Author's website: http://www.virtual-meridian.net

Disclaimer:

Author's Notes: This is kind of spooky, but read it still. A good scare is good for the soul.

Story Notes: This story contains violence and supernatural/horror elements.

I'm just working too hard, that's all.

Ray Vecchio stopped and stared at himself in the men's room mirror, noticing as he washed his hands in the dull porcelain sink, that he was looking tired. The circles beneath his jade eyes spoke expressively of the exhaustion that stemmed from his present case. He had no leads in the matter. He was just running about in circles and getting nowhere. Nothing. He felt foolish and impotent and he felt tired, which, as he knew so well, was a damning combination for an overworked cop.

I'm just working too hard!

That's what he told himself when the shapes first started to appear. At first it was just a flash or a shadow that danced at the corner of his eye, only to vanish when he turned his head to investigate. He dismissed it as a trick of the station's lights. Sometimes the lights flickered, he justified, or maybe it was movement from across the room that cast a shadow... maybe.

Then after the shapes, came the smells; something like flowers, maybe baby powder. He had first detected them, one late night in his own quiet bedroom, but it hadn't alarmed him much. As he fell into dreamless slumber, he simply reasoned it down to just Frannie's overwhelming perfume wafting through the vents in the house. She had a knack for drenching herself in cremes and powders and perfumes after her nightly bath as if readying herself for her dream Romeo.

During the following few days, he began nosing about among Frannie's gargantuan collection of toiletries. To his surprise, he found that she only had a few bottles of perfume and none of them remotely matched the scents he'd smelled.

With his cop senses tingling, the next person he went to, was his mother. He dropped strategic questions while helping her chop vegetables for dinner, hoping to glean whether she'd noticed any 'strange' smells going on in the house. Maybe an animal had gotten caught in the venting system in the house and the stench of its rotting corpse was what he smelled in his bedroom. Unfortunately, his mother had told him that she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary, and although he was still extremely curious, Ray let the subject drop. He then made a promise to himself that he would clean out the vents along with the drains for his own sane state of mind.

He hadn't rested his head on his clean pillows for more than a second one evening, after exerting himself all afternoon cleaning the vents and the outdoor drains, that the scents overpowered him, choked him. Inexplicably panicked, Ray sat up in bed and didn't waste time getting dressed. He got in his car and spent the night with his Canadian lover, for he couldn't bear to be in his own house any longer.

It was only after spending several evenings with the Mountie, did he begin to realize that it wasn't Frannie's perfume, or a dead animal he'd been smelling for those same scents were there in the small apartment with him, and Fraser most definitely didn't smell like that.

Night after night, as he dozed fitfully in Fraser's bed, Ray would be routinely awakened into frightened consciousness in the dead of night, by that thick scent of something flowery. Then he would lie there, next to Ben, sniffing and testing the air, quietly hoping to convince himself that it was just the result of a residual dream, hoping that he'd fall asleep before something worse happened.

Soon, as the days went on, as he was getting no where with his case, as he stopped sleeping at his home, did the smell of flowers grow stronger and stronger. It didn't seem to want to wait until he got into bed because it appeared almost immediately after he'd been in the apartment for only a short while. It was as if, as soon as he got to Fraser's apartment after work, and while they were having dinner, a heavily perfumed woman strode unseen into the room and walked around the small table where they were sitting. It scared Ray, because it was obvious Ben's finely tuned olfactory nerves, didn't sense it, because he definitely would have commented on it.

Ray didn't dare tell Fraser about his sensory hallucinations.

I'm just working too damn hard.

Those were the exact words he'd told Fraser, when, just a week ago, the Mountie had inquired about his state of health. He knew he was lying to his lover then, and he knew he was lying to himself now. He hated lying to him, but what other reason could he give?

Oh, nothing's wrong, I just think I'm insane...

His mind was playing tricks on him. All he needed was some really good sleep.

A door slamming in the women's bathroom next door, brought Ray back to the present and he stared hard at his bleary eyed face almost in disbelief, that it was actually his own countenance staring back at him. The detective wavered on his feet and had to hold onto the sink for support. Exhaustion wasn't the word to describe how he felt in that moment.

Dead, was more appropriate.

Shaking himself to clear his head, Ray pushed himself away from the sink.

He gave Detective First Grade Raymond Vecchio another long glance before he left the bathroom.

Ray made his way back to his desk and sat there for a long while before he was disturbed.

"Are you Detective Raymond Vecchio?"

The voice was timid and tremulous and Ray almost didn't notice the elderly man standing in front of his desk. And when he looked up he took in a quick breath of surprise.

"Uh!"

And he smiled to cover up his consternation.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Are you Detective Raymond Vecchio?" asked the man again, who, while he spoke, consulted what looked like a worn business card.

Ray recognized it as one of the business cards that he had had made up when he first made detective three years ago.

"Yes," Ray said, lifting his gaze from the card to the old man's.

The man gave him a surprisingly saintly smile, removed his coat and scarf and eagerly he sat down on the chair at the side of the desk. He folded the coat over itself and rested his elbows on the bundle.

"I've been meaning to get in contact with you, Mr. Vecchio," said the man a bit breathlessly with his apparent excitement. "My name is Hank Milnmen."

Hank fished about in his tweed jacket pocket and drew out a black billfold. He produced his own business card and presented it to Ray.

"Hank Milnmen," he repeated. "The 'n' is silent."

"Ok," Ray said, taking the card from the man's fingers. "What can I do for you, Mr. Milnmen?"

Hank put the wallet back into his pocket and clasped his hands together upon the folds of his coat. His brown eyes shone brightly as he began to explain.

"Your mother, Mrs. Rosa Vecchio wanted someone to come out to talk to you about what's been happening to you."

Ray Vecchio, hating his mother at that instant frowned and bit the insides of his bottom lip. He stared at Milnmen for a long time, wondering if his presence at his place of employment was just a practical joke. Then, still not speaking, he let his eyes drift from Milnmen's withered face to the other officers who milled about in the station room, going about their own business. He looked for anyone who may have been looking back at him, secretly observing the interaction between he and the strange man. Ray saw no one paying the slightest bit of attention to them so he brought his eyes back to Milnmen's face.

"My mother sent you?" Ray asked, finally releasing his lip from his teeth.

"In a way," Milnmen answered with a smile. "But not directly. I guess I shouldn't make that statement. You see, Mr. Vecchio, I work for BTPRS. Bermuda Triangle Paranormal Research Society. And from what we've heard from our sources that you've been having... let's just put it bluntly, visitors."

Ray lifted his slender brows and he looked down at the light green business card Milnmen had given him before he put it down upon the desk blotter. He folded his hands over it and looked down at his fingers for a moment. He was sure that the man could see right through him, he was sure the card felt hot beneath his palms. But he wasn't going to talk to Milnmen about anything. He wasn't going to talk to anyone about what he'd seen. It would just serve to make an already slightly psychotic and unstable cop look ready for the Loony Leave.

"What sources?" he demanded.

"A Father Notcham."

Ray knew the man and wondered what erroneous statements he was spreading about him.

"He's a bit of a contemporary when it comes to the Catholic religion. A dabbler as an investigator, though the Vatican doesn't authorize him to do anything."

Milnman paused a bit and glanced around as if looking for any prying ears. Ray felt a chill and he closed his suit jacket with one hand. Milnmen's eyes were back on Ray with an intensity that made him uncomfortable.

"Joseph Notcham comes from Italy, detective Vecchio, where he works as this investigator and as a professor of the Arts."

Milnmen's soft grin was boyish and he turned his head just a bit so that he could look at Ray out of the corners of his eyes.

"Stigmata research is big business, if you get the right buyer," he said.

"I'm not a stigmatic," Ray answered hastily, turning his hands over so that he showed his unmarked wrists.

"No one's saying that you are, detective," he said after giving Ray's writs a cursory glance. "That's not all Joseph investigates. He also works in visions, spirits, and all the things the church thinks to deny. Exorcisms."

Ray closed his eyes feeling infinitely weary and wishing the man would leave him alone.

"I'm not possessed," he said and felt silly for having to say so.

Ray laughed.

"Someone seems to think so."

Ray stopped laughing and he sobered immediately. He turned his eyes to the man sitting next to him and scowled.

"Look. I don't know what you're talking about," he said slowly. "My mother has an active imagination sometimes. I think she may have misconstrued what I asked her, and blew it all out of proportion. Why she contacted your... group... is..."

"She didn't contact us, Mr. Vecchio. I already told you that. Father Notcham did."

"Well," Ray shot back. "He shouldn't have said anything to your group, if my mother told him any information in confidence or in confessional, or wherever she told him, whatever she told him."

Milnmen looked flayed and wished that he was someplace else, rather than under the heated gaze of a one detective Ray Vecchio.

Ray took in a breath and cleared his throat.

"All I asked was if she was smelling anything strange in the house. That's all. Now what she thought I meant, I don't know."

"What did you mean, detective?" Milnmen asked leaning towards him.

Ray caught the distinctive whiff of cheese and garlic from the man and it made him feel slightly nauseous although he himself had not had lunch yet.

"Nothing," Ray answered plainly. "I meant nothing."

"Well, detective. That's an odd question to ask your mother, don't you think? Even though you meant nothing by it."

Ray looked hard at the man and then dropped his olive gaze.

"Scents," Ray said. "That's all I meant."

Milnmen made a small sound deep in his throat and Ray lifted his eyes. He focused on the paisley cravat knotted sloppily at the man's neck, unable to look the man in the face.

"Spirits sometimes manifest themselves as certain scents, detective Vecchio. Maybe that's what you're encountering."

"There are no spirits manifesting, anything!" Ray growled. "Nothing is happening. Nothing is going on! Why can't you understand that?"

