning him against the wall as he continued, "I've got the door open, and we have to get out of here."
"Yeah, right," Vecchio said, shaking his head as memory returned. "Cutler." He looked about the small room and suppressed a shudder before he reached for Fraser. "Help me out here, will you?" he asked.
Benton hurried to assist his friend and, within a short while, they had left the deserted warehouse behind them. The trip to the hospital had not been easy and Ray had collapsed just moments before they were spotted by a passing police car.
Within the hour, Ray was in hospital, undergoing surgery. Fraser had informed the injured man's family, who were now seated about the waiting room, desperate for details of his condition.
As Fraser sat watching the small group of people before him, he wondered how they could be so concerned for the man, and yet how blind they were to his childhood suffering.
"Mrs Vecchio...?" a tired-looking doctor asked as he walked into the waiting room. Fraser moved closer to the group so that he could hear what the man had to say about his friend. "Your son came through surgery without any major problems; he's now in Recovery and, if all goes well, we will move him in the morning to a room of his own."
"Can I... can I see my son?" Mrs Vecchio asked, lifting the ever-present hanky to dab at her eyes.
"Well...." The doctor considered her words before he answered with a gentle smile, "He's asleep at the moment, but I don't see any reason why you can't look in on him. But you must be quiet, and only for a short while."
"Thank you... thank you," she said as she reached for her daughters' support and followed the doctor down the corridor toward the room where Ray was sleeping.
***
The next few days were hard for Fraser. He would spend much of his free time with his injured friend, and Ray would try hard to act as if everything was all right between them, but both men knew it was an act - and, unfortunately, Vecchio was not that good at hiding his emotions from his friend.
The family clan would pile in at visiting times and Benny would gratefully escape to the cafeteria for the period of their visit, returning after they had left. For some reason, the nurses never made a determined effort to toss him out after visiting hours. They just accepted that he was there and that he was going to stay as long as his friend did.
"It never really happened, you know," Ray said suddenly, looking up from the decrepit bunch of grapes that looked as if a swarm of locusts has just left the place.
Fraser had just returned after his evening visit to the cafeteria. "What never really happened, Ray?" he asked, sitting down beside the bed and waving Diefenbaker under the seat. If the nurses did not see the wolf, they didn't try to toss him out.
"All that stuff I said about my father.... You know... when we were trapped," Ray expanded when he saw the momentary look of confusion on the other's face.
"Oh that," Benny said, his puzzlement clearing, and his concern with how to actually handle the conversation, now that it had arisen, returning. "You were pretty convincing in that room, Ray," he added quietly. This was the first time Ray had mentioned his confession of abuse by his father, and Fraser knew that he had to tread very carefully.
"Yeah, well... I made it all up.... I just didn't want to be left alone."
"Why, Ray?" Benton was prepared to believe him if he could give a plausible explanation for his fear, but he was not going to accept a lie; he valued the friendship too much for that.
"Look," Vecchio began, his tone tinged with growing annoyance. "It never happened.... I just want to forget about it... all right?"
Fraser sat for a few minutes, digesting the demand, before he slowly shook his head, his own tone unable to hide his sorrow as he answered, "I can't do that, Ray... I'm sorry - I think this is too important."
"What the hell?" yelled the injured man, trying to sit up straighter in the bed and failing miserably. "You're supposed to be my friend, Fraser. A friend would just do as I ask."
"No they wouldn't, Ray - a friend would stand by you, and would believe you if you told them about the way your father treated you...." He paused before he reached out and, touching Vecchio's hand, he confirmed, "I believed you... I still do."
"I don't need your kind of belief," Ray snapped, roughly pushing the offered hand away, his voice wavering on the edge of tears - tears that he would never show. "Just get the hell out of here, do you hear me...? You call yourself a friend...." He spoke with total disbelief that their friendship was coming to an end in this manner. Swallowing hard, he continued, "I don't want to see you again." As the Mountie stood, placed his hat upon his head and motioned for Diefenbaker to follow, Ray finished, "Ever."
Fraser stopped, frozen to the spot before he informed his friend, "You don't mean that, Ray." He did not turn to look at Vecchio as he spoke, but his voice showed just how much the other's words had hurt him.
Vecchio didn't say a word, refusing to look at the other man, until finally Fraser slowly walked from the room, each step deliberate, as if waiting for Ray to call him back. The detective didn't.
