Bump in the Night

"You're dead."

"And with that said, I am supposed to vanish into a puff of smoke? Melt into a pool at your feet perhaps?"

I rub my eyes and try to blink away the specter in front of me. Only he's as real as my father had been when he came back. "You're dead. You died in the Territories. I saw your body."

Muldoon leans next to me. "I see dead people," he whispers, and then laughs. "Took a while to finagle my way out. He draws a hard bargain, that one, but I'm out. And I'm here for you, son."

I draw back, not wanting even his ghost to touch me. "Stay away from me," I snap.

"What are you going to do, drop an abandoned mine shaft on me or just throw me off a cliff?" Muldoon asks with a smile.

"Hey, Fraser, we're uh...Frase?" Ray asks as he comes into the room. He stops and looks at me, puzzled, and then shakes his head. "You okay there, Frase?"

I look back, but there's nothing but air between me and the window. Muldoon's gone. I rub my eyes and clear my throat. "Okay, Ray? Yes, I suppose I am," I say. Ray narrows his eyes and gives me what I assume he thinks of as a hard-striking cop look, but he can't hide his concern. He rubs his hand through his hair and it stands up even more wildly.

"Oh, sure, Frase. You look it. Real okay. You coming or what?"

I suddenly don't want to be in the consulate any more. "Coming. Definitely coming."

I leave, but when my back is to the room the hair on my neck stands up. I force myself not to look back, and Ray takes a while to realize I'm not really listening to what he's saying. I am listening; I know he is telling me about his case and how he can't figure out how the criminals are taking the money from the ATM machines without leaving any pictures of themselves on the cameras, but I'm not really paying attention to the individual words he uses. He stops and it takes me a heartbeat too long to respond. "I'm sorry, Ray, please continue."

"You feeling okay, Fraser?" Ray asks again.

"You are repeating yourself, Ray. I already told you I was all right."

We get to the GTO, but he doesn't unlock my door. "Then why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" he asks.

He means it in jest, but it doesn't sound funny. He unlocks the door, but before I can let myself in, Dief's jumped over the front seats and starts to snarl. His teeth are bared and his hackles are up, and just for a heartbeat the only thing that keeps me from having my throat torn out is the window between us. Ray jumps back.

"What the hell's wrong with him?" Ray demands, but before he's finished the sentence Dief whines once and lies down on the seat. I go to open the door, and Ray tries to stop me, but Dief just sniffs me over once and then trots to the patch of grass on the side of the road to sniff a dandelion.

"He must have smelled something," I say, but I know there's no way I'm passing this off as normal. "His standard behaviour has returned now, obviously."

Ray shades his eyes and looks back to the Consulate. I do the same, but I doubt he sees the same figure standing by the third story window that I do. Muldoon waves at me and he's smiling, and I go cold again. Dief looks up from his flower and grows once, softly.

This isn't going to be good.

We dine together at a small Chinese restaurant. I order in Mandarin and the service improves drastically. Still, Pineapple chicken balls taste like pineapple chicken balls regardless of the language they are ordered in, but Ray's not into truly ethnic cuisine and I'm not in the mood to try to convince him that the collagen in chicken feet is even better than bar-b-queued ribs.

Ray looks at the completely Americanized meal in front of him, and I know he knows something's wrong. "What's this, Fraser?" he demands.

"Some of your favourite food, Ray."

"Exactly, Fraser. There's no entrails here. There's no organ meat or identifiable parts of small reptiles. Either you tell me what's wrong or I'm going to...to...keep badgering you until you give it up."

I call the waitress over and a few moments later there are plates of tripe, liver and the requisite chicken feet at the table. Ray shakes his head, but doesn't carry through on his badgering threat. He shuns the new food, and my appetite is poor. I have it boxed for Dief.

Ray zips up his jacket on the way back to the car. It's not exactly cold...relatively speaking of course, but the October night has started to cool down some. "You want me to drop you off at home?" he asks.

I almost tell him no, I'd rather walk, but I don't want to be alone. "Actually, Ray, I would like to watch a video tonight."

His eyebrows shoots up, but it only takes him a heartbeat to nod. "Sure, good. Great. I...uh...I got something we could watch at home. Unless you wanted to rent something?"

I shake my head. What we are going to watch is not important. What is important is that I don't spend the night alone, but Ray doesn't have to know that. He won't know that. Ray's an intuitive thinker, but I doubt even he could make the leap between my odd behaviour and the ghost of the man I killed reappearing suddenly. Still, he looks at me strangely before getting into the car.