"I understand, Mr. Vecchio. If you don't want to discuss these things with me, at least right now, you can later. But if you change your mind, please, keep and use my card. And if you don't want to talk to me, there are a few lovely ladies that do research for us, who would be willing to lend an ear."

And with that, Milnmen rose, twined his scarf about his neck and shrugged on his coat.

"We're not silly ghost hunters, Mr. Vecchio," Milnmen assured Ray. "This is serious business. And, if I may, from the looks of you, you agree with me."

Milnmen gave a little snuffling laugh, at nothing much in particular and nodded to Ray.

"Good day, detective."

Ray watched the man weave his way through the crowd of people in the station. He even noticed that he nodded to the Mountie who crossed his path in passing. He saw the Mountie reply in kind before he made his way over to where Ray sat in dazed silence.

"Hi, Ray," Fraser said brightly before sitting in the chair in front of the desk.

Silence.

"Ray? Is something wrong?" Fraser prompted.

Ray looked at the handsome blue eyed man decked out in his immaculate dress reds and sitting across from him and pressed both his hands down on the business card.

"No, Benny. Hi. How are you? Ready to get something to eat?"

Fraser gave to him a chagrined smile.

"That's what I came to talk to you about, Ray," he began. "Inspector Thatcher is waiting outside. I'm afraid she has consular duties for me to attend to that I can't get out of. She was gracious enough to let me come by here so that I could tell you face to face."

"You're driving the Dragon Lady around again this afternoon?" Ray guessed.

Fraser made a face of displeasure.

"Yes. You don't know how emasculating it is to be a taxi service on call, whenever she wants."

"Isn't that against like, Mountie rules or something? That she can't just use you like that?"

"She says it's official business," Fraser shrugged. "I can't dispute that."

Ray grinned and nodded.

"That's ok, Benny. Don't sweat it. It'll give me a chance to run some errands for Ma. But I'll see you tonight, right?"

The Mountie looked happy and then sly for a moment.

"Of course, Ray. It is my turn to cook."

"And I'm looking forward to it, too," Ray answered with his own mischievous smile and then finished in a lowered voice, "as well as dessert."

The blush he'd been aiming for suddenly colored his lover's cheeks and Fraser got to his feet. He cleared his throat although his smile did not waver.

"Until then, Ray," he said and turned to leave.

Ray watched him stride through the milling people with a sense of infinite pleasure and pride. God, herself, couldn't have made a better choice for a mate than he did with Benton Fraser, RCMP. Ray pondered the Mountie just for another instant before he realized he was still holding his hands over Hank Milnmen's business card. Ray broke the grip of his fingers and stared down at it until the name and organization name ran together.

He wasn't crazy. He was just not eating or sleeping well. It was that case he was working on that was getting to him, he was sure. It was making him nuts. Even Ben's late night backrubs didn't serve to ease him at all and that worried him. Ben was able to make everything better for him, everything. Except that. Ray scooped up the card with his fingernails and dropped it into the wastebasket.

Goodbye, Mr. Milnmen.

Ray then flipped open his case file folder and went back to work.

When Ben opened the door after Ray's knock later that evening, he murmured a word of delight and surprise as his lover threw himself into his arms. Ben kicked shut the door and held onto the desperate Ray Vecchio. After a moment he realized that something was definitely wrong.

"What's the matter, Ray?" he asked. "Did something happen?"

Ray held onto the man for another moment before he shook himself loose.

"What? Benny. I can't be glad to see you?" he asked boldly as he took off his coat and hung it upon the hook near the door. "I can't give you a hug?"

"Why, yes of course, Ray. You can. I'm glad to see you too. But, there is something wrong, isn't there?"

Ben followed Ray, as he walked into the small kitchen and began nosing through the pots simmering on the stove there.

"Mmmm, Benny. This stuff smells great! What is it?"

"Ray," Fraser started, hoping to get his attention.

The cop ignored him and rooted through the neatly organized drawer for a spoon with which to taste the soup.

"Ray," Ben said. "Ray?"

Ray spooned a mouthful of hot liquid into his mouth and swallowed quickly. He didn't taste it, nor did he feel the soup scalding his mouth and tongue. He clanked the top back upon the thin iron pot and stood there, staring down at it, keeping his back to Ben.

"Just wait a second," he said miserably, unable to keep his faade up any longer. "It'll come. Just wait."

"What will come, Ray?" Ben asked, moving behind him and putting his hands on Ray's slender shoulders.

"Whatever it is that's following me. It'll come."

Ray knew he must have sounded out of his mind, but he needed to tell someone who would listen and not just dismiss him as another nutcase. He knew Ben would at least listen, before he passed judgement and Ray felt consoled as the Mountie put his warm hands on his shoulders. Ray nearly melted. His tongue loosened and he wanted to tell him everything; everything that had happened since the day he acquired the Oshner case. But he didn't say a word. He stood there, silent and trembling.

Ben felt the man shudder beneath his hands and he turned his eyes towards the door, thinking that it was a physical being to whom Ray referred. Ben expected a knock at the door. He waited.

Nothing.

"Ray," he said squeezing his shoulders. "What are you talking about? Is someone coming here?"

"You can say that," Ray answered, shakily.

He bit his lip and finally turned around. Ben's hands slid down and away from his shoulders and the man waited for his explanation.

"Do you think, I'm crazy, Benny?" he asked, suddenly.

Raising his brows at his unexpected question, Ben shook his head.

Ray rubbed the back of his neck, trying to smooth the prickling skin there and looked away from those probing blue eyes. He was crazy; his lover just didn't know it yet. Ray took in a deep breath, which he suddenly coughed out as he went as rigid as a post. His olive colored eyes widened in apparent fear and he reached out to grip Ben's arms.

"It's here!" he hissed.

Ray took in several short panting breaths.

"It won't quit following me, Benny!"

Ben looked towards the closed door and then back at Ray.

"Ray... I don't understand. Who's following you? Who's here!?"

Ray's fingers tightened painfully on him.

"Don't you smell it?" he asked frantically. "Smells like... flowers."

Ben frowned and tested the air. All he could smell was the boiling soup. He looked back at Ray and tried to understand what was frightening him so.

"Please, Ray," he began calmly. "You have to tell me what you see."

"I don't see anything!" Ray cried. "I just smell it. I smell... flowers. Every time I come here I smell it. Every night. I smelled it when I was at home. The same thing! It's so strong; I can't be imagining it. Please Benny! I'm not crazy!"

Ben saw the tears of panic welling in Ray's eyes and he felt impotent to help him. He didn't know how to quiet him.

But then, he spoke very quietly, keeping his voice low so that only Ray could hear.

"Tell it to go away."

Ray's wild eyes focused on Ben's face.

"Tell it to go away, Ray," he repeated softly. "Tell it to go, now."

Ray opened his mouth and the words tumbled out.

"Go away," he said. "Go away, now."

Both men stood in electrified silence, waiting, both not breathing both staring at the other. Ben finally felt Ray's hands ease up on their grip, and he watched him sniff the air tentatively for a long while.

"Is it still here, Ray?" Ben asked reaching up to stroke Ray's moist cheek with the backs of his knuckles.

He had been sweating lightly although the apartment was apparently too cool for that to occur normally. Ray's breathing returned to a semblance of normalcy and he sagged back against the hot stove. Ben clicked off the eyes beneath the pots, took Ray by the arm and drew him away from the active eyes so that he wouldn't burn himself. Ben sat him in the chair and crouched before him.

"Is it still here, Ray?" he asked again.

Ray shook his head slowly as his eyes scanned the empty apartment.

"No," he said softly, hollowly.

Ben relaxed. Telling Ray to say that was just off the top of his head. He often did it when his own father would appear to him. If he didn't want to be bothered, he would simply tell him to go away. Usually it worked. But he was sure Ray wasn't experiencing anything as bizarre as that.

Ben took Ray's cold hands between his and stroked some warmth back into them. Ray was shaking and Ben tried to calm him.

"You want to talk about it?" he asked after a moment.

Ray avoided his eyes.

"I... I can't," he croaked, feeling extraordinarily embarrassed.

Ben sighed, and clasped Ray's hands in his.

"When you can," he began softly. "I want you to talk to me about what's happening. I want you to explain."

Ray's teary eyes fixed onto his and a small tentative smile quivered at the corners of his ruddy lips. He nodded and reached down to cup Ben's face with his right hand.

"I don't deserve you," he murmured, his throat thick with tears. "I don't deserve your understanding."

Ben smiled, teasingly, hoping to lighten the situation.

"I didn't say I understood but..."

Ray's smile widened just a bit and he dropped his hand. He took in a huge breath and blew it out through his mouth. He glanced around the quiet apartment, letting his eyes come to rest on a ginger and white colored wolf in the corner. Dief's ears were pricked up and were twitching back and forth as he stared pointedly at the window. Ben followed Ray's gaze to the wolf.

"He's been having trouble sleeping also," he told Ray.

Ray shot a look at Ben.

"Since I've been staying here?" he demanded a little more harshly than he'd intended.

"Ah..." Ben stammered. "Well, I think... maybe. I'm not certain."

"Benny..." Ray warned him. "Don't lie to me. If he wasn't sleeping while I was here, say so."

"But, Ray. I... I can't say for certain."

Ben grimaced inwardly. It was just a little stretch of the truth. More than once, he'd been jarred from slumber and had indeed noticed that Dief and Ray both were sleeping fitfully during some nights. It was as if they both were having the same dream both fighting the same unseen demons. But he didn't tell Ray that he noticed, because he didn't want to agitate him any more than he already was.

Ray stared at him in disbelief. But he wanted to trust his lover, he wanted to trust him so much that he let the subject slip to the side for the moment. He allowed Fraser to coax him into eating something and then having a warm cup of milk.

