Standard disclaimer. I didn't intend this to be a Samhain contribution, I just finished at the appropriate time of the year (serendipity). So, I guess it falls under the "Hallowe'en Umbrella".
RATED PG: VIOLENCE & LANGUAGE
by Sealie Scott
"Benny?"
Benton Fraser, constable of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, continued looking ahead his eyes fixed on an indeterminate point before him. He had heard the distinctive purr of the 1971 green Riv over the cacophony of sounds of daily life in Chicago, long before his friend and off times partner, Ray Vecchio, had spoken.
"Benny!"
A small frission of amusement tickled him as the detective paced in front of him. He didn't quite know why Ray continued to visit during his duty period, when Ray knew that he wouldn't talk, apart from the fact that Ray gained some pleasure from baiting him.
"I need your help!"
That got Fraser's attention, he dropped his pose and stared at the detective - he looked awful. Ray's eyes were protruding more than normal and he was dirty and unshaven. There was a manic gleam in Ray's expressive eyes.
"You're off in five minutes." Ray gripped Fraser's elbow and propelled him to the car. The consulate's exterior glared disapprovingly down at the mountie. Fraser glanced up at Inspector Thatcher's window as he was bundled into the passenger seat.
"What's the matter, Ray?"
"A case." Ray said succinctly as he gunned the engine and screamed into the traffic ignoring the horns from irate motorists. For once Fraser did not wince, he'd seen many facets of his friend's personality but this intensity was somewhat unnerving.
"Murder?" Fraser prodded.
"We've managed to keep it out of the papers so far. I want you to look at the latest crime scene. See if that nose of yours comes up with something..."
The car pulled into a narrow non-descript alley. Fraser peered through the Riv's windows. Police, forensic experts and unneeded paramedics were milling around aimlessly - avoiding looking into the dark shadows. The recesses of the alley were segregated by garish yellow police tape.
"Welsh gave me this case before he realized what it was." Ray said waspishly.
Fraser stared levelly at his friend telling him that he should not belittle himself. Ray looked away and pointed at the coroners and forensic experts.
"You'll have to hurry they're champing at the bit."
Fraser raised an eyebrow at the phraseology but obeyed without question.
*
Fraser gulped as he looked down at the corpse, he threw a concerned glance at Ray. The detective's expression was stoic but a grey sheen of sweat belied his facade. Fraser could feel the blood draining from his face and pooling below his stomach. Slowly he turned from the grizzly sight and made himself breathe calmly and deeply. A thought impinged.
"Curious."
"What? What?" Ray said eagerly, animated for the first time since he'd dragged Fraser from his post.
Holding up a finger for silence, Fraser approached the small body. He stared at it intently, nausea forgotten.
*
Ray contained himself, determined not to interrupt his friend. Fraser was engrossed in the problem before him - completely oblivious to the paramedics and police officers discussing the bright red mountie's presence.
"Ray, don't understand this," Fraser said absently, "judging from the blood patterns the murder took place here."
"Your point." Ray said tightly.
"It is physically impossible for the murder to have taken place here." Fraser said forthrightly. "Consider the angle of the blow to the torso; given that the assailant..." The conversations around them stopped.
"Have you seen enough?" Ray snapped, he glared at the mountie stopping him before he could go into gruesome detail.
"Yes, Ray." Fraser responded obediently.
"Right," Ray latched onto the mountie's lanyard and began to pull him away.
"Stop, Ray." Fraser disengaged the detective's hands. "Can everyone please step back I need to...er.. look at the sidewalk." "You heard the man." Something in Ray's expression compelled the gaggle to move back. Satisfied by the instant obedience, Ray turned his attention to his partner. Fraser was on his hands and knees scrutinizing the pavement.
"What are you doing?" Ray hissed, it was one thing to do it in private; another thing to do it in public.
"Looking." Fraser said innocently.
"Don't taste anything!"
Fraser jumped to his feet in one smooth movement and brushed off his trousers. "We need to talk." "Coffee shop?"
"Coffee shop."
*
By common consent they sat in silence as the waitress served them coffee, coffee that neither of them really wanted. Fraser nursed his cafe o'lait with nutmeg (Ray had ordered) warming his hands against a chill that would not quit. Ray dumped three, four then five teaspoons of sugar into his black Turkish coffee.
"It started two weeks ago," he began, "beaten, dismembered bodies in alleys - apparently pulled apart on site. Yet no one has seen anything. People don't usually want to get involved, but this is too weird, you can't have seven bodies chopped to bits and nobody sees nothin'." Ray gulped down the coffee grimacing at the sweetness. "And where are the heads."
"Eaten."
Ray spurted coffee across the table. "What!"
"Sorry, it was merely an observation." Fraser mopped up the coffee with a wad of napkins. "Of course, there is no animal capable of biting the head off a man. And if you think about it, maul somebody to death in the close confines of an alley without leaving any evidence. Somebody rather liberally splashed blood at the scene to make it look as if the attack took place there."
Ray glared at Fraser, dumbfounded, his jaw hanging open.
"I've seen bodies after they been mauled to death and eaten. You know what has eaten them." Fraser glanced up at Ray's shocked expression and then pushed his nutmeg coffee into Ray's hands. "There are spoors, teethmarks, fur... For instance, once I interrupted a bear."
"You think some rabid bear picked up these people in the middle of Chicago and took them into an alley and ate them?" Ray's voice rose in pitch.
"No, that's patently impossible - somebody would have reported that. Anyway a bear cannot bite a person's head off." Fraser added.
"So what happened?"
"I don't know."
Ray slumped backward, almost hiding behind the Formica table. "I thought you'd know."
"I just don't know yet."
"Ah." A flicker of a smile crossed Ray's worn face.
"When did you last sleep, Ray?"
"Before." Ray responded noncommittally.
"You need to sleep, Ray, especially if you are to operate at peak efficiency."
"Yes, Ma." Ray cracked.
He looks dreadful, Fraser thought a tad worriedly. "I need to read your reports." Fraser consulted his watch. "I also need something to eat."
Ray grinned not fooled for one moment. "They don't need me at the scene. We'll go back to the office and then see what Ma's got cooking." *
The Vecchio household was for once quiet. No childish voices or screaming sisters disturbed the peace of the brownstone home. They tiptoed into the kitchen drawn by the delightful aroma of Mrs Vecchio's cooking.
"I'm starving." Ray said dramatically as he peaked into a pot simmering on the stove.
"Touch that and you'll feel the back of my hand," came an imperious voice.
Guiltily, Ray dropped the spoon which had somehow crept into his hand.
"Ma," Ray whined, "I'm starving."
"And so you should. You haven't been home for days. Go and clean up and I'll bring you some in the sitting room. Shower." She ordered finally.
Suitably chastised, Ray slunk from the room.
One errant son dealt with she turned her attention to the family's mountie.
"Benton."
"Ma'am." Fraser responded politely.
"I see you've brought some work home."
Fraser shifted the offending reports in his arms.
"When did he last sleep?" Mrs. Vecchio asked.
"I don't know. I haven't seen him for several days."
Mrs. Vecchio sighed and then decanted half a bottle of red wine into the pasta sauce.
Fraser raised his eyebrows.
"He'll sleep after my pasta sauce." Mrs. Vecchio explained.
"Indeed."
"Well, what are you waiting for? Put those things," Mrs. Vecchio gestured with her spoon at the papers, "in the sitting room and make yourself comfortable."
Fraser smiled and retreated from Mrs. Vecchio's domain. *
The sitting room was a warm dark haven of peace. Fraser approached the setting of the table with the strategy of the invasion at the beaches of Normandy. A large glass of red wine was placed so Ray would take the couch. He pushed the table as close to the couch as possible so Ray would not have to lean forwards. The wine bottle was placed near at hand. Fraser surveyed his handiwork then turned up the heating. As he finished Ray entered. Showered and changed into casual clothing, Ray looked miles better, although he dropped onto the couch with a sigh of exhaustion.
"Better?" Fraser asked.
