Author's website: http://www.1freespace.com/linda1

Disclaimer: Ray, Barbara and Damien Kowalski belong to Alliance Communications.

Author's Notes:

Story Notes: A second Ray as a boy story.

This story is a sequel to: Black Eye

Eleven year old Ray Kowalski parked his bicycle carefully in the garage. Ray stroked the saddle lovingly - the bicycle was nearly as good as new, after his collision with a stationary truck. He had spent the last two weekends with his Dad working on the bike. They had both got dirty and oily, much to his Mum's dismay, but the bicycle was working again. Ray smiled to himself - he only needed a new battery operated headlight, which his Dad had promised to buy him if his report card was good.

With a last look at his treasured bicycle, Ray ran into the kitchen. Shrugging off his rucksack, he carefully retrieved the brown envelope from inside, leaving it on the kitchen table for his Mum and Dad to read when they got home. Turning to the kitchen counter, he helped himself to two chocolate chip cookies from the cookie jar.

"Hi shorty," his elder brother shouted as he barged into the kitchen dumping his books onto the table.

"That's not my name," Ray said glaring at his older brother drawing himself up to his full height.

"That's not my name," his elder brother mimicked leaning closer. Sneering, he snatched a cookie from Ray. "What do you prefer? Stanley?" he laughed as he scooped up his books. "Or Stannie?"

"No," Ray folded his arms defiantly. "You can call me Ray."

"You can call me Ray," his brother mocked. "Oh what have we here?" he noticed the envelope on the table. "So," he picked up the envelope. "It's report card time again."

"Put that back," Ray made a grab for the envelope. "That's for Mum and Dad to read."

"Oh no you don't shorty," Ray's brother dodged out of the way, dancing around the kitchen, out of Ray's reach, as he pulled the report card out of the envelope. He quickly scanned the contents. "Yeah. I was right," he announced turning back to his younger brother. Still stupid," he grinned at Ray. "Mum and Dad are gonna be sooooo mad at you," he said unkindly as he replaced the report card in the envelope.

Ray stared at his brother, biting at his bottom lip, determined that he wasn't going to cry. His brother grinned at him again, mouthing the word stupid. Ray suddenly felt an overwhelming surge of anger - moving forwards quickly, he caught his brother by surprise. Pushing him against the kitchen table, Ray kicked him hard in the shin. "I aint stupid," he yelled. Before his brother could retaliate, Ray grabbed his rucksack and another cookie and ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room.

Slamming the door, he tossed his rucksack on the floor and flung himself on his bed. Burying his head in his pillow, he let the tears come. He was so sure that his report card would be better this term. He had worked so hard, practising his reading and writing every night. His Mum had been helping him with algebra, and he had spent hours on his class project. He buried his head deeper into the pillow - he had thought his teacher had been pleased with the project. But his report card was bad, and now his Mum and Dad would be mad at him for being stupid. And his Dad wouldn't buy him the promised headlight for his bicycle.

Sitting up, Ray wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. "I'm gonna run away," he decided sniffing loudly. "Then they can't be mad at me," he reasoned.

Retrieving his rucksack from the floor, he moved towards his dresser. Pulling out a pair of jeans and his favourite sweater, he stuffed them into the bottom of his bag. Carefully wrapping the cookies into a clean handkerchief, Ray placed them into the rucksack along with a bag of his favourite candy that he had been saving. Placing the bag on his bed, he packed other necessary items. His hated glasses. His wooden turtle - a present from his Mum. His beloved teddy bear - for company. Looking around his room, Ray also decided to pack his favourite toy car, a reading book, a world atlas and his notebook and pencil. Moving over to his night stand, he opened the drawer - taking out a small tin, he emptied the contents onto the bed. Ray carefully counted out all of his savings - seven dollars and fifty cents, which he had earned by helping Mr. Taylor in his garden.

Ray stuffed the money into his pocket. Satisfied with his packing, he shrugged his rucksack onto his back and crept out of the house while his brother was on the telephone talking to his latest girlfriend.

Ray marched along the streets in the direction of the bus station, his rucksack on his back. As he walked, Ray had decided to get a bus to Canada - Mr. Jones, his geography teacher had been telling the class all about Canada that afternoon, and Ray thought it sounded like a nice place to visit. He had also looked in his atlas, and he thought Canada didn't seem too far away from Chicago.

After an hour of walking, Ray had decided that running away from home hadn't been such a good idea. It was getting dark, and he hadn't found the bus station yet. "I'm eleven," he whispered to himself. "I am not a little kid," he turned another corner. Another long street stretched in front of him, and he began to feel a little afraid, his heart thumped in his chest. "I am not lost," he repeated to himself as he straightened up and started to march down the street.