"This should help," he said as he gave the mug to him. "You are... ah... staying tonight, aren't you?"

Ray smiled at the hopeful note in his voice and he nodded. Ben smiled at him in returned.

"Good. I was hoping that you would."

The Mountie eased himself down into the chair across from Ray and folded his hands on the table. He stared at his hands as Ray pretended to sip at his milk. Ray, in fact, hated warm milk, and had many times told Fraser that he disliked it. But the Mountie had insisted and Ray wanted to make him happy.

Ray didn't want to be sleepy. He didn't want to sleep. He shuddered as he thought about his hallucinations and put the cup down, which was still half full. He didn't want them to come back.

They sat in silence for a long time. Ray listened to the tick of Fraser's watch, the murmur of the voices in neighboring apartments, the sounds from the night's street. He needed comfort. He needed to feel protected and loved. Ben was the only person he knew that could do that for him.

"Benny..." he whispered.

Up came the blue eyes, which gleamed, in the white overhead light.

He looks tired, Ray thought. He looks... distressed. Maybe he thinks I'm gonna flip out again.

Ray gave him a smile and he got up from the chair. He held his hand out to him, which Ben took without hesitation. Ray laced his fingers with his.

"C'mon," he said gesturing to the bed with a flick of his eyes. "Let's go to bed."

"All right, Ray," he agreed and attempted to take his hand out of Ray's grip, so that he could go and get his toiletries and wash up for bed.

That grip tightened ever so slightly and drew him from around the table. Obviously the Chicago cop had other things on his mind. Ray's kiss was soft and cool, and he pulled him, still kissing him gently, towards the bed, upon which they both lay. Heart pounding in his chest, Fraser put his arms about Ray's slender frame, and he could feel something different going on inside the cop. He could feel the tense apprehension in Ray's manner.

Ray, in turn, wrapped himself around Ben, pulling at and unbuttoning his over-shirt.

"Just make love to me, Benny," Ray moaned desperately against his lips. "I need you so much right now..."

"Anything, Ray," Ben whispered, bending to place kisses along the curve of his throat.

He quickly rid him of his clothes and then shed the rest of his own.

"I'll do anything for you..."

Anything to make you better. Anything...

Ray twined his arms about Ben's neck and tangled his fingers into his thick black fragrant hair. He pressed his naked body against him. Ray sighed deeply just breathing him in feeling ever grateful that Ben was there for him.

Ray closed his eyes reveling in the gentle caresses of his lover. He melted at the taste of those sweet kisses, which were flavored with desire. Ben's fingers were tender and strong, and they elicited from Ray, soft whispers of rapture and need.

The pleasure mounted to a terrible ringing in his body, a pleasure that threatened to tear out his heart. He clenched his teeth, muffling his voice, and he clenched his hands with Ben's as he rode out wave after wave after wave of release. He could feel the marks in his bottom lip where his teeth had lay tracks and only because he couldn't keep himself silent anymore did he cry out. His voice was harsh and unsteady in the coolness of the room.

Ray buried his face into Ben's neck and sobbed.

"Save me... save me... please Benny..."

Strained and rough, his voice trailed into the silence of the apartment.

"Help me..." he moaned.

Ben held him tight, unable to do anything but physically console his lover. He stroked his moist shoulders and back as Ray shuddered. Ben didn't know what else to do. He reached for the thin covers that they had bucked off to the foot of the bed and pulled it around them.

"I'm here, love," he whispered against Ray's ear, while rocking him slightly. "Sleep now. I'm here."

Ray Vecchio awoke with a start, thinking that he'd heard someone say his name. His eyelids slid back and he stared into the dimly lighted gloom of the small apartment. He saw Dief sleeping in the corner, curled up into a tight ball, with his nose tucked beneath his fluffy tail. Nothing had disturbed him.

"Benny?" he whispered hoping that maybe the Mountie had called to him.

Ben was fast asleep with his arm draped possessively about Ray's waist and his face, resting in the curve of Ray's neck and shoulder. He shivered and nestled against Ben's warmth. Ray closed his eyes firmly and willed himself back to sleep. He lay there for a long time listening to himself breathe in tandem with his sleeping lover, but no sleep came. Something settled in the sink, or maybe it was on the stove; a pot top shifted, but Ray snapped awake at the noise.

A small whimper escaped him and he looked over at Dief again, who was now sitting upright and staring eerily back at him. His brown eyes were wide and alert in the twilight. Fear crept over the detective and he shivered again, his skin a mass of goose bumps. Somewhere in the back of his brain he remembered reading, or hearing that animals were more aware of the world surrounding them because they could see and hear in higher frequencies than humans can. There must have been something...there in the room, to awaken Dief, who usually slept like a rock without a care.

His lips parted dryly and his tongue moved to speak and wake Ben.

But his tongue was thick and stuck to the roof his mouth. Ray consciously worked up enough saliva to moisten his tongue only to be frightened motionless with what he saw next. A soft dark gray haze drifted about Dief's haunches and face. The wolf sat very still following the haze with his eyes, laying his ears back against his head, and sniffing curiously at the air. He seemed more relaxed than afraid, not imitating the paralyzing fright that coursed through Ray Vecchio. A hoarse sound came out of the detective but he couldn't move.

He couldn't speak.

All he could do was watch.

His body went rigid and nausea borne of fear coated the back of his throat.

The mist wafted like smoke on a light wind all around the wolf, before engulfing the animal. Abruptly Dief dropped down into a prone position and Ray tried to cry out to him. Nothing came out. The mist shifted and made to come towards the bed.

Ray whimpered.

In his mind, which was ablaze with a scream, he could hear the words he wished his mouth would speak.

"Hail Mary full of grace, the lord is with you blessed are you amongst women and blessed is the fruit of your womb. Holy Mary mother of God pray for us sinners now and at our hour of death."

The mist came closer. Ray's heart leapt into his throat and his body broke into a cold slimy sweat. A strange tightness in his chest constricted his breathing. The hairs all over his body stood to attention. All he could think of was that he couldn't move to protect Ben.

Benny is asleep and I can't move. What if it came him and not me?? I can't let that happen!

Panting violently, he managed a strangled whisper,

"Hail Mary full of grace, the lord is with you blessed are you amongst women and blessed is the fruit of your womb. Holy Mary mother of God pray for us sinners now and at our hour of death."

He brought his hands up to pinch his fingers about the cross around his neck. His lips moved rapidly over the prayer again.

"HailMaryfullofgracethelordiswithyoublessedareyouamongwomenandblesseisthefruitofyourwombholyMarymotherofGodprayforussinnersnowandatourhourofdeath.HailMaryfullofgracethelordiswithyoublessedareyouamongwomenandblesseisthefruitofyourwombholyMarymotherofGodprayforussinnersnowandatourhourofdeath!!"

Ray's voice rose in frantic volume as the scent of flowers ghosted around him. The cloud eased closer and closer. He began to scream out the prayer to his lord's Mother.

"Ray..." whispered a voice. "Ray!!"

They know my name!

Their hands touched him and shook him. Ray shot upright in bed, before he realized it was Ben that was holding onto him. It was Ben yanking him back into the present. Ray turned just slightly to stare unblinkingly at Fraser, who stared back at him in disbelief.

"What's the matter with you?!" he cried, reaching to hold Ray's sweating face between both his hands. "You're screaming like someone's... murdering you!"

Ray tore his eyes away from his and looked to where Dief was lying. The mist had vanished.

Pushing Fraser away, he got out of bed. Not caring that he was naked, he went over to the wolf and shook him awake. Dief lifted his head, annoyed at being torn from a decidedly delicious dream and glared at the naked cop. Flooded with relief, Ray thoughtlessly threw his arms about Dief's furry neck and squeezed him hard.

"You're ok," he murmured. "You're ok!"

Ray released the wolf and made his way back to the bed and back to the bewildered Mountie. Ben opened his arms when Ray slid back beneath the covers. Ray buried himself against the Mountie's broad chest and sat there like that for a long time, not breathing, and not speaking. Ben drew him down flat to the bed in his embrace until Ray was snuggled against him.

He caressed his shoulders over and over, gently murmuring words of comfort and love to him.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

He felt Ray shivering in his arms, shaking like he could never be warm again, but the cop didn't speak.

"It was just a dream," Ray murmured into Ben's neck.

Ben stroked his hands up and down Ray's moist back and didn't believe a word he was saying.

Ray lay there, shaking, fearing for his sanity, and trying to think of something rational to say to Ben. He felt sorry to have dragged him into the hellish situation without so much as an explanation. Ray pulled away from him and sat up again.

He drew the sheets up around his chest and wrapped his arms about his upraised knees. He shuddered a bit as the sweat dried on his skin, cooling him. Ben sat up too and leaned back against the wall at the head of the bed. He waited for Ray to explain.

"About five weeks ago, Welsh put on my desk this case. He told me that it was a reward for closing up my forty-one open cases."

"Congratulations," Ben answered lightly.

"Yea, well, that's what I thought," Ray answered sourly. "Until I looked at it."

He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed voluptuously.

"Jeremy Oshner had reported that his wife was missing, along with his two kids. They'd been gone for about... two weeks. No Dear John notes, no argument, no clothes packed, and no nothing. Or that's at least what he said in his statement. "

Ray put his hands around his knees again, glancing over at Dief again, who'd already fallen asleep again.

"So he says that she's been either kidnapped or she left him. I think she left him. But... that's it. I don't have anything else. Five weeks and nothing. And Oshner hadn't been saying anything more about it. Welsh had a little surveillance on him, but that didn't last long. I don't know what to do anymore."

Ray glanced around the apartment again and then looked at Ben.

"That's when I started... seeing things, Benny. I thought I was losing my mind."

"What were you seeing, Ray?" he asked softly.