"Oh, yes," Ray reached for the glass of red wine. "We'll eat whatever Ma's made then go over the reports."
"That sounds like a good plan." Fraser said neutrally.
Laden down with food: pasta, sauce, garlic bread, cheese and more wine, Mrs. Vecchio pushed open the door. Fraser leaped up to help, lifting the plates from the heavy tray.
"This smells great, Ma." Ray snatched his plate from Fraser and dove into the pasta, gulping it down without tasting it.
"Enjoy, boys."
"Thank you, Mrs. Vecchio." Fraser called out politely as she left the room. He tentatively tasted the pasta sauce, rolling it around his mouth.
"What's the matter?" Ray jumped to the defense of his Ma's cooking.
"I'm tasting it." Fraser said honestly.
"And?" Ray scowled.
"It tastes wonderful."
Satisfied, Ray returned to his pasta. Curiously, Fraser took another mouthful, evidently Mrs Vecchio had made him another batch of sauce without the red wine.
"The case," Ray began around a mouthful of bread, "nothing links the victims: colour; creed; sexual orientation..."
"There must be something." Fraser responded.
"You read the reports." Ray snapped suddenly annoyed.
Fraser refrained from commenting, waiting patiently for Ray to calm down. Silence reigned as Ray chased pasta around his plate. The air around Fraser was charged with Ray's anger; trapped in a horrific case in which he could see no way out. Ray gulped down another mouthful of wine.
"Sorry," he apologized slowly.
"No apology is necessary."
Ray sagged into the couch. "It's just frustrating."
"Inspiration may come if you allow yourself to relax." Fraser interjected smoothly before Ray could continue. "It is possible that you cannot see the wood for the trees." Ray sighed deeply and folded his arms across his chest. Fraser viewed his friend, Ray's entire demeanor was one of stress upon stress. What Ray Vecchio, Chicago detective, needed above all else was an uninterrupted nights sleep. Alcohol and drugs were not the answer, Fraser realized, a solution was needed. His friend was as taut as an over tuned violin string and just as liable to snap. How do you make somebody sleep? Fraser asked himself, he doubted that Ray would accept a massage. It struck him that nobody could make Ray do anything he didn't want too.
"Penny for them?" Ray asked.
Fraser decided, unsurprisingly, that honesty was the best policy. "You need a decent nights sleep."
Ray looked surprised. "Not going to happen after tonight," he pointed out.
It was Fraser's turn to sigh audibly, he stared into this friend's overly tired eyes. "It's hard to switch off. I remember when ..." He stopped his story mid-flow and changed tack. "You're not letting down the victims if you have a rest. Your determination will not fritter away if you stop a moment to take stock. Actually, you'll probably last longer."
Ray mulled over Fraser's thoughts. "You can't just rest like that!" Ray snapped his fingers.
"True."
Idly, Ray played with a piece of bread. "So how do you relax?"
Fraser gave the question the consideration it was due. How do you verbalize emotional detachment without appearing to be emotionless, Fraser asked himself. Ray is emotion - he experiences everything first hand, subjectively, he's the most mercurial person I've ever met.
"If I've done my best I can sleep." Fraser said finally.
"Are you implying..." Ray leaped to his feet. "No, you're not. You're right... I have to..." Stalking between the couch and the table, Ray continued to mutter. Fraser watched the bag of nervous energy. I could hit him over the head, Fraser mused.
Ray suddenly laughed out loud and flung himself full length onto the couch. The old sofa sagged alarmingly as Ray burrowed into the cushions.
"If I've done my best I can sleep." Ray parroted laughingly, "if I'da done my best I would have solved the case."
"That's hardly fair." Fraser said equably.
The dishes on the table were empty, some remnants of food remained. Fraser's fingers twitched, then without conscious volition he began to tidy the plates away. Fraser watched Ray as Ray watched him through partially closed eyes, too comfortable to gibe him about his constant need to tidy. Fraser froze in mid-scrape of a dirty plate as Ray's eyelids slowly closed. He was not quite asleep, so Fraser waited patiently until the detective's breathing became deep and regular. Then he finished cleaning the plates. With a mother's unerring sense of timing, Mrs. Vecchio poked her head around the door. She nodded as Fraser placed a finger to his lips, they smiled at each other. Mrs. Vecchio carried an old tartan blanket in her arms. As Fraser finished tidying away the dishes, Mrs. Vecchio carefully covered her son and tucked the blanket around him. Then mountie and mother crept from the room. Fraser followed Mrs. Vecchio into the kitchen. The kitchen table was cleared, only a solitary glass of cold fresh milk sat on the previously cluttered surface.
"Thank you kindly, Mrs. Vecchio." Fraser placed the reports carefully on the table but made his way to the sink rolling up his sleeves.
"Oh, no, you don't." Mrs. Vecchio intercepted her son's best friend.
"I must help."
Mrs. Vecchio steered him back to the table.
I seem to spend a lot of time being railroaded by the Vecchio family, Fraser thought with amusement.
"You will not go to bed until you've read my son's reports. And with his hand writing that will take you forever. The sooner you start; the sooner you'll finish."
"I think he typed them."
"Even worse. His spelling is atrocious and he doesn't bother to correct his mistakes when he's typing." Mrs. Vecchio bustled happily over to the sink and began to wash the dishes. Fraser basked in the domesticity, it reminded him of his grandmother's kitchen, although to be brutally honest the food was much nicer. It was the feeling of welcome and warmth that wrapped around him, it made Ray's case so much more easier to face.
*
The crime lacked continuity, Fraser realized, the murders had appeared full blown on the streets of Chicago. Tonight's decapitation was the third in a week. Initially the police department had treated the murders as isolated incidences. Whereas now it pointed to a serial killer. No doubt Lieutenant Welsh was up to his neck at the precinct in criminal psychologists and federal officials. Fingering the reports, Fraser considered returning to the police department. I'm missing something. What is it? "Yet the information is here or the lack of information. Where are the gloating notes? These crimes are premeditated but there is no signature."
"Sorry, Benton?" Mrs. Vecchio interrupted his frame of thought.
Startled Fraser jumped, he'd been talking to himself. Ray's sweet mother peered down at him. My mother had dark hair, Fraser thought irrelevantly. He knew that he had no intention of discussing this case, or any case, with any member of Ray's family, especially his mother.
"Thinking out loud." Fraser explained. "There is insufficient information to determine..." Fraser's voice dwindled away. Ray was not stupid, he lacked focus, but he was definitely not stupid. Invariably, murderers worked their way up to the act of murder, starting off with petty crime, through to grievous bodily harm and ultimately murder. Serial killers, usually psychotically disturbed individuals, again worked their way up to their heinous acts. Ray would have checked to see if there were any precursors to these murders: failed attempts and/or practicing on animals. These avenues of search had not yielded any evidence therefore the murderer was practiced in his or her craft. Again Ray would have searched the database for similar, if not identical murders. Yet Ray had found nothing. Therefore the murderer, or murderers, must have been operating for a very long time. What walks in the city, mauls and rend and steals away without a trace? Fraser shuddered, nothing on earth. He knew then that he didn't have a hope, appropriately enough, in hell of getting to sleep.
"Benton?"
Mrs. Vecchio's homely features displayed concern.
"I'm sorry. I was lost in thought."
"Would you like to stay here tonight? You can sleep in Ray's bed."
"Thank you, no. Dief's at home alone." Fraser shuffled the reports into order as he prepared to leave. "If you'd be kind enough to tell Ray that I have a few ideas and I'll be at the Central Library tomorrow morning."
*
Ray was dreaming, rehashing his last few days. The house before him was reminiscent of his own, a true home (now his father was dead), filled with children and a large kitchen at the hub of family life. How do I know that there is a kitchen? Ray thought distantly. He paused at the doorbell, they said that they taught you how to handle this at the academy - they'd lied. He could stand out on the porch for months but he wouldn't be anymore prepared for the task before him. Tiredly, he pushed the doorbell. The mother was brave. Ray plied her with tea with plenty of sugar, they'd taught him that at the academy too.