***
Benton Fraser had never felt so alone. It was not until now that he realised just how much he had come to depend upon his friend's company. He had met Ray within hours of his coming to Chicago and they had been together ever since, except for the time that Benny had returned to his father's cabin - but even then Ray had made the long trip north to visit him.
Fraser looked about his small room and wondered if it might not have been better to have just agreed to forget the confession, to do as Ray wanted; at least that way they would still have been friends. Even as that thought crossed his mind, Benny knew that - as time progressed - Ray would have become uneasy with his friend's knowledge and the strain would have proven too much for the friendship.
Eight days had now passed since he had last seen Ray in the hospital. Francesca had visited him once, mainly to inform him that her brother was home, and demanding to know why he had not been to see him. Benton had lied. It had not been easy, and he had not enjoyed it, but he had told her that his work was keeping him away. She had sensed that all was not well and had left without the usual gambit upon his virtue.
Diefenbaker whined dejectedly from his position near the bottom of the bed; he had been moping about for the last eight days, acting as though he had lost his best friend, not Fraser.
Benton could stand it no longer and, pushing himself from the bed with an uncharacteristic groan, he wandered over toward the small kitchen. He had been home for only half an hour, and never before had the room closed in on him as it did now. Usually he would spend most evenings with Ray. Now, for the first time in years, he longed for the open spaces of his homeland. Yet he knew that he was only running from the loneliness of his present life, and - if he did return home - he would lose all chances of regaining his friendship with Ray.
With a sudden burst of energy he grabbed up his coat, heading towards the door, intending to take his wolf out for a walk. Diefenbaker followed closely upon his heels. As he pulled open the door, he stood back in astonishment, as Ray's mother was hovering just outside. He moved backwards, stumbling over his words. "Mrs Vecchio.... Er... please, come in."
She gave him a small, tense smile. "I wasn't sure if I had the right address," she confessed, pointing to the number on the door as she moved into the room. Then she stopped dead, giving the small room the once-over, her mothering instincts coming to the fore as she fussed, "Your walls are so bare and you've no furniture."
"Er... no," Fraser agreed, looking about at his few meagre possessions. "But it's enough for... me," he added as he motioned her over towards the chair that sat in the room.
"You couldn't find a better area?" she questioned, taking the offered seat and making herself comfortable, placing her handbag down beside her. "You, a police officer?"
"It's very convenient for the Consulate... and I like the people who live here," Fraser defended his choice of living area but, seeing the sceptical look that crossed her face, he quickly changed the subject. "Did Ray bring you?" he asked hopefully, wondering if his friend was waiting down in the car.
Mrs Vecchio stuck out her bottom lip, then shook her head slowly, saying, "No... he is..." she put her hands together in silent prayer, "hopefully resting at home. The wound bothers him... he says nothing, but a mother knows." Then she added in a whispered tone, "He doesn't know that I'm here."
"Oh. Er... what can I do for you, Mrs Vecchio?" Fraser asked, moving back to sit upon the edge of his bed.
"I came to have words with you." As she spoke, she waved her hands in front of her, as if it aided her to speak. "My son... he is not happy," she began, her accent clearly ringing in her voice. "He mopes about the house, not my Ray... not him at all.... And you," she accused, pointing a finger at him, "you don't come to see him?"
"I've been very busy," Fraser began, but the woman shooed his words aside, interrupting.
"Francesca told me that... but I know you.... When he was first injured, you never left his side. No...." She paused, resting her hands momentarily in her lap before she began again, choosing her words with care, "You've had words and he has shut you out."
"Shut me out?" Fraser questioned, his interest piqued.
"That is the Vecchio way - his father was the same."
"Ray is nothing like his father." Fraser had spoken the words before he could stop himself, and even he could hear the sharp tone that he had used.
"So," Mrs Vecchio said, sitting up straighter, her attention now riveted upon the man before her. "Raymondo has spoken to you about his father?"
Benny suddenly stood, uneasy with the way the conversation was going. "I really feel that you should be talking to your son, Mrs Vecchio... not me."
"Ray is a wonderful boy; a mother could not ask for a better son, but there are times... times when I feel that even I don't know him." She paused, remembering the depression he had slipped into since his return from hospital. "Constable Fraser," she held out her hand in a beseeching motion, "will you not put whatever it is behind you... visit him.... He is so...." She held up her hands, unable to quickly find the words that she wanted.