"Things. I mean I can't explain it. Like... shapes and shadows right at the corner of my eyes and when I turn my head towards them, they vanish."

"Have you had your vision checked lately? That could be it."

"My sight is fine," Ray murmured. "It's something else."

"What do you think it is then?" he asked.

Ray cleared his throat. He didn't know what it was.

"It woke me up tonight," he whispered looking over at Dief again. "It was that scent I was telling you about. It started two weeks ago, just three weeks after I'd gotten the case. I would be at home, in my bedroom, always in my bedroom. I'd be sleeping or just about to go to sleep and then I'd start smelling...flowers. At first I thought it was Frannie's stuff, and I really didn't think much about it. Then I made a mistake of asking Ma if she smelled flowers around in the house. I couldn't come out and tell her. She told me no, and I let it go. After that, I started staying over here with you. I thought... well I thought I wouldn't smell it anymore. But it followed me. I started smelling it here."

Ray took in a long cleansing breath and he put his hand on Ben's arm.

"I'm sorry for freaking out like that tonight, Benny. I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't. I was just worried, Ray," he answered, his voice warm and comforting in the dark. "I didn't know, what to think."

"I didn't know how else to act. It scared me, Benny. It still scares me, and I hope talking about it won't bring it back."

Ben cleared his throat and put his hand over Ray's.

"Some man... do you remember the man who greeted you at the station this afternoon?"

"Elderly gentleman, tweed coat, cravat...?"

"Yea, Benny. That's him. His name is Hank Milnmen and he said that he came from my mother's church, she'd said something about what I asked her... about the smells... to Father Notcham and Notcham got in contact with him. He works for some sort of paranormal research society. He gave me his card. He thinks I'm being possessed, or... whatever."

"What basis is he making that assumption?" Ben asked.

Ray shrugged again, feeling silly.

"I don't know. I don't know what my mother told him, maybe she just blew stuff out of the water... you know, still trying to find an explanation for why I'm fucking you... or maybe he just took what she told him and ran with it."

Ray flinched belatedly, knowing his words sounded harsh.

"I'm sorry, Benny. I'm not trying to diminish you by saying that. But she gets under my skin sometimes..."

"It's quite all right, Ray," he answered firmly. "Go on."

Ray sighed.

"He told me, that spirits sometimes manifest themselves as scents."

"Is that what he thinks it is?"

"I don't know, Benny. I didn't tell him anything. He was just baiting me, I think. Trying to get me to talk."

"Did you?"

"I couldn't. What was I going to say? I see things in the night? My nose has an overactive imagination? He'll just look at me like another cash cow for his business."

"Maybe you're not imagining things, Ray. Maybe there's some truth to what he's saying."

"I saw something, tonight," Ray said suddenly. "I didn't just smell it. I saw it too."

The little hairs on his shoulders prickled and Ben glanced about the apartment.

"What did you see?" he asked hesitantly.

"Gray mist. It started over there, where Dief is and it swirled around him before it started to come over here. All I could think of was to pray. I prayed."

"Gray mist?"

Ray murmured something in confirmation.

"Are you sure?" Ben ventured to ask, knowing that he was already treading on fragile emotions with Ray. "I mean... Dief seems fine and..."

"I'm not crazy, Benny," Ray answered quietly.

"I know you aren't, Ray," he told him.

"Then why did you ask me if I was sure, like you think I'm making all this up?"

Ray turned slightly in bed to look at the Mountie, who sat up again.

"I didn't say that I think you're making this up," Ben replied quickly.

"Then why did you ask me that?"

The muscle in Ray's jaw twitched and he clenched his teeth harder, feeling a pang of anger rising in his already tight chest, bruised that his own lover would think he was nuts.

"I merely wanted to know..." Ben began and then shook his head as his sentence trailed off. "I don't know, Ray. I don't know what to say. But if you say you saw something, then I believe that you saw something. Whatever it was that you saw."

Ray frowned and turned his eyes away. He sighed and then scooted down beneath the blankets. Ben followed his lead and ventured to put his arm about his waist to draw him near. Ray rested against him and closed his eyes. He wasn't in the mood to talk about it anymore.

He needed to get some help.

Ray Vecchio took his lunch hour the next day and just got into his car and drove. He had earlier apologized to Fraser that he wouldn't be able to meet him during the break, and of course, the Mountie understood completely. He even sounded a bit happy that Ray was going to actively seek out his own answers and didn't mind that their plans had to take a back burner.

Ray didn't have a set goal in mind, but when he found himself passing the same grand building for the third time, he realized his destination has already been chosen. He parked the Riv across the street and without thought, he got out of the car and dashed through the afternoon traffic. He stood on the sidewalk at the front of an unfamiliar, but huge Catholic Church, just looking up at the ornate marble and pale stone carvings that surrounded the entranceway. He knew it was supposed to be comforting, that it was supposed to be calling all lost sheep to its bosom, but Ray felt anything but comforted.

He felt afraid.

The wind, which had been kicking up most of the morning, scattering about dead leaves and bits of city debris, whipped the flaps of his open coat and threatened to steal away his scarf. He reached up with cold ungloved hands and closed his coat. Ducking his head, he slowly walked up the stone steps and went into the church.

Roses.

Ray paused within in the bare doorway, letting his eyes adjust from the bright grey of the outside to the shroud of dimness of the inside.

It smells of roses and smoke in here, he thought, feeling a surge of panic rise within him.

Then he noticed the huge vases of those very same flowers flanking the doorway. He relaxed and realized that he had his hand still on the ornate brass vertical door handle. He pulled his hand away as if he'd as burned.

The thick oak door he'd shut behind him blocked out all natural light from street and he lingered in the deserted front hall, under the guise of still letting his eyes get used to the inner chamber, although he could see it perfectly. Muted beams of light filtered through the tall windows, around the brilliant colours of the religious images built into the glass.

Ray unwound the scarf from about his neck and stood there a moment longer, staring down at the maroon carpet that lead like a great tongue up to the pulpit, the altar and then to the massive hanging carving of Mary with babe in arms. Slightly open, Her eyes gazed benignly down at the sleeping child that was wrapped loosely in a white cloth. Ray felt a lump growing in his throat and his eyes burned with unreleased tears. In all his visits to Midnight Mass or to confessional or to church in general, he never paid much attention. His mind was always elsewhere and on everything but where he was and on what he should be doing. Most of the time he only went to service to please his mother; never for himself.

He never took into account the deliciously detailed decorations, the latticework, the statues, and the stained glass windows, none of it. He was highly aware of it now, and he felt a bit ashamed to suddenly be noticing its beauty only in his time of need. Ray moved deeper into the heart of the building as if pushed by an unseen hand. The church was empty, yet it seemed full and alive with the souls and the prayers of the people that had come before him. It seemed to hum with its power and its faith. Ray walked on leaden feet up the pitifully thin carpet and the tears in his eyes made it hard to see where he was going. He sniffed softly and then furtively glanced about him, in case someone was around, sitting and hiding in the pews that flanked him where they could see his outpouring of emotion.

There was no one.

He was alone.

Ray took in a shaky breath, and clenched his scarf between his hands as he continued to walk up to the front altar that jutted out just a bit beyond the front row of pews. He could hear the soft strains of pre-taped organ music as he drew closer to the altar. He wasn't sure if he was annoyed by it or whether he was soothed by it. He decided on the latter and then tuned it out. He lifted his eyes, training them on the benevolent face of the Mother. As he drew near, craning his neck to keep sight of her face, he noticed that her eyes were not on the child at all. In fact they were pinned directly on his face, and the pale eyes bored into his. Gasping, Ray out a soft cry of alarm, Ray, for the life of him couldn't remain upright any longer. He fell helplessly to his knees. From the impact, shards of pain jolted right up into his hips and he reached out to clutch the lip of the altar's base for support. But he did not feel that pain.

"Holy Mother..." he moaned, staring up into the statue's face.

"Please," he whispered. "I need your help. I need it more now than ever. Please help me..."

His words sounded hollow and raspy in the thickness of the church's musty air. Both hands now clutched the wood base and he could feel the splinters of the poorly sanded wood pricking his flesh. He was beyond caring; he was beyond anything but the look on the woman's face that beamed back at him. It was all he knew. It was all consuming, and he no longer cared about anything except that face, those eyes. Warmth that he'd only felt when he was around Ben began to drain into him, like liquid fire. It started at his gut, and spread like wine into his chest and throat. It flooded his limbs and lit his face. Ray was panting by then, his breathing reverberating against the thick wood benches that surrounded him. He closed his eyes and the tears came.

In the back of his brain he could hear the door of the church opening and then banging shut.

He spun around in surprise.

There was no one there and wiping gleaming tears he turned back to stare up at the statue that so wholly possessed him.

Something was not right and the simple fact of that made his whole body tingle.

He opened his eyes again feeling the presence of... someone.

Something.

The fresh scent of flowers wafted all around him. Nausea leapt into this throat and he froze

Cautiously he turned his eyes to the right and saw a little black girl standing there. She had crept upon him so quietly he didn't hear her approach. Her black hair, tamed by bright lemon yellow bows was neatly done in three pigtails, two sprouting from both sides of her head and a third bobbing up from the back of her head. Her dark blue tee shirt was stained with what looked like dirt and bits of grass and her matching pants looked equally as abused. But her smile was happy and content. She must have had a good day at play. She looked directly at him, being that since he was still on his knees, they were the same height. She smiled broadly, showing to him a gummy gap where her front teeth should have been.

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth...

Ray couldn't speak. She looked so fragile, and so cold with her little shoulders bony and poking against the tee, that he wanted to put his arms about her and hug her to warm her.

Where was her sweater?

Where was her coat?

Where were her parents??