"When the police woman came yesterday I knew," Mrs. Drexi said into her cup of tea.
"Why did it happen? She was such a nice girl. Everyone said that. So nice."
Ray did not know what to say so he retreated into professionalism. "We have no suspects," he said candidly, "did she speak of any new friends?"
"She worked in a library, for God's sake, she met people everyday. When we went shopping we couldn't," Mrs. Drexi paused brokenly, "go anywhere without meeting at least one person that she knew." She upturned her cup, so tea, that poured like blood, fell to the carpet. It lay smoothly on the pile before draining away, seeping through the floorboards. Mrs. Drexi held out her cup to the detective as her features elongated and broadened, her hair shortened and darkened. Mrs. Drexi's sad, bereaved eyes looked out of Fraser's face.
"Could I have another cup of tea, Ray?" Fraser asked.
"Yes, Mrs. Drexi."
Taking the cup from Fraser, Ray stepped sideways into the kitchen. The cup filled itself without any help, Ray stared at it unconcerned, a traveler in a dream. Blas, he turned back to the sitting room and dodged a thrown basketball. Ray grabbed for the ball as it bounced behind the sofa.
"Careful!" Ray snapped at the kid who had thrown the ball. The rest of the basketball team, standing behind the annoyed boy, scowled at the detective. "You nearly made me drop Fraser's tea."
"Who cares a flying fuck about the mountie's tea. What are you going to do about the shits who killed coach King? He was the only person who gave a fuck."
On the sofa, Mrs. Drexi shrugged, she knew nothing about this. She got up and proceeded to push the plaid sofa off the basketball court.
"I'm going to find them and put them away." Ray replied.
"You promise?" Asked the kid belligerently.
"I promise." Ray swore and threw the ball through the hoop with unerring accuracy.
"He always said that he'd give them any money because if they were that desperate they needed it more than he did." A voice at Ray's elbow spoke. Mr. Trenton's widow stood beside the detective. "I disagreed but told him to let them have the money anyway."
"It wasn't a mugging." Ray said before he could stop himself. "It was murder for the sake of murder planned and organized by many." They did not sound like his words. Ray looked for the source. Fraser's tea was getting cold he had to find him. Distraught, Mrs. Trenton hugged herself and sobbed quietly. The ball game continued around her. Ray hovered indecisively, he had to find Fraser and there was nothing he could do for Mrs. Trenton. He stepped off the court and into the large gothic church which suddenly dominated his dream. The church was ornate and unfamiliar, he had never been in such a decadently gilded church in all his years of been dragged to churches by countless relatives. At the gilt altar a simply dressed figure knelt praying. Cup of tea in one hand, badge of identification in the other, Ray crossed to the priest. The prayer was the simplest of all. Ray wait patiently for the strangely familiar priest to finish.
"I wonder if you knew Father Chester?"
The priest's light grey-blue eyes darkened, a sharp contrast against his pale skin and dark hair.
"No, my son," he spoke softly, his Canadian tones mellow. "I've been chosen to replace him. Although he was such a wonderful man, I don't know if I could ever step into his shoes."
*
"Fraser!" Ray's voice screamed.
The entire household awoke. Ma Vecchio found herself running downstairs in response, as she had for countless years, to one of her children's cries. She struggled into her housecoat, which she found that she had brought with her, as she reached the sitting room. Still half asleep, Ray was entangled in the blankets, swearing and shrieking as he tried to free himself.
"Raymondo!" Ma Vecchio snapped, cutting through the dreaming haze.
"Ma?" Ray kicked off the blanket - suddenly free he found himself awake.
"It was a nightmare, bambino." She said placatingly as she enfolded her son in her arms.
"No, no, no." Ray submitted momentarily to her embrace. "Fraser's in trouble - he fits the profile of the victims."
"And so do a lot of people; including you."
"I wish." Ray snorted and wriggled away from his mother.
"What's happening?" A sleepy voice interrupted them. Frannie clutched her dressing gown against her and peered sleepily at her brother through a veil of messed black hair.
"Ray had a nightmare."
"Ma, where's Fraser?" Ray interrupted, ignoring his sister.
"He left to go home, about twenty minutes ago." Ma Vecchio provided unasked.
"Twenty minutes. He won't be in his apartment yet. Where are my shoes?" Ray said to himself as he scrabbled under the couch for any old pair.
"Here." Frannie said and lobbed them at her brother's head. "I'm going back to bed, Ma."
"Good riddance!" Ray yelled back, sibling rivalry on automatic despite his concerns.
Ma Vecchio caught her son's arm, stopping him in his mid-panic flight. "Do you really think Benton's in danger?"
"Yeah, I really do." *
In his heart of hearts, Ray knew that Benny was in danger, he could taste it. A full chorus of dread ran across his grave; he shuddered along the length of his spine. Fraser always took the most efficient, direct route home. Ray sped his car along de Merci drive. There was little traffic and that there was kept out of the way of the detective's erratic driving. Ray scanned the sidewalks, driving on autopilot. It was late; tramps, the homeless and streetwalkers stood or sat in alleys and at corners watching the world go by. Ray hit the brakes as Sarah, a prostitute, too young to be on the street, jumped in front of the Riv. She slammed her palms down on the bonnet and screamed at Ray. Teetering on her higheels, she skirted around the car to the side window.
"The mountie! The mountie!" She shrieked, pointing behind her. "He's in the alley."
Ray didn't argue, he yelled a garbled call for assistance down his radio.
"If it's not sodding swordfights, it's fucking occultists!" She screamed at him.
Ray didn't wait for a reply from headquarters. Sarah backed away from Ray, fearfully, as he climbed out of the Riv. He caught her by the arm and shook her slightly.
"How many are there?"
"Lots!" She squeaked.
Ray drew his gun from its shoulder holster. Sarah's eyes bugged, at the end of her courage she twisted away from the detective and scampered away. Coldly calm, Ray moved smoothly to the entrance of the alley. He poked his head around the corner and froze. Fraser stood alone, shadowed in the subdued light of a fire exit sign, he bore his guard duty expression.
"Fraser?" Ray stepped out into the open.
Fraser remained transfixed. Ray moved forwards step by step, as he came closer he could hear Fraser muttering under his breath.
"Lord, protect me," was all the Ray could make out. Then he realized that Benny was repeating the words over and over. Gun held ready, Ray crept onwards, as far as he could see the alley was empty.
"Fraser, what's happening?" Ray finally reached his friend's side and lightly touched his shoulder.
Fraser came back to him. Realization flared in Fraser's eyes followed, unbelievably, by fear.
"What are you doing here? Get away!" Fraser looked frantically around the alley. Desperately, he grabbed Ray's hand and began chanting. "Lord, protect us. Repeat after me, Ray." Fraser said earnestly.
"What?" Ray yanked his hands away.
"Too late, constable."
"No!" With the blinding speed only Fraser was capable of, Ray suddenly found himself behind his friend with his back pressed against the alley wall.
"He doesn't believe, constable." The figure stepped into the poor light. He was a bland everyday sort of person, dressed smartly and none too expensively, probably on his way home from the office. To pass him in the street one wouldn't look twice. Out of the shadows, as if by magic, a host of other similarly mundane people stepped out.
"Oh dear." Fraser began, but they descended upon them.
They were overwhelmed, the sheer force of bodies pushed Ray down. He couldn't fire his gun for fear of hitting Fraser who was somewhere in the throng of people. The concrete came up far too fast and Ray distantly felt his forehead bounce off the floor. Stars raced across his vision, momentarily blurring his senses. He realized that someone was pummeling him but he was too divorced from his body to care. His gun and badge were found and discarded.
"He's bleeding." Came a far away voice.
"He's still useful."
Supported on both sides he was pulled to his feet. Ray's head lolled forwards, he tried to raise his head to look at his attackers, but it just made him feel sick. The leader grabbed Ray's chin and forced his head upright, the creep peered closely into Ray's eyes.