Dief's happy to see me, but I push him into the back seat. "Just because it is commonly referred to as the doggie bag does not mean you'll be getting any. You're a wolf, remember? Wolves don't eat Chinese food."

"Why do you do that? You know the first thing you'll do when we get home is take down one of my plates and dish it out for him. Why do you go through this game with him like you're not going to indulge in every whim he has?" Ray asks, looking behind him before pulling into traffic.

"I do not indulge him. He's not indulged. He's a wolf who doesn't need to be coddled."

Ray gives me his, "Oh, yeah, right" look, and then drives home. Despite what Ray said, I find myself taking down one of his plates and scraping the take-away into it. I put the plate down absently, and I don't realize what I've done until Dief's half way done it and Ray's leaning against his archway with his eyebrow raised again. "Not coddled, huh? Must have been one of those wild, dangerous plates of Chinese food you keep hearing about on the news."

I want to tell him to be quiet, but his apartment is too warm and welcoming for me to attempt an argument. I don't want to go, but I don't want to tell him that. We watch one of his Steve McQueen movies he keeps next to the VCR, and then start on another. The first one he watched on the edge of his seat, mouthing all the lines McQueen says with almost the exact same inflection in his voice, but during the second one he's quiet and he nods off half way through. He stays with me on the couch again, and doesn't wake up until the tape's over and it starts to rewind. He sits up with a start at the slight sound, and then takes a moment to remember where he is. "Fraser?" he asks. He's polite enough not to look down at his watch, but I know he wants to know what time it is.

"Forgive me, Ray. I'll be going now."

Ray rubs his face and then hides his yawn behind his fist. "Forget about it. I got some extra blankets. You can crash down on the couch or on the floor."

I try to thank him, but he's too asleep to hear me. He goes into the linen closet and passes me enough blankets to keep an entire village warm and then stumbles into his bedroom. He closes the door behind him and within minutes I can hear him breathing.

I lie down in the middle of the floor, and Dief raises his head from where he had been sleeping by the television. He whines, changing it into a yawn halfway through, but he's looking at me like he's confused. "Even if he is real, he can't do anything," I tell him.

Dief continues to stare at me, but I deliberately turn over. The furnace kicks in, but I don't push off any of the blankets. I still feel cold as I fall asleep, but I don't open my eyes and look too carefully around the room.

One of the last withdrawals from the stolen bank machine was done with a Canadian bank plus card. It's not much of a lead, but it's enough to pull me from my regular duties and work along side Ray for the next day. I wake up early and take Dief out for a walk, and even if Muldoon doesn't appear, I still expect him to and the expectation seems almost worse. "He's already dead," I tell Dief, who starts to growl again as we knock before entering the apartment. It's a low, soft growl and it's over before it really built to anything, but Ray's working the coffee machine. He looks down to Dief, and he's alarmed but he hides it well. "See what happens when you feed your wolf pig's brains?" he asks.

"Cow intestines," I say.

"Like there's a difference."

"Would you like a functional or a physical break down of their variances?" I ask.

"Not before coffee."

"Understood."

He's wearing an old pair of sweats, and the waistband is hardly up for its duty, and I try not to look at how low they hang. He hasn't put a shirt on yet, but it's obvious that he has maintained some of the conditioning he made during the arctic trip we had. I wouldn't say he ever became adept at snowshoes, but at least he learned to go with them rather than fight over every step. He's oblivious to my scrutiny, however, and when he looks back at me, his eyes are still half-closed with sleep.

"You up for coffee?" he asks.

"No, I don't think--" I begin, but he motions one of the cupboards.

"Tea's over there. The brand you like; I asked Turnbull. You having a shower?"

"No, I believe I'll shower at the Consulate."

Ray rubs his face again, and takes his mug as he shuffles away. I put water on to boil and take out the unopened box of Tetley Rose, and I wonder where he actually managed to buy it, and why he would bother to keep it at home. The shower starts in the other room, and by the time the tea has steeped for the exact amount of time, he's out and dressed and looking a lot more alert. "Ready?"

I nod. He drives to work more slowly than usual, but he manages to drive all the way there without spilling either his coffee or my tea. By the time he's at his desk, the caffeine's obviously working, and he's charged. It's hard to slip disinterment into the conversation, but when I do, it stops him. "What?" he asks.