She continued to smile, with her light brown eyes fixed calmly on his face. She then looked up and beyond him to whatever was at his back. Ray cautiously turned to his left and to his relief, he saw another little girl standing there.

Twins.

She too wore a dark blue tee shirt and matching pants that looked equally as soiled as her sister's. Her pigtails were a mess. The gay bows that had cinched her sister's hair into place, on her, were half pulled away from her delicate head, causing the black hair to stand out like horns on both sides of her head. The bow on the back pigtail was gone entirely.

The skin of her small face, he saw, was scratched and gouged, and the wounds still glistening with pus and blood. Her left eye was swollen shut. Dried mucus tracked from that ruined eye and trailed down her baby fat cheek. She too smiled at him, but it was a cold threatening smile. Her cupid bow lips were dry and cracked and where her two front teeth should have been, like her sister, there was a gap. Her blackened baby teeth protruded from her grotesquely distended mouth like sooty tombstones and dark blood oozed between them and stained her bottom lip.

Ray looked down at her small body as she lifted her hands. He looked at her upraised palms.

He felt sick at the sight of that moist flayed and raw flesh. The small bones of her tender hand poked through the pink meat of her palms like the ribs of an overcooked fish. The stench of urine and vomit rose from her and he turned his face away.

"Help us," whispered the first little girl. "Help us, please, Ray."

"Ho-how do you know me?" he managed to ask.

"Ray, Ray, Ray," chanted the ruined girl behind him.

She sounded amused. He could smell her fetid breath from where she stood and it turned his stomach. He couldn't look at her.

The little girl smiled.

"Where's your mother?" he asked, his voice thick.

The little girl continued to smile. Ray then felt a tiny hand clamp from behind, down with surprising strength on his shoulder. He gasped as a burn of what seemed like electricity coursed through his shoulder and down into his chest. The thing behind him demanded his attention.

"Find us," she rasped. "Help us."

At that the two little girls, after glancing up at the statue of Mary, reached out for each other and ran, with their hands clasped together up the carpet. Ray struggled to his feet and made to run after them. His legs were asleep and he moved as fast as he could.

"Wait," he called out. "Wait!"

The little girls didn't wait. They ran for the door, but before they reached it, they vanished.

"This isn't happening," he murmured collapsing onto one of the pews. "This isn't real. This isn't real."

He buried his face in his frozen hands, trying to wipe away the image of the two little girls.

He must have stayed there like that for a long time for the next voice he heard sounded like it was from the heavens.

"Are you all right, my son?"

Startled, Ray jerked his eyes up. He saw a wizened old man, dressed in somber black and the required stiff white collar, standing just to his left. Tucked beneath his arm was a box of cassette tapes, obviously for the radio that was still playing the lulling organ music.

Ray shot to his feet, embarrassed at having been caught.

"No, Father. I'm fine... just... um... reflecting."

The old man smiled gently at Ray and reached up to lightly, unobtrusively touch his arm. He then went away, moving up the middle isle without another word. Ray watched him go.

"Father?" he asked and walked towards the old man as the man turned.

"Yes?"

"That statue," Ray said indicating to the one above the altar.

"Ahh yes. The statue. It was a donation from Italy. We are very fortunate to have it."

"Is it old?" Ray asked.

"Oh yes. Over three hundred years! And it still maintains its shape. We are truly blessed."

"Well... isn't She supposed to be looking at her son? I mean... directly at him?"

The Father turned and looked up at the statue.

"She is," he said, though sounding a little unsure of his conviction.

"No," Ray corrected him. "She isn't. If you get close enough that you're looking directly up into Her face..."

Ray walked passed the man and closer to the underside of the statue to prove his point.

"Then it looks like She's looking..."

He stopped.

The statue's eyes were indeed pinned to the smaller statue in its arms.

The Father came to stand beside Ray and looked up to where he was pointing. Ray put his arm down and felt infinitely foolish.

"What?" asked the man now looking at him.

Ray shook his head and blinked to clear his eyes of a sudden film.

He smiled sheepishly.

"I just thought, I mean when I was here earlier and... that She was... Well. Never mind."

"That She was looking at you?" the man supplied for him.

Ray nodded mutely and stared down at the carpet. The Father merely smiled.

"She was," he whispered and moved away from Ray as he rummaged through the old lidless shoebox of tapes. The organ music had already stopped and the room was deathly silent. Ray felt a chill and he hastily left the church, full of tangled emotions and unresolved confusion.

"You got a call while you were out," Elaine said to him when he made it back to his desk in time to not be late punching in from lunch.

In her hand she held one of those pink while you were out slips which he took and thanked her for.

He read the brief message from Jeremy Oshner, requesting that he give him a call whenever it was most convenient. Ray picked up his desk phone and dialed the numbers.

Oshner picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"This is detective Vecchio. I'm returning your call."

"Oh, yea, Vecchio. I was just checking up on your progress. I haven't heard nothin' from you or your lieutenant in a week now. What's going on?"

Ray sat down in the chair and put his head in his hand. What could he say that wouldn't make him sound crazy?

Ray opened his eyes and stared down at the closed manila folder on his desk.

"I'm sorry Mr. Oshner. But I don't have anything to report. I didn't want to keep phoning you and telling you that I didn't have anything. It would get your hopes up too much."

He heard the man on the other end sigh and then clear his throat. Ray knew he must have been on the verge of snapping at that moment so he spoke quickly.

"Let me suggest this. Why don't I come by and we can talk. Maybe you can think of something else you may not have told one of the officers earlier, since you've had some time to think about what happened."

"There's nothing more to tell," he answered hastily. "I already told you all I know. You don't need to come here."

Ray sighed.

"I think I do, Mr. Oshner. Maybe if I got a feel for how your wife left, actually seeing it with my own eyes, then maybe I can... get something from it."

Ray knew he was grasping at straws, but the words as they left his mouth sounded convincing to him.

Oshner sighed again, unmoved.

"O.k. detective," he relinquished. "That's fine. I have to be to work in three hours, so... come on over now."

Ray nodded to himself and flipped open the case folder. He confirmed the man's address and promised to be there as soon as he could. He didn't want to take up any more time than was necessary. When Ray hung up the phone, he sat there for a moment longer staring at it, wondering if he did have a legitimate excuse for wanting to go to the man's house.

Well, he reasoned as he got his coat again, it was better than nothing.

Tempted to pull up into the brick driveway of the rambling two story white paneled house, Ray thought the better of it and parked the Riv along the curb out front. He got out of the car and stood leaning against the still warm car hood canvassing the neighborhood with his eyes. It was a quiet piece of suburbia, tree lined streets and neatly mowed lawns. It was the kind of place that made a one Raymond Vecchio, nervous.

"Too quiet..." he murmured to himself, walking around the car and up the neat brick laid walkway to the front door.

He nearly cursed aloud when the door swung open before he even touched it with his gloved fist. Noticing his surprise, the man on the other side smiled triumphantly.

"Sorry," he said blandly. "I saw you coming up the walk..."

Ray grimaced and gave to him a nod.

"I hope you'll have time for me to look around," Ray said, affecting his most professional air.

He only did that when he was annoyed.

"Yea, sure. I got a coupla hours," Oshner said, still filling the doorway with his bulk.

Ray looked up at him. He was... well to put it in unflattering terms, enormous. His Irish pie pan face was pasty and shiny. His sparse red hair sat on top of his pumpkin shaped head like a straw mat, sticking out in all directions. It looked as if it could be taken off intact and placed on the coffee table as a coaster. Ray suppressed a smile at that thought and let his eyes glance over the rest of the man's body. Dressed in gray coveralls, that barely hid the rolls of overflowing meat, with a white name tag that proclaimed "Jerry" above his left breast, Ray had to guess he was some sort of mechanic.

"Can I come in?" Ray asked, feeling the wind tapping at his shoulders. "I don't want to take longer than necessary."

Oshner gave him a look of challenge that Ray could read all too well, before he stepped aside and invited him in with a sweep of his hand. The first thing Ray smelled was boiling cabbage and cat hair.

Oh, this is going to be great, he thought looking around for any offending hairball that would want to use his new coat as a scratching post. He picked his way through the piles of newspapers and magazines and moved towards the middle of the living room.

"Um..." Ray began. "Can you tell me a little about your wife?"

He dug around in his coat pocket for a pen and his slender notebook where he made sure to take cogent notes that he and his lieutenant could read later.

"Her name is Janice. I met her at a black gay pride march."

Oshner's words were so flat and emotionless that Ray stopped nosing through the ceramic trinkets on the mantle right above the fireplace and turned to look squarely at him.

"Gay Pride?" he asked hesitantly.

"Something wrong with that?" Oshner snapped, glaring at Ray.

Ray held up his hand to placate the man and nearly laughed at accusation that he could be a homophobe.

"Nothing's wrong with that, sir," he said. "Just making a clarification."

"Well..." Oshner said, easing up a little. "She's not a dyke or nothing... she was just there with some friends."

"Ah," Ray answered and suddenly turned away to face the mantel to hide his smile.

The Fraser influence was definitely hitting him hard. If he weren't careful, the next thing he knew, he'd be tipping an imaginary hat and saying, thank you kindly before he left.

"And, so how long did the two of you know each other before you got married."

"About three months."

Ray's antennae went up.

"Three months is a really short dating period, Mr. Oshner," he said over his shoulder.

The man said nothing. He just stood with his arms tightly folded over his massive chest so that the material of his overalls stretched tight, looking as if they'd split along the seams at any moment.

"You wanna look upstairs?" he asked abruptly.

Ray had heard the gruff voice bark at him, but he was preoccupied with the small gold framed picture of Oshner and his wife and children. In the badly overdeveloped picture Oshner loomed over his wife, a petite dark skinned woman whose hair was done in waist length braids and whose smile displayed a prominent gap in her front teeth. Flanking her were her twin girls. She had her hands possessively cupping the tops of both their heads.