"He's not going anywhere."
Ray's eyes swerved to one side. Where's Fraser? Oh, no! Fraser was pinned to the ground, he was struggling valiantly but there were too many assailants. Most of his body was obscured from Ray's view by the attackers.
Don't chop his head off, Ray thought desperately.
"Oh, this is good," came a merry voice, "they're true friends."
One of the thugs on Fraser laughed. "All the better."
Fraser gave a final kick and then Ray saw him go still.
"Bastards!" Ray gritted out.
"Bring them both along." Said the leader.
What? Ray's heart missed a beat, he's not dead.
The thugs released Fraser but he remained motionless. At a gesture from their leader Ray was frog-marched down the alley toward a pickup van. Despite the ringing in his ears, Ray could hear the engine running.
Please, Sarah, get the registration.
Ray tried futilely to brace his fall as his captor threw him into the back of the van. Flopping like a stranded fish, he managed to turn himself onto his side to see Fraser's dead weight being manhandled into the van. One of the thugs simply let go of Fraser's body; he dropped heavily onto Ray.
"Idiot!" The other assailant backhanded the clumsy one.
By sheer force of effort, Ray managed to bring his hand up to the base of Fraser's throat, the pulse beat sluggishly and erratically beneath his fingertips.
"You'd better tie this one up." A voice echoed through the van, "I don't think he's as concussed as you think."
Fraser was lifted away and Ray felt his arms being roughly pulled behind him and tied.
"Don't try anythin' 'cos you will regret it." A face leered before him. Ray couldn't even summon the will to spit. Blood was trickling along his eyebrow and coating his eyelashes - obscuring his vision. He felt ruddy awful, but he was prepared to feign worse symptoms if it would fool their captors. As the van drew away Ray thought he could hear the approach of police sirens. He tried as Fraser would - to figure out their route from the noises and movement but his head ached so much. The darkness was disorientating him or the blow to his head.
"Fraser!" Ray hissed to no avail.
Increasingly confused, Ray tried to count, to gain some estimate of the time spent in the van. Between the sickness, disorientation and darkness he felt himself slipping away.
*
Voices were speaking above him. Hands scrabbled behind his back painfully ripping the ropes away.
"Yeah, put 'em together. It's more fun that way. He can look afta him if he wakes up." Hollow laughter reverberated through Ray's sore head. His cheek was resting against a hard unyielding gritty floor.
Open your eyes, Ray, he thought to himself. Surprisingly, he obeyed and the world came blearily into focus. The first thing he saw was Fraser's face mere inches from his own.
"Benny?" He whispered. Galvanized, Ray struggled to his hands and knees, his head ached but it was bearable.
"Benny?" Ray said sharply, but Fraser showed no signs of regaining consciousness. Fearing the worst, Ray forced himself to examine his friend. Talking reassuringly, in case he could hear, Ray ran his hands over Fraser's scalp feeling for any bleeding, swelling or worse a soft indentation. There was none. Ray rocked back on his heels, why isn't Benny waking up? Inspiration struck, Ray leaned forwards and peeled back an eyelid, the pupil was blown to it's fullest extent, the iris a mere outline to the black pupil.
"Bastards." Ray swore. He rolled up Fraser's sleeves, a bruise, in one elbow, the size of a tennis ball with a bloody pinprick in the center gave ample evidence to Fraser's condition.
"Benny?" Ray slapped Fraser gently, he did not respond.
He's not going to wake up until whatever they've put into his system works its way out. Gently, Ray rolled Fraser into the recovery position. Then he took stock of their surroundings. They were in a small square room, with a concrete floor and walls. A single bare bulb cast brutal light at them. There were no windows and the single door looked like reinforced steel. A blanket and pillow were folded neatly in one corner of the room. Ray crawled across to it, then dragged the extraordinarily heavy blanket next to Fraser. He settled the unconscious mountie as comfortably as possible on the cold floor. Behind them the door swung open.
"Pathetic." The leader of the debacle stared down at his victims.
Ray didn't waste any energy replying.
"It looks as if you need the blanket more than he does. Why don't you use it?" The man sounded honestly curious. A thin reedy woman slipped into the room beside him.
"If you can't figure it out, I'm not going to tell you." Ray sniped, finally goaded into a retort.
"I told you." The woman's voice seemed impossibly happy. "They're true friends, they would really die for one another. In fact this one already has." She stooped over Ray and caressed the side of his face.
The detective endured the stroking stoically but he was unable to look away from her luminous eyes.
"Madness." The leader watched from the doorway.
"Of course," she replied, "but it happens and it can be exploited." She smiled hungrily, and Ray watched her pupils dilate with orgasmic pleasure.
"Come away, let them stew." The man ordered.
"I'm really going to enjoy this one." Echoed the woman's voice down the darkened corridor outside the cell.
*
Ray watched the door close, unable to summon another retort, which he knew was decidedly out of character. Gingerly he touched his forehead, the blood had dried. Thankfully he had stopped bleeding. For one long moment he had thought that the woman was going to kiss or lick his forehead - he shuddered. Rummaging in his copious pockets he pulled out his pill box of aspirins, a police necessity after coffee and donuts. Crushing them down to a disgusting mush he managed to down them without water. Suitably fortified, Ray tried to get to his feet, his legs buckled under him unceremoniously dumping the detective on the floor. Ray bit his lip in sheer frustration. Blackness frittered at the edges of his vision.
"No, God. I don't have time for this!" But God wasn't listening. His muscles ached and he felt too cold, dangerously cold. In an ordered, sensible, emotionless world he knew he should take the blanket Fraser probably didn't need.
"Bastards!" Ray hurled at the door. "You could have given us two."
Ray glanced across at Fraser, he could have been a mannequin - his skin was waxy pale and he was hardly breathing in his drug induced coma. Painfully, Ray crawled to Fraser's side.
"What are we going to do, Benny?" Ray asked. "How come we always end up in cold locked rooms from where there's no escape?"
But we always escape, Benny responded silently.
Cold, disorientated and increasingly shocky, Ray merely considered his friend's words. "Yeah, like that time in the freezer. But there's no dead animal carcasses. Thank God, actually, I don't want to know what kind of bodies these psychos have hanging around."
There's the other solution, Benny's voice drifted away.
"Eeuy." Ray spat out. He considered the proposal, I'm cold - is Benny cold? Is it cold? His thoughts ran around in circles. Benny would do it.
Decision made, Ray slowly pulled the blanket away from his friend and laid it on the floor beside the mountie. Moving stiffly, Ray settled himself on the blanket, insulating himself from the heat stealing floor. Resting against the wall the rough hewn concrete dug painfully into his bony shoulder blades. Cradling Fraser's head in one hand, Ray stole the thin lumpy pillow from under the mountie and bolstered it against his own back. Then deliberately and consciously he pulled Fraser into his arms. It was difficult, Fraser sagged against him with the boneless quality only the truly unconscious could possess. Eventually the detective managed to get Fraser's head cushioned on his shoulder in a surprisingly comfortable position. With the last of his reserves of energy, he pulled the corner of the blanket over them. Finally exhausted, Ray fell asleep.
*
Fraser came back to himself slowly, experiencing that delicious lassitude when the mind is partially awake yet the body is still relaxed and asleep. Quiet breathing sounded loud in his right ear but distant in his left ear. A tad confused, Fraser analyzed the noise, slowly he realized that his head was resting upon someone's chest. A trailing edge of a childhood wheeze identified the chest as Ray's.
Why am I sleeping on Ray? Fraser thought, a foggy memory offered no solution. Thoroughly disconcerted, Fraser tried to move - his body refused to obey.
"Oooh, look at them!" Crowed an unidentified voice. "Aren't you sweet."
Fraser attempted to open just his eyes, to no avail. The breathing beneath him altered and the arms which clasped him loosely tightened.
"Piss off, bitch face." Ray said.
"Is that any way to talk to your host?" Crooned the voice, apparently unconcerned by Ray's insults.