"Disinter. Digging up a dead body?"

"I know what the word means, Fraser. Why?"

I consider the truth for roughly a second and then discard it. He had walked right beside my father for two years and never even blinked. "No reason," I say.

He looks at me as if he could read the answer off my forehead, but then shrugs and rubs his face. "Whatever you want, Fraser," he says.

He's indulging me, but I don't care. I fill out the paperwork for him, and it would make me look too obvious to ask him to fax it then, so I wait for the end of the shift. There's not much they can do; it's Thanksgiving Day in Canada and all the banks are closed. Even though I spent the night the night before, Ray drops Diefenbaker at his place because it's closer and takes me out for a Thanksgiving supper. It's not the same thing; the turkey is dry and preformed and the stuffing hadn't touched a sage leaf, but with enough gravy I don't mind. Ray orders a bottle of wine and I even have a glass. He drinks more than a glass, so it only makes sense that I drive him home. He's telling me about the meals his mom used to make when I hear the chuckle behind me.

I don't want to look, but I can't stop myself. He's behind Ray, stroking Ray's hair. "Cute, for a Yank. You want to fuck him?"

"Stay away from him," I snap.

Muldoon laughs. "You mind if I do?"

Ray's intoxicated, but not enough for him to disregard what I said. "Huh?" he asks.

"Bet he'd be sweet. Not as good as your mother was, but he'll probably give you a ride or two before he breaks."

"Nothing, Ray. Go on about the pies?"

He's looking at me, but as Muldoon reaches over the seat to lick him, he suddenly shivers and bends forward to turn up the heat. "Gotta get this fixed," he mumbles to himself. "Sweet potato pie. You ever had it? Me, I hate sweet potatoes but throw them in a pie and I'm all for it. You ever had sweet potato pie?"

I shake my head. Muldoon's gone from the back of the seat, and I relax.

I spend the night. Ray doesn't question it, but I wait for him to be asleep before I open the bedroom door. If Ray wakes up and asks about it I should be able to think up a convincing lie, and I stay awake for almost an hour before falling asleep myself.

I wake up to Diefenbaker snarling again. His bark is low and on the line between anger and fear, and I'm up and in the bedroom before my eyes really open.

Ray's on the bed, obviously terrified as Diefenbaker with full hackles and teeth takes another step forward. Muldoon's on the bed, calling to Dief encouragingly, but it's only angering the wolf more. Ray sees me as he holds onto the sheet, but if Diefenbaker lunges they aren't going to provide much protection.

"Ray, listen to me. Slowly get off the bed."

He doesn't look at me; Dief takes another step forward and Ray starts to reach slowly for the bedside table. I don't want to think of the service revolver he probably is going for. "Fraser, call him off," he says, carefully.

Muldoon feints a lunge at Dief and Dief drops down lower, about ready to spring. He's not going to stop at Muldoon, but it doesn't look like Ray's going to get to the gun in time. I don't want either of them hurt, which leaves only one alternative.

I throw myself at Dief. For a moment, he doesn't recognize who I am, and I throw my arm up to protect my face. His jaws close over it and there's no pain, not yet, but I can feel with surgical precision the damage his teeth are doing to the flesh of my arm.

Dief stops a heartbeat later, but the damage is done. He whines, shrinking away, and Ray's there with the pillowcase to wrap the arm up. "We got to get you to the hospital," Ray says. I look over to Dief, but he's curled up in the corner, tail over his nose. "Now, Fraser, get up."

I shake my head. I haven't lost too much blood yet to actually go into shock, but with the sudden pain finding me, the numbing distant feeling would have been preferred. "I go and they'll take Diefenbaker away."

"This is a serious wound, Fraser, and I am not sewing you up. I can't even thread a needle and you can't do it yourself. What got into him?"

I shake my head, somewhat surprised that I could. "He thought you were someone else," I say. The tourniquet's working, but I know it's not a permanent solution. "We can't tell them Diefenbaker did this," I say.

Ray tightens his mouth, but agrees to it as long as I agree to go with him. I try to be careful and not bleed in his car, but by the time we get to the emergency room I'm in so much pain I can't be careful enough. Ray goes with me and fills out the paperwork; I suppose he is the closest thing I have to next of kin. They take me into one of the examining rooms, but when I tell the nurse that I broke up a dog fight between my dog and a stray, she shakes her head and calls for the rabies shots. Ray watches as much as they'll let him, but eventually they remember he's there and shoo him away. He leaves, but only after I nod.