"Mrs Vecchio," Fraser began, knowing that it was her concern for her son that had brought her here. "I do not believe that Ray would want to see me," Fraser said as gently as he could, although her words had raised his concern for his friend.
She nodded, an understanding expression crossing her features. "Because of what he told you about his father?"
Again Fraser was at a loss for words, but she reached out and, taking his hand, held it tightly as she began, "I know that Vincenzo could have been a better father; he had no time for little Ray." She swallowed hard. "He was so small for his age, and not strong at all, not like Vincenzo - he was from the old country and could not understand that Raymondo was not like him. It frustrated him, and he didn't know how to handle that frustration." She stopped, trying to regain some composure.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Vecchio, I really am," Benton said, "but I don't think that Ray would see me." Fraser desperately wanted to help the woman; it was so clear that she was worried about her son, and she saw Benny as being the one person who could help him.
"I know that Vincenzo used to hit him," she suddenly blurted out. Standing up, she began to pace about the room. "I knew, and yet I did nothing... I did nothing to save my little boy."
"You knew?" Fraser asked, his tone coloured by his surprise. "You knew and yet you never tried to stop him?"
"Vincenzo was not a bad father - he never, ever hurt the girls or me - he just couldn't understand why Ray was so small... so weak."
Fraser moved up to the shaking woman and, taking her in his arms, he comforted her, saying, "Mrs Vecchio, you must calm down... I'm sure that Ray would understand."
She pushed away from him, horror written across her face. "No.... No... Ray must never know that I knew... it would break his heart. He wouldn't love me any more."
"That's not true; Ray thinks the world of you... of all the family, and I really think that you should tell him.... He's been hiding his father's violence from you for so long that he's never really attempted to heal himself from it."
"No... no... I can't." She pushed roughly past Fraser. "I was wrong to come here... I'm sorry... I thought that you could help...."
"Mrs Vecchio." Fraser gabbed at the woman's arm; it was not hard enough to hurt her, but it did stop her from leaving. "I can help... but you have to trust me."
She gave him a last, desperate look before she confessed, "I can't."
Whatever else she had been about to say was lost by the loud banging on the door, which was swiftly followed by Ray's voice demanding entry. "Fraser... Fraser, let me in."
"Raymondo!" Mrs Vecchio gasped, this time clutching at Fraser's arm, fear written clearly across her face. "He must not find me here."
"Fraser." The banging began again, this time in earnest. "I know you're in there."
Fraser looked from Mrs Vecchio to the door and back again, then about his apartment. His gaze slipped toward the fire escape, then back to the woman... he dismissed the idea and whispered, "There's nowhere for you to hide."
She gave him a last, frantic look before she caught hold of herself and, taking a few deep breaths, she pushed him towards the door, saying, "Open it."
Fraser hesitated for only a second. As the door swung open, he was shocked by the state of his friend: he had lost weight and was leaning heavily upon a crutch, the paleness of his features standing out even in the meagre light of the hallway. "Ray," he gasped as the man pushed roughly past him into the room.
"I knew you would come here," Ray said, ignoring Benton and talking directly to his mother. "I asked you... no... begged you to just leave it alone."
"Ray, I think your mother was only worried about you." Fraser began moving to stand in front of him, but Ray interrupted him, shoving him away.
"I don't need you to tell me what my mother was doing, all right...? Just stay out of it."
Fraser wanted to take his friend and shake some sense into him, but Ray looked so unsteady on his feet that Benton knew that he only had to push him slightly to have him tumbling to the floor.
"Raymondo," his mother said in a hurt tone. "Benton is only trying to help."
"Yeah, well… I can do without his kind of help." Ray spat the words out, glaring at the man in question.
"Can you?" snapped his mother, suddenly losing her temper at her son. "You've not been eating or sleeping, and you've been acting like a bear with a sore head."
"That's because I was shot..." Ray spat back. "And," he added for good measure, "that was because of him, too."
"And can you blame him for the nightmares as well?" she asked, her tone becoming gentle, knowing that her words would hurt.
Ray froze, as if he had been shown the facts of his own death. All colour leeched from his features and Fraser moved forward, ready to lend his support. Vecchio took a deep, steadying breath before he accused, "That's not fair, Mom." Ray's voice held such a depth of sorrow that it affected both of the other people in the room.