"Host? Have you cleared this with the Man?" Ray said acidly. "I'm sure he doesn't let subordinates usurp his authority."
Usurp his authority, Fraser thought incredulously, I've got to stop lending him books.
The woman's tone altered, obviously Ray had scored a hit. "I'm not a lackey."
"Yeah, yeah." Ray said lightly, sounding unconcerned.
Fraser felt his feigned yawn, then hot breath with the scent of coffee and cinnamon fanned across Fraser's face. The woman was leaning closely.
"Later." She hissed. The single word was weighted with a multitude of connotations, most of which Fraser knew he could never understand. In response Ray's grip tightened further but his voice was steady when he spoke.
"'bye, see you 'later'."
Fraser did not hear the door close, although he felt the atmosphere lighten. "Christ, Benny. That's one scary woman." A hand touched his cheek. "Still not with us?" There was a moments pause as Ray shifted his position. "Your colour's a little better. I wish you'd wake up; this place would be a lot easier to handle." Ray sighed deeply.
I am awake, I just don't seem to be able to move.
"P'raps if you hadn't lost your hat." Ray's voice came whimsically.
What's my hat got to do with this?
Silence reigned, Fraser extended his senses as far as humanly possible, trying vainly to figure out where they were.
Ray spoke again, "I don't know what they want with us, Benny, but if they're planning on keeping us they better give us something to drink."
Ray's hand moved to his neck, resting over the pulse point, the fingers felt warm over his chilled skin. Fraser could hear Ray counting under his breath.
"Your pulse is stronger; that's a good sign isn't it."
Usually, Fraser listened closely, his heartbeat was discernibly slower than normal but steady. Without warning his eyelid was pulled back, momentarily a blurred Ray hovered in view.
"Hey, your pupil reacted. Does that mean you'll wake up soon?"
There was blood on his face, Fraser thought concerned, what has happened? Come on, Benton, open your eyes.
"Well, my head doesn't ache as much. I think it's time to try getting up again." Actions followed words. With a divorced quality that Fraser was learning to dislike, he felt himself being sat upright as Ray wriggled out from under him. He knew that he was sagging like an old raggy doll and that was very offensive.
"Geez, you're heavy." Ray complained.
Sorry.
"Okay, let's get you comfortable." Hands adept at comforting a melange of younger nieces, nephew and cousins settled him on his side and cocooned him in the rough blanket. There was a great deal of swearing as Ray struggled to his feet.
"God, I'm stiff." There was a dry sounding retch, a longer pause then: "That's better." Uneven footsteps staggered around the room. "There has to be an air intake, or we would have suffocated." Ray was lightly tapping the wall - it sounded like hard rough concrete. "No air hole." Ray ground out with frustration.
Check the door, Ray - it must not be air tight.
"I guess the door isn't air tight." The rapping changed pitch.
Aluminium
"I thought this door was reinforced steel, it looks more like aluminium. I wonder if there's a way to ..." Ray's voice petered away as he evidently considered the problem before him.
*
Ray drummed his fists against the door, it didn't budge and it hurt, but it made him feel better. Ray grimaced at the door. The aluminium appeared solid but cold frigid air gushed around the sides and under the lintel. Ray fingered the gap around the lock, a good half centimeter gaped at him, he could actually see the locking mechanism. It was almost mocking him. All that was needed was a suitable tool to jimmie the bolt and free them.
"It's too easy, Benny." Ray said knowingly.
He crouched down and peered closely at the lock, savvy gained from years of investigations on the beat told him that this was a trap. Ray backed away from the door, he knew that one false step would be terminal. Suddenly exhausted, he sagged to the floor. It was sodding hopeless, nobody knew where they were and nobody cared. Ray, Ray, Ray, Benny's voice admonished, do you really think for one moment that your mother hasn't alerted everybody on the entire planet? Ray laughed weakly.
*
Fraser could hear Ray laughing. It had a hollow self mocking quality that he didn't like. Talk to him, Benton Fraser, help your friend, he told himself. The laughing started to sound a little hysterical. You can do that much for him. Fraser forced himself through the mental exercise his father had impressed upon him as a child, visualizing his will as a banked fire growing hotter and hotter until the embers ignited.
"Ray." It sounded rather pathetic, he realized.
"Benny?" A hand instantly gripped his shoulder "Did you speak?"
"Ray." The name had a little more control behind it.
"Yes!" Ray's voice smiled. Fraser felt himself being hauled upright and propped against a wall. The rush of blood from his head was quite stimulating - although he would have preferred not to experience the sensation.
"Benny, speak to me!"
Suddenly nauseous, Fraser found the impetus to speak. "Stop it, Ray." He sagged on the pillow slipping down the wall into a much more horizontal position. Competent hands guided his inelegant descent. Now it was time to open his eyes, Fraser regarded his friend through slitted lids.
"Sorry, Benny." Ray apologized sincerely, "you've been out for hours, I got excited."
"Head?" Fraser ground out.
"I think they drugged you." Ray said.
Ah, that explains this. However, I meant you.
"Oh, this, the floor jumped up an' hit me." Ray flicked off a dried flake of blood. "How do you feel?"
"Numb. Where?"
"No idea. Those psychos you were chanting at knocked me out and drugged you - I woke up here."
"Chanting?" Fraser had no recollection.
"You were repeating: 'Lord, protect me'."
"Ah." Fraser considered the information, apparently for some reason he had been using a religious mantra to ward off evil. "Keep away nasty things."
Ray's eyebrows almost reached his hair line. "That's really useful to know."
"Have to believe." Fraser said clearly. Ray rarely took anything he said at face value and he was having problems with this concept. Ray was patently appeasing him.
"Fraser, stay with me. We've been kidnapped by the psychos who have been killing all those people in the alleys. Okay, I assume it's them - but it's probably a fucking good assumption! They were only picking people who were genuinely helpful, nice, unselfish," Ray's voice took on a sing song quality, "idiots, who put everyone else before themselves - ring any bells?"
"Ah." Fraser said quietly.
"You're next on the agenda - shish kebab mountie."
So, Fraser thought, we are in a dire situation and I do not remember how or why we're here and I feel really strange. Oh, dear.
"Fraser!" Ray's voice reached strident heights. "They're going to kill you horribly. Me - they're just going to throw out with the garbage."
"I assume we've been investigating this for several days?" Fraser asked tentatively.
"No! I asked you to help yesterday. Can't you remember!" Ray shrieked, he threw his hands into the air and began to shout in Italian.
He's really upset; he doesn't do that very often. "No, Ray, I can't remember anything. However, I think I know what's happening."
Ray stopped mid-rant. "You do? You didn't know yesterday."
"I have more information now."
"How?" Ray's eyes fairly bugged out of his head.
"You said I was chanting. Was it working?"
The wind was completely knocked out of Ray's sails, the conversation had taken a turn which he could not follow.
"Yeah, maybe," he said slowly, "I didn't see anyone until I stopped you chanting."
"I was keeping away the forces of evil by performing a protective mantra; preventing them from taking me away to sacrifice me to their dark god."
"What? Have you gone fucking insane? Do you believe what you said? Chanting kept away the 'baddies'? You're in a sodding fairy tale."
"You said that chanting kept them away." Fraser pointed out.
"Maybe it was the garlic bread."
"Garlic's known for..."
"That's vampires." Ray said sharply. "You believe..."
It was Fraser's turn to interrupt. "You wear a crucifix. Your lieutenant wears a St. Christopher. Some people believe that hearing a simple prayer will prevent them taking certain actions."
"You believe that?" Ray asked incredulously.
"All I have to believe is that they believe."
"You are the most infuriating man I have ever met!"
"Possibly." Fraser admitted.
Ray rocked back on his heels, deep in thought. Fraser let him think, occasionally it was quite exhausting arguing with Ray, and the residual drugs in his system weren't helping. Possibly a curare derivative. His entire body felt like a novacained tongue.
"So all we have to do is pray at these guys?" Ray said eventually.
"Well, they have to believe that you believe."