The rabies shots are long and painful, and they make me sick as Ray picks me up later that evening. It took fifty-five stitches to put the arm back together again and it's going to leave me with more scars, but I don't tell Ray that and he doesn't ask. He takes me back to his apartment, again, and it's cold and dark without Diefenbaker.

"Where is he?" I ask. My voice is neutral, but if Ray had him destroyed, I would never forgive him. Ever.

Ray clears the magazines off the couch. "I shipped him off to Buck," he says. His voice is also carefully neutral. "Sit down. The nurse tells me you'll need lots of rest."

"He didn't know what he was doing, Ray. He didn't mean to."

"Are you telling me you can read his mind, Fraser? He almost ripped my throat out and tried hard enough to get at yours."

"He thought you were someone else," I try again, but Ray's mouth is in a thin line. Anything I tell him right now he'd pass off as the drugs in my system talking, and suddenly I'm exhausted. I sit down, and he doesn't push for any more information. He puts my legs up and covers me with a blanket, and I close my eyes and sleep.

He's up at one to give me more pills, and then at four to help me to the bathroom. I don't need his help; I've survived worse attacks without going off-duty, but I was younger then and I didn't feel nearly as tired as I do now. I put it off on the drugs, and gratefully take his help.

"Do you smell gun-powder?"

I don't open my eyes. It's probably time for my next dose of pills because the pain from my arm flares from dull to live wire in the next heartbeat. "No, Ray, I don't," I say.

"Smell harder."

It's not Ray. I open my eyes and shake my head, but Ray's against the wall hugging his knees in his sleep and Muldoon's between the two of us. "What do you want?"

"Simple thing for him to go back here and shoot the stupid mutt. It did attack his partner and all. Do you catch it? The slight...metallic taste to it on the tip of your tongue? Where do you think he was standing? The kitchen probably, easier to clean up the blood."

"Ray would not shoot Diefenbaker," I say. My arm throbs in time with my heartbeat and it would be a simple thing to call Ray's name and have him get me the pills, but I don't want him to have to walk through Muldoon.

"Really. Do you think this is protecting him? There's other ways I can hurt him. I can hurt you, too, but there's no challenge in that. No challenge in it at all. This will worry you more, wondering exactly what I'm up to. When I'm with him."

"I continually had to remind my father of this, and he was a far more intelligent man. You're dead, Muldoon. You can't hurt him. You can continue your mind games with me, but leave him out of this."

"Keep telling yourself that, Benton. Eventually I'm sure you'll believe it."

Muldoon vanishes, and it's not until he's gone that I realize Ray's awake and staring at him. He keeps his voice perfectly neutral again and I want to tell him how good he's getting at it. "Who you uh...who you talking to there, Fraser?" he asks.

"Myself," I say. I flush, but the grey light coming from the early morning pre-dawn hides the colour. I hope. "I'm talking to myself."

He's not buying it even slightly. I don't really blame him. He goes and gets me the next dose of pain medication, and when I ask him not to go back to the bedroom for the last hour of sleep, he doesn't question me.

I am supposed to be off for the week, but two days later I manage to make it down to the police department. The squad room quiets as I enter it, and I wonder what Ray has told them about me. I lick my lips as I sit down at Ray's empty desk to wait for him.

The disinterment file is on his desk. I flip it open, and I am half way through the report of the exact stage of decomposition Muldoon's body is in when Ray returns. "See, still dead. I have them calling us if there's any change," he says, sitting down. He's edgy and uncomfortable around me. I put the file down.

"I had to know," I say. Not much of an excuse, but Ray deserves an explanation, however pitiful it might be.

He nods, running his hand through his hair. "I'm all for kicking the bad guy in the head when they're down, Fraser, but this Muldoon guy is kicked in the head permanently. He's not coming back, Fraser, he's dead. You want to tell me what's up with this obsessing thing you've got going on?"

I stand up. He follows me to the closet and enters when I open the door. I close the door behind me and it takes us a moment to find something to sit on. "Comfortable?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Dead guy. Get to it."

I try to smile but it comes out as a grimace. "How..." I start, but change my tactics. "Why..."

"I came home yesterday with two guys from animal control," Ray says. He sees my horrified look and holds out his hands. "Not to put him down, to help me get him into the packing crate. They brought their special guns and this net thing, but when we open the door, Dief's cowering in the kitchen. I mean...cowering. They gave him a shot for the plane ride, but he was freaked out. What did he see, Fraser?"