Twins!

The realization that he'd seen those girls before hit Ray like a merciless fist to the gut. He reached out with both hands to take the picture off the mantle ledge and he stared hard at it. He held it close to his face, trying to make sure that he had indeed recognized those girls.

My God. In the church. In the church. They begged me for help.

No! there was a logical reason for all this. There has to be!

Ray, his hands trembling, put the picture back and turned around.

Oshner was standing only three feet away from him when he did so, with his hands on his hips.

"I asked you if you wanted to see upstairs. I don't have all day."

Ray took a step back to give himself some room and he nodded quickly.

"Yea. Let's go."

Oshner frowned at him and with a hammy paw he pointed up the carpeted stairs.

"There's only four rooms up there. You shouldn't get lost."

Ray made his way around the man and went upstairs.

The first thing he noticed was that the thick carpet underfoot muffled damn near everything, even his own breathing. And he walked, feeling like he was wading through a swamp towards the doorway at the end of the hall. Oshner had said that there were only four rooms. There were two on the right, one on the left and one at the end of the short hallway. Ray made that his first stop. He reached down to the doorknob wholly expecting to open it and find a room full of spinning records, laughing clowns dolls and a closet sucking from another dimension.

Ray shook his head and that moment realized that he hated clowns. He hoped there were no clowns in that room.

He opened the door.

All he saw was a neatly made up girl's room. Ray stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind him. He took a moment, just leaning against the mirrored door to compose himself. He breathed in the little girl, powdery smell and sighed. He opened his eyes.

In there, the carpet wasn't as thick. It was a joyous lemon color with specks of red and blue tossed like confetti through out its threads. Twin canopy beds draped in yellow and blue covers, sat side by side, and separated only by a wooden nightstand upon which sat a small single cassette player. The dim afternoon light came in through the single window that sat directly across from the doorway in the far wall. It looked as if someone had taken the curtains down recently.

Ray went over to the window and looked down at the front lawn through the glass. Hanging below the window was an ancient fireman's ladder and he wondered if it reached all the way to the ground, at least enough where someone could escape through that window. His warm breath fogged the pane and he stepped back. He turned around again and leaned back against the cold windowsill. He could see himself reflected in the mirror across from him. And in looking at himself, a tiny reflection near his right side caught his eyes.

It was the gleam of light bouncing off the silver picture frame containing a candid picture of the two little girls at their birthday party. He picked it up from the dressed top and looked down at their laughing faces smeared with cake icing. He could see their mother standing, unsmiling, but obviously happy in the background. Still holding the picture in his hands, Ray went to have a seat on one of the beds. He lifted his head and scanned the toys neatly arranged around the room and the other little girl things he never thought existed.

"Where did you go, where did you go?" he murmured aloud.

Putting the picture frame on the nightstand he went to tinker with the microscope and science set on the worktable in the corner. The plastic petri dishes looked overrun with black mold and fungus. He toughed the plastic lid with a fingertip, hoping that they wouldn't soon overgrow and push the lid off to spew their seeds into the pristine air of the bedroom.

Somebody really should throw them out, he thought and turned back to the beds.

Oh a whim he went to the tape player and depressed the rewind button. He listened to the tape run its course for a moment before he hit play. Soft static listed out of the single speaker and then out shouted a voice. Ray jumped and thumbed down the volume. Softer this time, the voice continued to speak.

"...if you go out in the woods tonight you'll surely get a big surprise... if you..."

"That's not how it goes," answered another childish voice.

"Yes it is. That's what it says right in the book."

"Lemme see that."

Ray heard the rustling of pages and the murmur of voices.

"See, Brandy. I was right. If you go out in the woods today you'll sure get a big surprise. That's how it goes..."

"What-ever, Brenda," said Brandy. "You're always trying to be miss perfect."

"No, I'm not!" Brenda answered. "You are."

"Am not!"

"Fine. What-ever!"

Ray smiled down at the tape player as he listened.

"Ok. Look. Go ahead and do your part and then I'll do mine. Make sure you get it right."

Ray heard her huffing a sigh.

"Awright. Ahem!"

The two girls giggled.

"Hello there ladies and gentlemen. This is WBBO. I am your teacher Brandy and today we will read, for your viewing pleasure..."

"Listening..." hissed a voice in the background.

"For you listening pleasure. "The teddy bear's picnic"."

Ray shut off the tape. He opened the drawer of the nightstand to find a whole slew of neatly labeled tapes. He ruffled through them, noticing that they had a tape labeled for every holiday season, and major event in their lives. He shut the drawer.

They were certainly adorable kids. Now, where the hell were they?

Ray took one more look around the bedroom and then left it. He went into the master bedroom and could see right away the differences in 'her' side and 'his' side. Although he and Angi both had their own 'sides' to their bedroom, they were never as divided as the one he saw before him.

It was everything woman centered and witchy on her side on his side was just... well... blank. There was nothing there to give Ray a hint into the man's psyche.

But her...

Janice...

Ray went towards her small desk and chair with hands outstretched, eager to delve into her. What was she like? What did she have on her mind? Why did she take the children... if even she did take them?

Feeling a bit like a peeping tom, Ray paused a moment before pulling away the chair that sat snugly into the crotch of the desk. He was indeed invading her personal space and he felt guilty. But the secrets behind her disappearance were hidden in that desk and Ray justified it to himself. It was his job to find her and in finding her meant that he had to get into that desk.

Sighing, Ray pulled the chair out and then eased out the heavy drawer. It was loaded with slips of paper and small books, both hard and soft covered. Ray smiled to himself.

Jackpot.

He sat down on the chair and one by one drew each item out. He stacked the pieces of paper in one pile, the books in one and any other miscellaneous items into another. He sat there looking at them, pushing a finger through the pile of crystals and other such gemstones he'd found. He picked up the bloodstone and rubbed it between his fingers until it grew warm and seemed to soften to his touch. Ray let out a breath through parted lips, mildly tempted to slip the small ruby stone into his pocket. But he didn't take it. He lay it back down and then went through the assorted books.

"Your inner witch" read one title.

"Your inner witch, an introduction to the clan", read another.

Absently thumbing through that one, Ray let his eyes wander over the two other books. There were pretty much similar. Janice was obviously apart of a coven and she had several coven rule manuals in her desk, but they told him nothing about her. An idea struck him and he reached into the empty desk drawer. Hell, he'd seen it work too many times on stupid cop shows he always found himself watching. Why wouldn't it work for him? He was a real cop. His long fingers searched carefully over the unsanded wood and then upwards beneath the overhang of the underside of the desk, looking for any book or message that may have been taped there.

Nothing.

Ray drew back in disgust. The good guys never win, he thought and then smiled to himself.

The papers proved to be disappointing too, nothing but vouchers, bills, receipts. Her disappearance had nothing to do with credit debts, for all her cards had been paid off and all her billing invoices were up to date.

Ray toyed with the thought of all her money matters being in order. It wasn't an odd thing in itself, for people did it all the time. But under the strange circumstances, that fact could prove useful. Like she was tidying up her life before she took off with the kids. Ray put the papers and the books and the pretty stones back into the desk drawer and shut it softly. He got up and shoved the chair back in. Ray stood there for a moment staring down at the desk. He then looked up to the shoulder high dresser butting up against the desk and noticed the book.

He reached for the black felt covered book that sat propped up against a squat jar of India ink and quill pen set. It was one of those blank lined books that you could pick up at any generic bookstore. He knew that for a fact because Frannie had plenty of them; all floral and pretty in which she detailed gooey and romantic and sometimes sick sexual fantasies she'd had about the Mountie. Most of those fantasies included rope and a certain part of the poor man's anatomy.

Ray chuckled to himself. If Fraser only knew.

Ray fingered the black raven's feather while he let his thumb ride over the soft matted book cover. He opened it and sighed. A breath of a dried flower scent hit him and a sprinkle of crushed petals spilled out from between the pages. Ray quickly held the book horizontal to stop them from falling and with one hand brushed the crispy petals from his coat. He looked sheepishly down at the carpet that was now littered with them, before crouching to sweep them up into his hand. Ray shoved the litter into his pocket after seeing that there was no waste can in there.

The moment of truth, Vecchio, he thought.

Ray stood there in the dim light coming through the curtained window right behind the desk and read Janice's inner most thoughts. He felt even worse as he did so, because now he was truly prying where he shouldn't have been. But Ray learned a lot about her, through her delicate and intricate prose.

Many times she'd just written the words, "I'm so very happy!" on the blank lines as if trying to convince herself that she was.

She'd said that she'd enjoyed her job, working with Autistic children, and doing all kinds of Fraser-like volunteering. She had adored her own children and tried to give to them all the things she had during her own happy childhood. That meant shelves of books, science kits, body models, arts and crafts, music lessons, etc.

Ray saw that Janice didn't want to pigeonhole her daughters into being just girls. She wanted them to be more than that. As Ray read her thoughts, he noticed that she never once mentioned her husband at all. It was as if she didn't want to sully the pristine cream colored pages with his presence. That too struck him as odd. If she was so very happy, her husband should be there too.

There was a single sheet of white paper stuck between the pages towards the back of her unfinished journal. Ray carefully unfolded it and found two neatly hand drawn calendars for the last month and the current month. In each box for each day was a list of things she either wanted to do, or had to do or placed she had to go. He checked the dates and noticed that they days of last months were crossed off right up until the tenth. Ray remembered that Oshner did get in contact with him on the fifteen of that month. So the timeline was relatively correct.

Ray scanned the two calendars seeing that every Friday, Janice's coven met for prayer and meditation. And this Friday, two days away, Ray saw, was no different. In fact there were exclamation marks next to that meeting's listing. Something about a special gathering.