Ray's expression turned introspective. "I don't know if I believe. Do you believe?" Fraser came as close to swearing as he had ever come in his entire life. "Yes, I believe." He stared at his best friend and then pointedly at the door.
Ray's jaw dropped open. "Well, since I saw it happen in the alley; I guess I have to believe."
Both sets of eyes turned to the door and waited an indeterminable instant. It didn't open. The relief was palatable.
"We need a plan."
"Yes, we do, Ray."
*
Moving with the utmost of care, Ray slowly removed the screws from around the door plate of their cell door. The hunting knife was unsuitable of the task, but Ray was not complaining; they had a tool which was also a knife. Fraser's penchant for hiding knives about his person had paid off. Should have searched Benny before, Ray considered, not that it would have made much difference. A vague plan was fermenting in the detective's brain, involving turning the trap in the door back on their kidnappers. A noise behind him made Ray turn. Flopping across the floor like a beached seal Fraser was making his way to Ray's side.
"Still having problems?"
Fraser didn't answer as it was self evident. He could move but he had the coordination of a toddler and a rather drunken toddler at that.
"Do you think that there is a bomb in the door?" Fraser whispered.
"Yeah." Ray rolled his eyes and hissed back. "You're not the only one who can figure things out. A baby could pick this lock; it has to be a trap."
"Why trap the door?" Fraser asked evenly.
"I don't know. Maybe they're just sadistic bastards." Ray said sarcastically.
The door handle moved. They froze. Ray looked down at the helpless Fraser and made his decision instantly. He dropped the two screws and the knife into one of his voluminous pockets and then dragged Fraser back to the blanket in the corner.
"You're still unconscious!" He hissed.
Fraser had no choice but to obey.
The door opened before Ray could turn around but he spun as if alerted by their presence.
"What have you given him?" Ray said immediately, launching an offensive. It was the woman again, the poorly lit corridor behind her appeared to be empty.
"That's none of your concern."
I've got Fraser's knife; I could do it.
Her eyes narrowed, alerted somehow, she remained at the threshold.
Could I?
An almost snake-like, reptilian grin crossed her face and she stepped into the room,
"You're welcome to try, Detective Vecchio." She stepped further into the room.
She knows my name? Of course she does, they took your badge, idiot. There's someone else in the corridor.
"Aren't you going to play?" She strutted forwards.
"Two's company; three's a crowd."
"I don't know." She said playfully. "Anyway, he's not going to interfere." She emphasized her words, drawing back her foot to deliver a short, sharp kick to the small of Fraser's back.
"Don't!" Ray darted forwards.
She intercepted his attack with a loose armed push forcing Ray's momentum back on himself. Ray collapsed in an inelegant heap.
I must be concussed; I walked right into that one.
Laughing outrageously she stooped over Ray, nonplused he stared down her dcollet. "Ah, did dums, I won't hurt your friend. We like them pristine."
She's nuts, completely nuts.
"I can't wait to taste you when you watch your friend writhe."
Tempting Ray's temper to the limits she drew her fingernails through the stubble on his jaw.
Don't, don't, don't.
"Ah, you're not going to play." She pulled back her fingers and kissed them. "Maybe 'later'."
"I'll look forwards to seeing you." Ray couldn't resist the snipe. She obviously found his expression and comment unfathomable. The superior look on her face slipped, her composure broken, she stepped backwards out of reach. Without another word she left. Relieved, Ray sank further into the floor, she had not noted the missing screws in the door plate.
Several heartbeats later, Fraser whispered, "do they do that often?"
"Do what?" Ray asked as he crawled back to the door on jellied legs.
"Come in and bait you?"
"Yeah, they really seem to get off on the fact that we're," Ray paused and shared a personal glance with Fraser, "friends. I mean they didn't care a toss about me in the alley. They had the anaesthetic ready for you - I was just an added extra. Then somebody yelled: they're true friends, and the leader (who you haven't met yet) ordered them to bring us both. Bitch face has mentioned it several times." Ray turned to the lock, the lock he could handle. He didn't like the where his thoughts were going. He could hear the gears moving in Fraser's brain: mulling over the mad woman's words; dissecting them; milking each nuance - coming to some nasty conclusion
" 'I can't wait to taste you when you when you watch your friend writhe'." Fraser quoted. "I think she means that, Ray, literally. They're planning on killing me, but they're going to use you for pleasure. That's why they're pysching you, they're going to feed on your pain."
"I hope they get indigestion." Ray said.
Fraser contained a smile. Ray ignored him, the drugs were obviously rotting Benny's brain. Feeding on my pain, Ray intoned dramatically. He finally freed the door plate. Supporting the metal, he carefully levered it away from the door handle exposing the mechanism inside. Ray restrained a whoop - the door was wired.
"What?" Fraser hissed from his blanket, apparently he had decided against crawling on the floor.
Ray scuttled over to Fraser's side.
"I was right! The door's a trap." His expression was gleeful.
"So can you disable it?"
"Yeah, but I've got a better plan. The bolt is electrified, just a wire. If I can move that wire to the handle..." Ray's grin was evil.
"Who ever opens the door will get a shock?" Fraser finished the sentence.
"Exactly!" Ray liked his plan, better and better, the more it unfolded.
"Why don't we just escape now, when there is nobody around?" Fraser asked sensibly.
"'cause we don't know what's on the other side. And we'll get whoever comes."
"What if there is more than one person?"
"Geez," Ray's eyes flashed almost angrily. "You never tell me your plans. You just go ahead and do them. I bet if you electrified the door handle only the woman would come - if I do it the whole gang of them will."
Fraser had no comment to that accusation.
"This is what we're going to do," Ray decided. "We're going to leave now. But I'm going to leave the door so it'll electrocute the next person to touch it. Right, I need something that doesn't conduct electricity."
"Biro?" Fraser pointed clumsily, with his whole hand, at the pen set beneath his red serge. "Take the ink cartridge out; it may conduct electricity."
"I know, I know." Ray said waspishly, as his nimble fingers unloosened Fraser's buttons. Fraser's expression was unreadable.
*
Both Fraser and Ray knelt with their ears glued to the door, even holding their breath they could not hear anything from beyond.
"Nobody is there." Fraser mouthed.
"What do you know?" Ray snapped back. "You think the bogeymen are after our souls. Maybe there's a vampire bat watching the door."
"I would have heard its sonic pulse." Fraser said, apparently serious. Ray rolled his eyes but didn't respond. Fraser scuttled out of the detective's way before he could retaliate. Wielding Fraser's knife, Ray stood and levered the blade against the bolt. With a quiet snap the bolt retracted and the door fell ajar. Cautiously, Ray peered around the corner, a dark and empty nondescript corridor revealed nothing. Red emergency lights were dotted at regular intervals along the corridor, their dull light did little to illuminate the corridor. Ray ducked back into the cell.
"We could be anywhere." Ray informed Fraser.
With comedic slowness, Fraser attempted to struggle to his feet. Ray waited, until truly frustrated, then he yanked Fraser upright and hauled Fraser's arm across his shoulders.
"Why don't you ask for help?" Ray hissed.
"Well, I've got to keep trying - it might make it wear off faster."
"Fraser: the Bendy Toy Mountie. Disney would make a fortune."
"Can we leave?" Fraser said shortly.
Point scored, Ray shelved the observation for later usage. Together detective and mountie crept from the room, Ray hauling most of Fraser's weight. Ray twisted back to close the door.
"Ray!" Fraser nearly yelled.
Ray froze his hand mere centimeters form the door handle. "That would have hurt, so much," he pulled the door closed with his fingernails around the frame.
"I'm still not sure I agree with this." Fraser said quietly.
"It's okay, I did it. Anyway: evil unto those who commit evil." Ray said profoundly, as he dragged Fraser away from the door, down the corridor and away from undoing his devious mayhem on the lock..
"You mean: honi soit qui mal y pense." Fraser corrected. "Which is actually incorrect under these circumstances."
"No! I mean they deserve everything they get."