He looked up at the people rushing by him, ignoring him in their hurry to get to their homes. Ray was too afraid to ask a stranger directions to the bus station, so he carried on down street after street. "I am not lost," he repeated again, but could feel tears stinging at the back of his eyes, his initial confidence waning slightly. He stopped to look around in an effort to get his bearings.

"Are you lost young man?" an old man stopped at his side. Startled Ray shook his head edging away from the stranger. "Here let me help you," the man tried to grab his hand. Ray shook his head, snatching his hand away. Tears sprung to his eyes as he stepped back hugging a wall. "I won't hurt you," the man smiled at him encouragingly.

Ray shook his head again inching away. Terrified, he turned away from the man running down the street as fast as his legs would carry him. Ray could hear the man still shouting as he ran. Too afraid to stop, he ran until his legs hurt and he thought that he was going to explode with the effort. As he turned a corner, Ray decided that he was safe and stopped to catch his breath for a moment. He then started to walk quickly down the street, throwing the occasional glance over his shoulder just in case he was being followed. He wanted his Mum and Dad.

Ray stumbled slightly in his haste. As he righted himself, brushing down his jeans, he glanced sideways at the building to his left. He couldn't help smiling to himself as he squinted at the sign over the door - "Chicago Police Department, 27th District". Wiping his dirty hands on his jeans, Ray pushed the door open.

"Stanley," Barbara stood at the bottom of the stairs. "Dinner's ready." No answer. She sighed as she started up the stairs. "Probably fallen asleep over his homework," she murmured to herself.

Damien and his elder son were in the middle of their dinner when Barbara flew into the kitchen. "Stanley's not in his room," she announced, an anxious look on her face.

"He's probably playing at a friend's house," Damien looked up from his meal. "He'll come home when he's hungry," he grinned at his wife. "He usually does."

"No," Barbara said. "I don't think so. His bicycle's in the garage. I looked."

"Ohh," Damien got to his feet turning to his elder son. "Have you seen Stanley today?" he asked. His son flushed as he looked down at his meal twiddling his cutlery in his hands avoiding looking at his parents.

Barbara didn't miss the look that had crossed her eldest son's face. "Christian Anthony Kowalski," she placed her hands on her hips. "What have you done?"

"Nothing Mum," Christian looked up at Barbara. "Honest."

Barbara remained unconvinced raising her eyebrows at Christian. "I'm waiting," she persisted.

"Well...... I might have upset him over his report card," Christian mumbled still looking down at his meal. "But I was only teasing him. And he kicked me," he looked from one parent to the other. "And I think I heard the door closing when I was on the telephone to Angie."

"Oh Christian," Barbara sat down. "You know how Stanley is about school. You shouldn't tease him so much. He tries really hard. And this term, he's worked especially hard," she patted Christian's hand. "It's not his fault that he's not as clever as you."

"I know Mum," Christian muttered ashamed at his earlier treatment of Ray. "I'm real sorry."

"I know..." Barbara's reply was interrupted by the telephone ringing. She patted her son's arm again as she got up. "I'll get that," she said glancing towards her husband before disappearing into the hallway.

Damien glared at Christian. "You're seventeen," he started to pace up and down the kitchen. "You should have known better." Turning to face his son. "And if you're right about the door, it would seem that your little brother has run off on his own."

Christian flushed again. "I'll come and help you look for him," he said getting to his feet.

"Oh no young man," Damien waved his hand at his son. "You are staying right here. With your mother. You've done enough damage tonight." Resting his hands on the kitchen table, he leaned towards his son. "And when I've found Stanley. You and me are going to sit down and have a long talk."

"Yes sir," Christian replied sitting back down.

Christian and Damien both turned as the door flew open. "That was the police," Barbara announced smiling. "They've found Stanley and want someone to collect him. I've got the address," she waved a piece of paper at her now smiling husband.

Having persuaded Barbara to stay at home, Damien had driven like a maniac towards the 27th precinct. Parking the truck, he ran into the police precinct building hurrying towards the desk sergeant. "You called me," Damien said breathless. "I've come to collect my son. Stanley Raymond Kowalski. Is he OK?" Damien looked around wildly for his son. "Is he here?"

"Don't worry. Calm down," the desk sergeant smiled getting to his feet. "He's fine. Just gave himself a bit of a scare. But he did the sensible thing. And came in and asked us to call you." The desk sergeant smiled again. "However, I don't think he will be running away again any time soon."