I shake my head. "Muldoon."

"Muldoon. The dead guy."

"The dead guy," I agree.

"Muldoon the dead guy scared a wolf into almost attacking me and tearing off your arm?" he asks.

I nod my head.

"Fraser...I'm believing you here, I really am, but have we checked for any...I don't know, live bad guys who might have Muldoon's obsessions?"

I shake my head. Ray takes a deep breath as though he's pleased to have something tangible to work with, so I clear my throat. "We don't have to."

"You're actually saying it's a ghost?" he asks.

"I see him, too."

"You see the dead guy," Ray repeats. He shakes his head, but still doesn't believe.

"Yes," I exhale. "I've seen him and I know what he can and can't do."

Ray gets up and walks away. I want to follow him, but I let him go.

My new apartment is cold and musty and I have to put Dief's metal bowl into the closet so I don't have to look at it. I actually turn on the heat; something I haven't done since I took the place six months ago and the air circulating tastes burnt.

I'm not expecting the knocking, but I am glad to see Ray in the hall. I unlocked it and let him in, and he looks at the simple lock with his cop-eyes and shakes his head. "A good kick will break that," he says.

"I have nothing to steal."

"Doesn't usually stop the whackos," he says. I know he knows I know this, but I let him talk. He's obviously using the time to gather his thoughts and I let him. He's still wearing his jacket even though it is quite hot in the apartment now, and he goes through the fridge in disgust. "You don't have any food," he says.

"I have pasta. I could make some."

"No," he says. He takes out one of the bottled waters and sits down in the empty room that would have been the living room. The only concession I made between this apartment and the last was that I actually bought a TV that had both sound and picture.

"That voodoo stuff, you bought into that, right?"

"There are more things in heaven and earth..." I begin, and he waves me quiet with his bottle.

"That's the thing. I've been having these dreams..." he says, and then shudders. "Falling. Being cold. A woman. I'm seeing it, but I can't change it."

I'm quiet. I don't want to know about my mother's last day, and he doesn't provide any details, but his face is pale just from thinking about it. It's a good thing I didn't cook anything.

"What does he want with me?" Ray asks. "I didn't do anything to him."

"No, you didn't," I say. I lick my lips again and I don't know how to say it, but then the truth comes up and there's no way to avoid it. "Muldoon attacks the person closest to his victim," I say.

Ray takes it in easier than I expected. "But he's dead, right? Other than scare dogs and have one sided conversations, that's all he can do, right?"

"Mostly," I say.

Doesn't fool him. He looks at me squarely. "Mostly?" he asks.

It doesn't occur to him that I'd rather not get any more specific. "I've seen my father shoot a gun."

Ray takes only a moment to digest that. "And that's remarkable because..." he prompts. Even though he knows the answer. I give it to him anyway.

"He was already dead when he did it."

"All those times you were talking to yourself?"

I stare at my hands. "I passed it off. I thought...he was my conscience or my superego or whatever you want to call it. I thought it was because I didn't want to let go or that I spent far too many years alone. And then he didn't come back from the mine shaft and it was over...I was alone."

Ray is quiet for a long time, and I don't feel up to looking at him. It is enough to hear him breathing across the room from me. Finally he moves, and his back cracks when he does. "Uh...Fraser? How do you kill something already dead?"

I shake my head. I haven't a clue, either.

Life continues. The Canadian lead turned out to be a forty-seven year old man and his family from Manitoba stopping for cash before going to see a movie. Other than the criminal price he had to pay for him and his three daughters to go see a movie compared to what the cost was in Canadian dollars, he didn't see anything suspicious. I thank him and he flushes. He's never seen a mountie in full serge before.

"So now what?" Ray asks, going back to the car. He's a lot more jumpy now, but then I would be too if I were him. He didn't have the four years practice living with my father to get him used to the idea of the dead walking around, complaining. Muldoon isn't here to complain, though, and I guess that makes a big difference.

He's so distracted at work that he's not the one who makes the collar for the bank machine heists, and that bothers him even more. We take his car down to the shoot-out, but by the time we're there, it's too late. Two of the bodies have already had the medical examiner take his pictures, and the third man is at the hospital. We're told at the scene that it doesn't look good.