The adjoining corridor was similarly deserted.
"Which way? Left or right?" Ray asked.
Fraser forced himself to look upwards; it took all of his concentration to keep one foot in front of the other.
"You choose," he said tiredly. Ray can't be feeling any better either.
"We'll take the left."
They staggered down the corridor. Ray leaning against the wall now and again for added support.
"Ray, if we can find a telephone." Fraser gritted out. The maze of corridors continued but eventually the concrete walls gave way to plywood and facades. White lights gleamed above them.
"I think we're going the right way." Fraser said.
Ray dropped Fraser onto the floor outside an old deserted office. A small placard told them that it was the caretaker's room. Ray jimmied the lock with the knife and dragged Fraser into the dusty room. Light from the corridor shadowed the room. A telephone was plainly visible on a small table.
"Yes!" Ray gasped.
Fraser rolled across the floor clumsily closing the door behind them. He lay listening for their abductors as Ray approached the telephone.
"Work, work, work." Ray prayed. The detective's entire body betrayed his trepidation as he picked up the telephone. The active dial tone echoed around the office.
"Yes! There is a God." Ray exulted. Quickly, he dialed the precinct's direct number - straight to Lieutenant Welsh. The telephone rang; each ring taking aeons.
"Welsh." The Lieutenant answered.
"It's Vecchio." Ray said in a hushed voice. "We're in trouble. I don't know where we are. Get a trace on this line."
"You FBI agents, trace this call." Welsh's orders reverberated along the line. Ray jerked away from the telephone. "What the hell happened to you two?"
"Psychos." Ray said succinctly, still holding the telephone at arms length. "They kidnapped me an' Fraser."
"Yes, we found your badge and Fraser's hat."
"Oooh," Ray suddenly noticed that the old fashioned telephone had a penciled number on the dial. "Lieutenant, I've got a number here." He reeled off the digits to the lieutenant. Another host of orders were issued to the seemingly incompetent FBI agents assigned to the serial killings. Ray gripped the telephone as if it were a life line. "Ray," Welsh sounded more calm, "you're at the elementary school on Sandord and Henderson. "It's been abandoned for years. We'll have units over in minutes."
"We're down in the basement, in the caretaker's office. We'll hold up here; we're both hurt."
Fraser watched his friend sag with exhaustion, as if admitting his weakness brought it home.
"Okay, Ray," Welsh said, "I'm going to put Elaine on, 'cos I'm joining the units." Ray smiled at Welsh's consideration. "There was about twenty who nabbed us." The light in the corridor suddenly flared and died throwing the room into darkness. "Looks like somebody triggered our trap." Ray said lightly.
The room was deathly quiet, the hum of the generator previously part of the background noise was suddenly missing. Both friends froze as voices from beyond the door shrieked and yelled at each other.
"Elaine, don't talk. They're looking for us." Ray said very quietly.
Direct light from torches shot along the corridor. Moving silently, Ray picked up a mop from the caretaker's bucket. He hefted the wooden stick and ghosted across to the door. Fraser reached out without saying anything and took his knife. The door was kicked open with vicious suddenness, it took both officers by surprise. Ray barely had time to bring his stick down on the first man to come to through the door. The next thug ran straight over his companion and barreled into the detective.
"Don't hurt Constable Fraser." The leader voice sounded harsh and uncompromising.
Still on the floor, Fraser jabbed his knife at the woman who skirted around him. A torch shining in his eyes was blinding him. The woman jumped forwards and backwards taking chance to the utmost. Fraser almost accidentally cut her several times. An arm clamped around his neck and Fraser realized that she has simply been a distraction. His knife arm was grabbed and the blade pulled from nerveless fingers.
"Sweetie pie, you're wide awake." She played with the blade, tossing it in the air with obvious expertise. "Makes it much more fun."
The two who held him, lifted him up by his arms and legs, Fraser sagged making it doubly difficult for them to hold him. The police were on their way; any delay would be an advantage.
"Ray?" Fraser dropped his head back and looked at Ray curled up on the floor behind him.
"I'd worry about yourself." A man's voice said.
Fraser regarded the stranger in the half light. The man returned his gaze, then shone his torch directly into the mountie's eyes blinding him. The torch lingered on his face. Fraser could feel the man marking each feature, as if memorizing his victim's face. The examination was almost clinical in its intensity.
"Get him up on the roof. And put the plastic sheets out this time." The leader ordered. Fraser was unceremoniously carried from the room.
*
Ray uncurled, trying to get his diaphragm back where it belonged instead of in his throat. He had been winded severely as the thug had tackled him in the stomach. The explosive expulsion of air had wracked his battered body. A weird grating sensation in his left side told the detective that he had broken a couple of ribs. The creep standing above him was grinning. He enjoyed that, Ray noted. The creep leaned forwards and grabbed a handful of T-shirt and hauled the detective to his feet. Material ripped. Oh well, at least I wasn't wearing my Armani.
"Bring him along," the leader said, "we haven't got much time." He sounded almost bored by the proceedings.
Ray was propelled out the door. As he stepped over the threshold the generator lights kicked in, revealing the dusty footprints which had lead to their recapture. Creep grabbed the back of Ray's neck and squeezed, the fingers unerringly hitting sensitive pressure points on the back of the detective's neck.
"Careful." Ray wheezed.
He received no retort as he was pushed forwards after Fraser.
*
Ray counted slowly, he knew the police response time, and as he calculated it, the department would be arriving any second. Especially if two of their own were in trouble. He took small comfort from the fact as he was marched through the school always heading upwards. Fraser was carried ahead of him. The care and attention they were giving Fraser was the complete opposite of his treatment, Ray realized. The thought was rattled from his mind as Creep threw him through the attic door and onto the tar covered roof. Ray scrabbled on the black rough surface, hoping against hope that he'd find something that he could use as a weapon.
"No, you don't." His shirt was grabbed once again and he was pulled upright. The mammoth man shook the detective like a terrier with a helpless rat before settling Ray back on his feet.
"What happens next?" Ray asked conversationally, once the world had stopped spinning.
"We sacrifice your friend." Creep rolled his eyes as if surprised by the question. "Right." Ray glanced futilely up at the sky and found himself praying for help. Fraser was being laid out on a trestle-table draped with heavy duty black plastic sheeting. Four minions held onto his limbs as the leader watched - gearing himself for the act of sacrifice. There were less people than in the alley debacle, only a chosen few were present for the sacrifice. Of the woman there was no sign. Hope she's been electrocuted, Ray thought nastily. No words were spoken. Fraser threw a mute glance at Ray, Ray tried in interpret his expression but the vast array of emotion that Fraser, incredibly, was trying to convey was too complex.
Shit, shit, shit, Ray thought hollowly, I've go to do something. Where's the cavalry?
"I wish we could use you - you're so much more vibrant." The woman suddenly appeared. "I'm sure Shak'colate will be more than happy with Constable Fraser. I think I'll have you." She laughed and moved away to join her companions encircling Fraser.
"Don't you want to get any closer?" Ray asked Creep.
"That's very considerate of you. I can see from here fine."
Ray tagged the cadence of the words marking for the first time that English was not Creep's first language.
Something to put in my report. Ray thought, knowing he was just trying to distract himself from what was about to happen. Then he realized that he couldn't do that to Benny.
"It begins!" Shouted the leader, he brandished a heavily clawed mace in the air. "I give you this pristine sacrifice to take for your own."
Pristine? Ray thought, that's the second time they've used that word to describe Fraser. I would never have thought of Benny as pure, unblemished snow. Unblemished! The care that they had given Fraser: no casual backhands; no bouncing off floors; no painful nerve pinches.
"Hey, Leader man." Ray jerked forwards, Creep followed - automatically increasing his grip. "You've got a problem!" Ray talked fast despite the pain in his neck. "Benny's hurt."
The leader lowered the club and glared at Ray.
"Left arm in the elbow. You morons nicked his vein when you drugged him. He's got a bruise the size of Lake Michigan."