Meeting Sisters
Three o'clock
Winsdor, by the lake!!!
Everyone!!

He put the book back where he found it straightened the little odds and ends that were on the desk and left the room, closing the door behind him. As he descended the stairs, Oshner was just coming out from the other room and shrugging on his coat.

"I'm done," Ray said to him.

"Good," he answered. "I hope you don't have to come back neither."

Ray frowned. He stepped up in front of the much larger man and looked up into his face.

"What's your problem?" he asked curtly. "I mean, somebody's trying to help you out here and you act like this."

The unibrow above Oshner's pale green eyes tensed like a thick red caterpillar. Ray narrowed his eyes, confident in his fighting abilities, if the man decided it was time to go to blows. The two men stared at each other and Ray could hear the creaking of the man's thick leather jacket as he moved from foot to foot.

"I gotta go to woik," Oshner said after a moment.

"You didn't answer my question, pal. I asked you what your problem is. Is it me?"

'Cause we can do this, man, Ray wanted to add.

Instead he said, "'cause if it is, I can gladly get somebody else to come out and trample your daisies."

The caterpillar moved up and then down again. Oshner seemed surprised that somebody of Ray's size had the audacity to talk to him like he owned the room.

What he didn't know, was that Ray Vecchio owned every room he ever stepped foot in.

"I gotta go to woik," he repeated flatly.

Ray all but snarled at him and turned on heel to go himself. He was far from wanting to help the man find his wife, whom he was now convinced, left him. But his curiosity had been peaked and he couldn't let it rest until he followed the case through.

"I'm not going to take too long, Benny," Ray told the Mountie as they lay in bed that Thursday night. I mean I'm just gonna go, talk to them, see if Janice is there, then get out."

"You should take your time," whispered a quiet voice near his ear.

"Yeah. Maybe. But I already missed two dinner dates with you already. I don't want to miss another."

"You didn't miss anything."

"What time did I show up last night and tonight?"

"Eleven p.m."

"Right. I missed dinner."

"Ray, you still had dinner."

Ray sighed.

"Are you kidding me, Benny, or are you playing dense or something?"

A chuckle.

"Go to sleep, Ray."

The arm about his waist tightened.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to be on time tomorrow. So get Turnbull or somebody to drop you by the station. I want to see you face when I get back. Like five or something."

"Yes, Ray. I'll be there."

A yawn.

Ray closed his eyes. He had a lead. Things were looking up.

There were at least a dozen cars waiting quietly in the parking lot of Windsor Park. Ray pulled the Riv into a grassy slot right beside a late model Ford and shut off the engine. He sat there for a moment, absently staring at the gathering of people he saw standing off in the distance near the waterfront. Ray Vecchio took in a long breath and sat there, breathing it out through his nostrils.

What if she's out there, cavorting with her Sisters? Ray thought. What am I going to say to her? What if she refuses to come back?

"She hasn't broken the law," Ray said aloud. "I mean. Maybe she just went on a vacation with her kids and didn't tell her husband. People do that all the time."

Ray snorted in disbelief and shook his head.

"What if she's not there. Then what? You got another dead end, Vecchio..."

Ray sighed again, this time through his mouth.

"I know," he whispered and then got out of the car.

The cold northerly wind whipped at his face and coat and Ray had to scramble to catch his escaping scarf. He couldn't lose that scarf for it was a Christmas present to him from Ben. Ray buttoned his coat, tucked in the scarf and pulled down on his sheepskin and leather skullcap. He wriggled his fingers into his gloves as he walked out of the parking lot and down a cedar chip lined pathway that lead directly to the waterfront. He paused there at the edge of the path and scanned the area. The small park had a few circles of trees, a few benches scattered here and there, and a small low building that had been cordoned off with yellow and black construction tape. The park was empty that frigid afternoon and Ray didn't wonder why. It he'd had his druthers he would be curled beneath a thick blanket playing footsies with a certain hot blooded Mountie.

Ray clapped his hands together, annoyed that he felt the cold so much and continued to approach the group. As he drew near, he saw that it was mainly comprised of women wearing white gauzy dresses and nothing else. Their arms were as bare as their feet and Ray felt a shudder just looking at them. He remembered his mother telling him a myriad of times,

"Put something on, you're making me cold!"

And at that moment, he knew exactly what she'd meant.

Then he noticed that some were completely naked, baring themselves to the frost and the free world. Ray turned his eyes away from them and saw a familiar faced man sitting on a nearby park bench. Ray frowned as Hank Milnmen gave to him a little wave and a smile. Ray looked away from him, embarrassed for the elderly man was also naked and sitting on a sleeve of newspaper to protect his bottom from the bench.

Ray gave him a slicing wave and shaking his head he moved a respectable distance to the group before he stopped. Whatever their purpose there, he didn't really want to intrude.

Hank Milnmen's voice was very close all of a sudden and Ray jumped a bit startled.

"All cancer survivors, detective Vecchio," he said indicating to the group. "All have found comfort with the Goddess. And they're not going to invite you over. What are you doing here, detective?"

Ray ventured a peek at his companion and realized that he'd seen too much already. He turned away quickly.

"I... uh... I came looking for Janice Oshner," he explained.

"Janice?" Milnmen asked in surprise. "I haven't seen her in weeks. You know her?"

"I know her husband," Ray answered, watching the women join hands to form a wide circle.

"Are you apart of this group?" Ray asked.

Milnmen grinned, noticing that the detective was looking off to the waterfront instead of feasting his eyes on the women.

"I'm a co-founder. My wife died of ovarian cancer before she could..." his voice trailed.

Ray said nothing.

"I'm sorry about your wife, but look. Do you know where I can find Mrs. Oshner?" Ray asked suddenly. "Her husband has reported her missing and I came out here to get a lead on her. Now you say she's not here... well..."

"I don't know, detective Vecchio," Milnmen said a bit boyishly, as if he'd just been implicated in a great cookie heist.

"You wouldn't tell me if she even was here, would you..."

Ray made it more of a statement than a question and without waiting for a reply he walked towards the group.

Calling out politely he introduced himself and explained why he was there. The women didn't seem to take offense to his presence. They gathered around him almost cooing like contented doves. Ray smiled down at them, never having seen such a racially mixed group of women in one setting.

"Is that Armani?" asked one red haired woman, smiling and fingering his coat sleeve.

"Ah, yes it is," Ray claimed proudly. "And if you ladies wouldn't mind, I have a few questions for you about Janice Oshner."

"Oh, Janice up and left that old bully, Jeremy," said another woman who introduced herself as Mavis.

Ray guessed her age to be about sixty. She was one of the naked ones, who didn't seem to mind the cold at all.

"Oh?" Ray asked looking into her sparkling grey eyes, trying hard to keep his eyes from looking down at her scarred chest. "Why do you say that? Did she tell you that?"

"Breast cancer," Mavis supplied with a smirk, noticing the young man's discomfort as she stroked her crescent shaped surgery scars. "They took 'em both. Now I'm free as a bird."

A few of the women tittered.

"I..." Ray began. "Um...well. Ok."

Ray ventured a smile and palmed his notepad waiting for an answer.

The women all exchanged glances and immediately Ray knew something was amiss.

"If you ladies have something that you're hiding," Ray began slowly, making himself meet each set of eyes in turn. "Then I suggest that you tell me. And tell me now."

"We're not hiding anything, detective," said Veronica, a still clothed black woman who looked to be in her early forties.

She ran a hand over her bald shaved head and stared directly at him.

"We are just as worried as you are. She was supposed to be here with us."

Ray sighed, and felt a bit defeated. He wasn't getting anywhere. But he stayed a moment or two longer just asking questions which the women freely and honestly answered. Janice was a mystery to all of them and none of them could supply any pertinent information. Before he left them, the women invited Ray to stay for a circle dance. Open for pretty much anything, Ray almost agreed. But when one of the stipulations meant he had to strip down to shirtsleeves and slacks, he graciously declined.

Ray watched the women, from a distance again. Milnmen joined them and soon all of them in turn, celebrated the Goddess and Mother Earth. He found himself so strangely comforted by the sight of them that he was surprised when his attention was averted. He turned to look toward the low building roped off with construction tape. It was approximately fifty yards away from the gathering. Maybe Janice was there and was peeking out from the safety of the building. It wouldn't hurt to go and check it out, he thought pushing himself into motion.

As Ray drew closer, he came across a sign jammed into the frozen ground. In cheerful yellow letters, it read:

"Please excuse our dust! Shuman and Benster Construction Co."

Then another sign that was tacked up on the wall of the building read:

"Site for reconstruction."

Below the words was a tiny diagram of what the new bathroom facilities would look like.

Great, Ray thought looking up at the dilapidated building. They need it.

He walked around the building until he came to the boarded up doorway. Ray pressed a hand against the soft rotted boards, which creaked and gave a bit beneath his pressure. He continued to circumvent the building and came to another crude opening where the bricks of the wall had been torn out, broken out, kicked out, whatever and then covered by thick construction tape. Ray bent down a bit and peered through the hole. A loose end of the tape flapped like bird wings in the wind and he reached up to tear it away so that it wouldn't hit him in the face. Inside the building was dark and quiet. He could just barely make out the raw gutted innards of the room that once held toilets and sinks.

Movement out of the corner of his eye made him call out,

"Hello?"

No one answered.

Janice, Ray thought and pulled the rest of the tape away. He wadded it up in his hand and tossed it through the hole in the wall. Taking a deep breath, he hunched his shoulders and eased himself in through the opening.

He stayed close to the wall as he unfolded his tall frame and fished through his coat pocket for his mini flashlight. Fraser had bought that for him too, telling him that it was always a good idea to be prepared, no matter what.