"You need to tell her, Ray… she will understand," Fraser said, coming to stand very close to his friend.
"I can't," Ray half-sobbed and would have turned away, but Benton caught and held him. Vecchio, feeling the comfort of his friend and gleaning strength from it, clung as if his very life depended upon it.
"You've got to," Fraser repeated firmly.
Mrs Vecchio was looking from her son to Fraser and back again. She was wise enough to know that whatever Fraser was talking about was important, yet she could also see her son slipping back behind his impenetrable shields. Hesitantly she asked, "Has it something to do with your father, Raymondo?"
The words were like a bolt of electric along Ray's spine as he pushed away from Benton's support, accusing him, "You told her?"
"I didn't, Ray," Fraser said, his honesty shining like a beacon from his eyes, informing his friend that he had not. "But you both need to talk to each other," he finished, turning to Mrs Vecchio - who, realising that what he said was the truth - nodded her head. "Would you like me to leave?" he asked.
"No," Ray shot back, still not sure that he had the courage to tell his mother.
"Please stay?" Mrs Vecchio asked.
Nothing was said for a few tense seconds, and it slowly became apparent that neither of the Vecchios knew where to start. Fraser, realising this, said, "Maybe it would help if I were to tell your mother about the events leading up to your getting shot?" He felt that it would be easier to begin at a safe distance from the small cell where Ray had made his confession.
"No," Mrs Vecchio said firmly. Moving to stand directly in front of her son, she began in a clear tone, "Constable Fraser did not tell me about your father…" she paused. "I knew that he… that he took out his frustrations on you."
"Nah, Ma... he was a good father," Ray began to defend his father in front of his mother, as he had been doing all his life.
"Ray," Fraser admonished, his tone hurt that Ray would still lie to his mother.
Ray looked at Fraser then, sighing, he continued, "I can't tell her Fraser... I just can't.... You'll have to pull my fingernails out first."
"Ray," his mother said, moving to take her son's hand in her own. "I know that he used to hit you…. Not at first… at first I believed him when he said that you'd fallen, or hurt yourself playing ball, but that time when you fell down the stairs and broke your leg…God help me… then, I knew, and I didn't do anything."
"You did, Ma… you did," Ray began, his words suddenly tumbling out over themselves. "You stayed in… you didn't leave me with him any more."
She reached up and gently touched the side of his face, wiping away a tear that he did not realise had fallen. "I should have done more… should have seen sooner…. I left you with him so much…. But," she paused as she swallowed her own tears, "but I kept hoping that the time you spent together would help you grow closer.... I am so sorry, Raymondo… can you ever forgive me?"
"It was my fault, Ma…" Ray confessed, not looking at his mother. "I used to rile him; I just couldn't stop pushing until he lost his temper and…." He paused, not wanting to actually say what his father had done to him.
"It wasn't your fault…" his mother snapped with sudden anger. "I should never have left you with him." She stopped, her breath coming in sharp gasps. "I hate him."
"I thought that I hated him..." Ray said, his attention lost in some distant memory. "I really believed that I was getting back at him by joining the police.... That's the only reason I joined… to get back at him." He stopped and looked over at Fraser. "But it was the best damned decision that I've ever made. It took me quite a few years to realise that." He turned his attention back to his mother as he continued, "You don't hate him, Ma... you can't…. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't handle me… and I'm just starting to realise that it wasn't mine either. He was just Pop, no more and no less; he tried his best to bring us up the only way he knew how, and I knew that I was a disappointment to him - but I'm not a disappointment to myself." He stood up straighter, saying, "I'm proud of who and what I am, and that's all that matters."
Mrs Vecchio moved forward and hugged her son; it was a deep embrace and Ray returned it in like manner. "I'm very proud of you, too," she stated after giving him a kiss upon the cheek. "And I also know that your father would have been proud of you."
Ray just hugged his mother and said nothing. What could he say? For years he had held the bitter secret inside, and now his mother had accepted his words and believed him; he was surprised at how good it felt, not having to lie to her any longer. He had been totally unaware of just how much the secret had cost him.
As he held her, he let his eyes slip up to meet those of his friend, Benton Fraser, and - reaching out a hand - he smiled when Fraser grasped it tightly and held it as if he would never let him go.
'Yes', he realised. 'I must be a better man than my father to be able to hold on to the friendship of such a special man.'
THE END
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