His expression thunderous, the leader passed the club to the woman and gestured the man holding Fraser's left arm away. The creep holding Ray edged closer to watch. All the better, Ray thought gleefully.
The leader ripped the red serge sleeve and the white shirt beneath revealing the lurid bruise on Fraser's arm.
About time somebody mucked up Fraser's clothes.
The bruise had expanded: jet black in the center, purple and red at the edges which reached his wrist watch and disappeared beneath the remnants of his sleeve. Increasingly dismayed, the leader picked up Fraser's limp arm, blood had drained through the elbow joint bruising the back of the arm.
"You stupid cow!" The leader fumed as he dropped Fraser's arm and turned on the woman. Fraser exploded into action, he swung his leaden arm into the side of the leader's head, hitting it with bone cracking force. Ray leaped forwards away from his captor, ripped the club from the surprised woman's lax grip and backhanded Creep in the face with the heavy mace.
"No!" Shrieked the woman, she launched herself at Ray. A veteran of many years of fighting with irate sisters, Ray stepped sideways and casually bounced the mace off the woman's skull as she fell past him. She dropped neatly onto Creep. Stunned, she fingered the blood welling up on the thug's face groaning not in pain but in despair.
"I'm sorry." Creep mumbled through broken teeth.
"No, not worthy." There were tears in her voice.
The air around them exploded, whipping them all to the floor. The noise and light were deafening. Fraser was blasted off the altar and onto the floor with his three assailants. Ray picked himself up, struggling against the tornado like force, he had to get to Fraser. He refused to cower. Swinging the club high, he joined Fraser by the altar, dispatching one of the thugs who had managed to stagger to his knees. Arcs of light rained across the scene.
*
Lieutenant Welsh, in the helicopter above, watched in awe, as step by step Ray Vecchio made his way against the backwash of the helicopter blades to Fraser's side.
"Get us down there!" He yelled at the SWAT pilot.
The pilot simply nodded, speaking over the noise of the helicopter's engine was pointless. The roof area below them was large enough to take the helicopter. Welsh just hoped that it was strong enough to support the weight. Before the helicopter settled the SWAT team leaped down onto the roof. Welsh gauged the drop carefully and then waited until the pilot landed the helicopter.
"Keep your head down." The pilot shouted as the Lieutenant finally exited the helicopter.
Welsh nodded and ran crab-like out of the wash of the blades. The SWAT team was moving with brutal efficiency, knocking down and brandishing their weapons at the few cultists who had managed to remain upright during the helicopter's sudden descent. Swinging wildly, Ray stood over the mountie stopping anybody getting too close. The SWAT Captain had his short snubbed automatic rifle pointed squarely at Ray's chest and was screaming orders at the detective over the din. Ray was not listening.
"Put your weapon down!" The Captain reiterated.
Welsh slipped beside the Captain and enclosed the barrel of the automatic in his big hand drawing the gun away from Ray's body. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, he realized that it would have been a pretty stupid thing to do, if the Captain had not been a close personal friend.
"Vecchio! We're here." Welsh bawled.
Ray stopped dead, mid-swing, and stared dazedly at his Lieutenant through the mask of blood caking his face.
"About bloody time." Ray said, he sounded utterly exhausted. He let go of the mace, it fell to the floor with a satisfying wood breaking crack. Ray touched one half of the broken mace with his toe. "That was pretty flimsy."
"Indeed." Fraser said dazedly, but he did not reach out to examine the club lying by his side.
Appearing very confused, Ray searched the crowds around him for the first victim of the mace. A SWAT officer was leading Creep across the roof to the exit. Creep stared mutely at Ray through ravaged features, his expression was one of somebody lost and alone. Ray waited until his assailant had been taken from the roof then he dropped like a broken marionette, joining Fraser beside the altar. Welsh watched yet another of those glances that spoke volumes being shared by his detective and the mountie. Fraser eventually shrugged.
"Hello, Lieutenant." Fraser said politely. "I'm very pleased to see you."
"Yeah," Ray agreed.
"What the Hell happened here?" Welsh demanded.
"Can we tell you later, sir?" Fraser asked quietly. "Suffice to say, I think you will find plenty of evidence on these premises to convict these individuals of all the recent murders involving alleys and lots of blood."
The Captain grimaced and rushed over to his second in command.
They were a mess, Welsh suddenly realized, and probably in need of hospital attention. Rarely had he seen Ray looking anything other than impeccable, albeit by his standards, and Fraser never ever slumped.
"You!" Welsh picked on a SWAT officer at random. "Get the paramedics up here pronto."
"Oh, sir, that's not necessary." Fraser began.
"Shut up, Benny."
*
Now that he had time to think about it, not only his head hurt but his entire body throbbed like a toothache and his cracked ribs added an agonizing counterpoint. His Ma fluffed up the pillows behind him and straightened out the sheets for the countless time. The hospital room did not come up to Ma's exacting standards, in some ways she could be more of a martinet than Fraser.
"Mio figlio." She fingered the dressing on her son's forehead, he couldn't have stitches, something to do with bacterial closure. However, the doctor had said they would stitch it in a couple of days and the scar would not be that noticeable.
"Shush, you'll wake Fraser."
Mrs Vecchio, clamped her hands over her mouth. Fraser was fast asleep in the only other bed in the room. He was wired and attached to a melange of instruments and intravenous drips. His left arm, encased in a cast, broken when he had knocked the leader unconscious, was suspended from some contraption on the side of the bed.
At least they didn't put the fall-out bars on my bed.
"Ma, you don't have to stay, you know." Ray whispered. "And you look really tired."
"I just want to know where you are." She wrung her hands.
"I'm not going anywhere." Ray gripped the hands, reassuringly, he could feel her shaking. "Nothing's going to happen. I promise."
Her warm brown eyes shuttered, then she leaned forwards and kissed her son on his long aquiline nose, since his forehead was covered with a bandage.
"And you never lie to your mother."
"No, Ma." Ray said sincerely.
"Tell Benton that Diefenbaker is staying with us and not to worry."
"Yes, Ma." Ray said dutifully.
She threw a long searching glance at her son, Ray released his grip and shooed her from the room. Finally alone, except for the sleeping Fraser, Ray tried to relax. His ribs jabbed painfully, he twisted, rolled onto his back, and then onto his side. He couldn't get comfortable. Despite vehement objections, the doctor had given him a light sedative, Ray quite frankly did not relish the thought of sleep, even if he did need it.
"Hey, Benny, you awake?"
Fraser grunted and moved his head slightly on the pillow.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Ray added.
Fraser opened his eyes and regarded Ray, his expression was compassionate and understanding and very, very tired.
"I think we should." Fraser said levelly.
"What are they, Benny, perps or somemat else?"
Fraser dropped his head back onto the pillow and regarded the ceiling. He seemed to Ray to be looking for an answer.
"I think they thought they were "something else". I don't know if they were "something else" or simply misguided individuals. If the helicopter's arrival hadn't been right on time we might have found out." Fraser said with gallows humour.
"They were going to beat you to death and then throw bits of you around an alley and keep some as trophies."
"Yes, Ray."
"They were going to make me watch." Ray curled up into a tight little ball and pulled the blankets around his neck.
Fraser frowned across at him, Ray knew instinctively that his friend was searching for words, words that would set everything back to rights.
"We beat them, Ray."
Ray was not satisfied. "Did we? What about the other ones in the alley? They weren't there."
"We apprehended the leaders, Ray. Cut off the head and the snake dies."
"There could be...apprentices." Ray ventured.
"And we'll arrest them. Evil is self defeating, Ray. They made a mistake; they made a bruise. One simple little bruise and their god couldn't take me. You saw the SWAT team arrest them - they'd failed and they knew it. I don't imagine that their perception of a deity will allow them not to be punished. Evil is self defeating, we've just proven it."
Ray liked the sound of that, it made a comforting little mantra. He huddled under the now warm blankets, and considered Fraser's words, a comforting little mantra that lulled him off to sleep.
fini