"Proper preparation prevents poor performance," Ray murmured aloud, repeating what Ben had said to him, once.

He flicked the flashlight on. It's creamy white beam cut through the gloom in the room. The shadows fell away from him and from the pool of light. He shone the beam all across the moist tiles that still remained on the wall and over to the crooked arms of thin pipes jutting out like skeletal arms from the baseboards. He illuminated the stumps of concrete and metal that were the remnants of the stalls before finally swinging the light upward to see the frazzled wires dangling from the ceiling around the edges of the now defunct overhead light.

Ray ventured to move deeper into the room.

"Hello? Janice?" he called. "Chicago PD I just want to ask you a coupla questions."

Ray shone the light down to the warped wood boards beneath his feet. The tile covering the floor had been long taken up and it looked as if the company had already started tearing up the floor below the tile before they'd taken their hiatus. He picked his way carefully. The foul odor of urine and feces caressed his senses and he pinched his nostrils together. Obviously the place had been unoccupied since they closed it down to the public. He could see the piles of animal droppings, or so he hoped they were of animal origin and he was careful as to not to step in any of it.

"Mrs. Oshner?" he said. "My name is detective Ray Vecchio. Your husband... is..."

His voice trailed and he could have sworn, mingling with the effluvium, he'd smelled...

Flowers!

"Jesus," he murmured and turned around so that he was facing the crater that he so foolishly climbed through. The bright hazy mid afternoon light from the outside seemed to just hang in mid air as it came through the missing bricks.

Ray.

The voice sounded so clear in his head, he wasn't sure if he himself hadn't uttered it. He spun around, nearly stumbling over his own feet.

"Who's there?" he asked, shining the light all around the bathroom.

His right hand reach down to his waist holster and he flicked off the snap that held the gun in place. He wasn't about to be knifed up by a junkie making him for an easy mark.

Ray stood there for a moment, feeling cool headed and strangely calm. He waited for the image of the children to appear. A scent always seemed to precede a manifestation. He waited, but didn't see anything. Ray turned again and moved back to the hole in the wall. His foot caught something that nearly sent him sprawling. He stepped back and let the light fall over the obstacle.

There the floorboards had been unceremoniously ripped up in that area and the dark brown earth below looked disturbed. Ray bent a little to get a closer look. A scrap of yellow caught his eye and he reached down for it. Gently he brushed some of the dirt away and then tugged on it. Something was holding it back beneath the mound of dirt and he gave a stronger tug.

Hot sour bile washed up in his throat for as he pulled, up came something for which he could never be prepared to see. In the light of his flash, he could make out the top of a head of hair. At first he thought it was a discarded doll, but the rotted skin of the scalp told him otherwise. Releasing the yellow bow, Ray yanked his hand back. He clenched his teeth against the moan of distress that threatened to come roiling out of him.

"Oh God, please no," he murmured dropping to his knees at the lip of the destroyed boards.

Frantically he dug into the frozen earth until he could see the rest of the body. Clenching the flashlight between his teeth, he turned his head just so that he could light the ruined face. The eyes were missing and the dark chocolate flesh was mottled with worm holes and half eaten away, but he recognized her. He knew her darling little face. He pulled her free of her shallow grave.

"Sweet Jesus," he groaned, wiping the flecks of pus and dirt from her face.

It was one of the Oshner twins that had appeared to him in the church. Ray reverently lay her back on the bed of soil and moved to search for her sister. The building creaked beneath its own weight and Ray heard the wind whistling joyously passed the cavity in the bricks. He felt a tugging sensation at his shoulders and then felt the presence of something he'd never felt before. Whatever it was, it filled the room and bore down upon him. Ray felt smothered and he gasped through his mouth to get enough air into his rapidly collapsing lungs.

But he couldn't stop digging. Rocks and bits of glass from the broken light bulbs cut and sliced into the icy tissue of his fingers and palm, but he kept clawing away the dirt.

The force and violence of the presence surrounded him. Abruptly Ray found himself sprawling out onto his back in the darkness. The flashlight skittered out of his grasp. A cry of surprise leapt from him and he shot to his feet only to be knocked over again. He hit the floor hard this time and lost his wind. Ray grabbed for his gun. He raised his hand, just in time to lose the weapon as a loose ceiling board came down upon him. Pain brightened in his hand and arm and he drew back. Ray scrambled to his feet, miraculously keeping his balance in the treacherous mess of the room.

A shadow passed across the pool of light that his flashlight made against the wall. It had the distinct form of a small woman with a headfull of what looked like snakes. He searched the darkness to find his gun, to no avail.

Hands on his back shoved him forward and he distinctly heard the sound of a woman's voice laughing.

"You can't have them. They are my children!"

Janice!

"NO!" he yelled, unable to form any other articulate words.

Then every thing crashed down in his brain. It all made sense to him. Could a mother's love be so great that she would take her children's lives and bury them in such a squalid place?

Ray lurched forward towards his flashlight and snagging it from where it had fallen, he turned its beam to the place behind him. He saw the woman and she threw up her hands in surprise to protect her eyes from the light. But the light, Ray saw, passed right through her.

"You can't have them. They are my children!" screeched the form again.

Ray backed away, stumbled on something and then fell. The loosely piled boards he'd upset, rattled like coffins all around him and then he felt his hands sink into something slick and slimy. He tried to shove himself upright, only to push deeper into the filth. It only took him a moment to place the smell and the feel of what he'd gotten into. It was the corpse of Janice Oshner.

Ray dragged himself to his feet, ready to face the mother's apparition, but she was gone. The room was quiet.

"Detective Vecchio?!" cried voices outside the bathroom. "Detective Vecchio? Are you all right??"

Gasping, to keep from being sick, Ray made his way back to the hole in the wall. He poked his head out and like a chorus line, the gathering of women stepped back in unison away from him. Ray managed to make his way out through the crevice, with their help.

"We heard screaming coming from over here," Milnmen said. "What's going on?"

He was now dressed in a loose bathrobe, for which Ray was thankful. Ray Vecchio stared at all of them, unable to decide what he should say. Should he tell them anything at all, should he lie?

Still not saying a word, Ray got out his cell phone and with a shaking carnage slick hand he called for backup. If they wanted to know, they could find out from somebody else. He didn't want to talk anymore. He moved out of the circle of people and up towards the parking lot where he waited for the other cops to arrive. As he knew he would, he saw Fraser getting out of Huey's unmarked car. Both men walked directly towards him, Fraser with a look of concern on his handsome face and Huey with a look of annoyance.

Ray told them both what he'd found, in brief, although, for his own sane state of mind, he left out whole chunks of the story. Huey turned towards his partner, Louis and said,

"Better call the meat wagon,"

"Hey," Ray snarled looking up at him. "Have some respect."

Huey frowned at him and shook his head. He and Louis walked down to where Ray reported the bodies. A few other uniformed police officers followed suit.

"Are you all right?" Fraser asked when they were alone. "You're covered in gore."

"I'm ok, Benny," he said, wanting so desperately to reach out to touch his lover.

He desperately needed reassurance.

"Are you sure, Ray?"

Ray smiled blandly and nodded. He let his eyes drift towards the shell of the bathroom and then to the line of gray water just beyond it. There, standing like twin statues were two little girls. They turned away from the water as if sensing that he was looking at them and then raised their hands and waved. One of them blew overly theatrical two handed kisses at him. Ray felt himself smiling and ventured to return the girls' waves.

"Someone you know?" Fraser asked, though he couldn't see anyone that Ray could be waving at.

"Yes," Ray answered simply, giving to him a smile. "Some friends."

When he looked back, the girls were gone.

Ray Vecchio sat at his desk two weeks later re-reading the coroner's report on Janice Oshner and her two children. The children were strangled to death with a stocking ligature and buried. Janice had taken her own life by wedging her neck between to upright pieces of floorboard, which was why, Ray noticed, she could still suffocate herself even after she'd covered herself with the loose boards.

But why? He thought closing the folder. Why kill yourself and your children and lay like dogs in the rotten bathroom of some park in Chicago? What or who was she trying to get away from?

Jeremy Oshner, after hearing the news of his wife's death showed absolutely no signs of emotion. He merely nodded to Huey and Vecchio, got up from his own couch and went upstairs to one of the rooms up there and slammed shut the door. He left the two detectives sitting like fools in his living room. The two men left him there to mourn, or laugh, whichever he was doing, on his own.

Ray finished typing up his report and pulling the clean sheet from the typewriter he lay it down on the desk. He scanned it quickly for mistakes.

"Hi, Ray," said a voice, causing him to look up.

"Hey, Benny. You ready to go?"

Smiling, and looking resplendent in his faded red and black flannel coat and blue jeans, Ben let his fingers brush the edge of Ray's desk.

"I am," he answered.

"Good. Me too."

Ray stowed his report in the case folder. He dropped it off with Welsh before getting his coat and leaving the station with Fraser.

"I don't like unsolved cases," Ray told him once they'd gotten in the car.

"You solved it the best you could, Ray. There something to be said about that."

"All I did was find the bodies, Benny. That's not saying much. That's not telling me why she did what she did."

"Well... what more do you think you can do, Ray."

Ray shrugged and gently guided the car out into oncoming traffic.

"I don't know, Benny. The whole thing just doesn't sit right. I mean after all that happened... half that shit, I had to leave out of the report. Welsh'll think I'm nuts if I tell him what really happened..."

Ray's voice trailed and Fraser said nothing.

"Ahh well. Can't do anything about it, can I, Benny?"

Ben made a soft sound in his throat, which Ray took as a 'no'.

He sighed. He really hated unsolved cases and he was sure that this one was going to come back to...

...haunt him.

End The Gospel of Two Favorite Children by mistress nona: mistress_nona@yahoo.com

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