"His mother will be pleased to hear that," Damien smiled back. "Where is he?"

The desk sergeant pointed along the corridor. "He's waiting for you just along there."

Damien nodded his thanks. Turning the corner, he sighed with relief as he saw Ray sitting quietly on a chair, his rucksack at his feet, his bear tightly clasped in his arms. His younger son had always been small for his age, painfully thin with gangly arms and legs, but sitting alone looking up at everyone who passed by, as if searching for a familiar face, Damien thought that Ray looked about six years old - small, lost and fragile. He resisted the urge to rush along the corridor and hug his son hard deciding that a calmer approach was called for on this occasion.

"So," Damien said as he sat down next to Ray. "I see they made old bear here a deputy," he pointed to the shiny silver badge pinned to the teddy bear's chest.

Ray turned, a small smile immediately lighting up his pale features. The smile disappeared almost immediately as he nodded. His face was smudged with dirt and tear stains, and his blue eyes were full of anxiety. "They said I could be a police officer, but I didn't wanna be one," he sniffed wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. "So the sergeant made my bear one instead of me." He looked down studying his bear.

"I see," Damien smiled down at his son. "So young man. You wanna come home with me? Or are you still planning on leaving home?" he tapped Ray's knee to get his attention. "Because me and your Mum ...... well we kinda got used to having you around."

A single tear ran down Ray's pale face as he looked up at his father. Shaking his head, Ray stared down at his feet, unconsciously hugging his bear closer to his thin body. "I don't like it here. I wanna come home," he mumbled as a second tear ran down his face. He looked up at Damien again, his face anxious, fear reflected in the paleness of his eyes. "Are you and Mum mad at me.... me because of my report card?"

"No son," Damien wiped away the tears before putting his arm around Ray's shoulders pulling him close. "We're not mad at you because of your report card," he stroked his hand through the blonde hair. "But we were worried about you. You shouldna run off like that. Scaring us like that."

"Sorry Dad," Ray murmured leaning into the hug. "Are you really not mad at me?" he asked again, his voice unsure.

"No son," Damien replied gently. "We are not mad at you. But we are going to sit down and have a talk about this with Mum. We don't want you running off again. OK?"

"OK," Ray mumbled. Damien noticed that he had tightened his hold on his bear again. Ray let out a long sigh. "Is Christian mad at me?" he whispered.

"No," Damien hugged Ray closer to him. "Christian's not mad at you either. He's worried about you too."

"Oh," Ray said, his voice sounding unconvinced. "But I .... I kicked him, and it musta hurt," he admitted solemnly.

Damien chuckled. "Well you kicked him. And he was mean to you. So I guess that makes you both even."

"Suppose," Damien felt Ray nod against his chest. They sat in silence for a moment before Ray started to wriggle in the embrace.

"What's on your mind son?" Damien asked knowing that something was still worrying Ray. He could feel the tension in the small body as Ray wriggled against him.

Ray sighed loudly. He decided not to tell his Dad about Christian calling him names, as he didn't want to get his brother into trouble. "Christian said my report card was bad, and that you .... you and Mum would be mad at me," he took a deep breath. "And then.... then you wouldn't let me have the headlight for my bicycle." Ray sniffed loudly as he wiped at his eyes again. "And I really...... really tried hard at school," he choked. Pulling out of the embrace, Ray looked up at Damien, his expression earnest. "Really I did."

"It's alright son," Damien rubbed Ray's back. "I know you've worked hard at school. I read your report card before I came out, and you did really well."

"I did," Ray looked unsure. "Are you sure?"

"Damien couldn't help laughing at the serious expression on the little grubby face looking up at him. "Yeah. You did good. Your teacher gave you a B for your class project," he softly punched his son's arm. He was rewarded with a small smile. "So what do you say? Shall we go home?" Damien suggested nudging Ray's shoulder. "Mum will be waiting for us. And you can read your report card for yourself. How's that? And then you, me and Mum can have that little talk."

Ray nodded leaping to his feet, his bear clasped firmly under one arm. Damien scooped up the rucksack and started to walk along the corridor, Ray at his side. He couldn't help grinning to himself as a small hand worked its way into his larger one. "What say that you and I go and get that headlight on Saturday?" he smiled down at his son. "Just you and me. OK?"

"OK Dad," Ray beamed up at his father. Damien shook his head amazed at how a small thing such as a bicycle headlight could bring a happy smile to his son's face. He squeezed the small hand as they headed towards the door.

THE END

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