The man goes into surgery and doesn't come out for seven hours. Ray's the only police officer who sticks around. I think it's because he feels safer in public places but since he doesn't talk about it, I don't ask. It's an uneasy silence, and I don't share the irony of avoiding a dead person in a hospital with Ray. The nurse comes out to the empty chairs area and shakes her head. We go see the patient.

The death wasn't spectacular. Ray watches the monitors spike once and then arrest, but the doctor with the crashcart doesn't try to shock the heart more than twice. The head wound wasn't instantly fatal, but it had done enough damage. They left us alone for a moment with the body as the doctor and the single nurse returned the crash cart to its rightful place, and Ray steps closer to the bed. "That's it?" he asks.

Something's not right and I'm about to tell Ray to come back, when the body sits up suddenly and reaches for him. The body opens its eyes, but both of its pupils are fixed and dilated. Ray falls back, scrambling to back up on the polished tiles and he kicks over the table on wheels before I'm reach for him. I pull him to me as the body falls back to the bed. The eyes remain open. Ray's heart is beating fast enough for me to feel it through his jacket and I have to confess that mine is going at no slower rate, and the nurse runs in to see what has just happened.

"It..." Ray takes a deep breath and coughs. "It sat up," he says.

The woman shakes her head. "Bodies do that sometimes," she says. She's trying not to be condescending, but she's obviously tired. "It has to do with electrical pulses."

Ray nods and he pulls away from me. "Yeah, that has to be it," he says.

I take his arm and we go outside. "For the record, my father never did that," I say.

He drives us back to my place and gets out with me. I want to ask why; he's obviously exhausted on his feet and not in any mood to visit. "We're sleeping here tonight," he says instead of me actually asking the question.

I cough. "What?"

"You don't have a bed."

"I'm aware of that, yes," I say.

"No bed, nothing to reach from under and grab you. And if I get thirsty, you're the one who gets me a glass of water, broken wing or not. You go into the bathroom first."

"Understood."

"Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray?"

He opens his mouth to say something, but the words are gone. He shakes his head again. "It did sit up, right? I'm not going nuts here. Bodies just don't try to grab a guy. Bodies don't do that."

"Yes, Ray, it did."

"I'm having a hard time...wrapping around this one, Fraser. Dead guys and bodies with springs and...and...Diefenbaker going insane...can we go back to bad guys that can be kicked in the head?"

He's probably in delayed shock from the fright. "Yes, Ray," I say. I put my arm around him and he leans into me as I unlock the door. I put him to bed on the bedroll, wrap him up in my warmest blanket, and take the floor next to him. He moves off the roll halfway through the night, and there's no sense in us both being off the roll. He lets me move him back onto the slight pad, and there's room enough for both of us if we squeeze. We squeeze.

He wakes up the next morning trying to figure out how my old fashion percolator works. I make him a cup, and take the time to look him over. He looks better, or at least his colouring's returned. He sips his coffee like there was something mystic about it, and when he moves again, he groans.

"I promised myself I'd never sleep on the floor again," he says, making a face. He doesn't say anything about the sleeping arrangement or where I was in the morning, and I don't mention it.

"It was your idea," I say.

He wrinkles his nose and takes another sip of coffee.

Ray finishes the last of the paperwork with the last bank that had been hit, and we walk back to his car just as rush-hour starts, and the bus-stop people are huddled in their jackets against the strong cold wind. Ray's hunched forward with his hands in his jean pockets, but the wool serge keeps me from feeling most of its brunt.

A bus pulls into the bus lane, but it's an express so it's not going to stop and the people sit down again. Ray gets just about to the bus stop sign, when I hear, "What the--" and suddenly Ray falls sideways. His reflexes make him catch the bus stop sign with his arm, but it only swings him around without stopping him. The bus driver's face through the window is horrified; she knows she can't stop in time to avoid hitting him, and I reach over and grab his jacket. For less than a heartbeat, the cold leather almost slips through my fingers and then he's standing beside me.

His face is white again, and it has nothing to do with the cold, but at least he's mad and not in shock. "I'm not dying like that, Fraser. Not in front of a freaking bus. Forget that. Forget him. Let's get this asshole."

I grab his shoulders and push him away from the crowd that's gathering. He's trembling under my hand, and he hasn't stopped spitting yet. "Can't we like...call ghostbusters on something like on TV? There's got to be people who are trained for this, right? How did your father go away?"

I ignore all but the last. "His last task was Muldoon," I say. I hadn't seen him; I hadn't seen Muldoon. He hadn't tried to scare me; he tried to kill Ray. This changes things.

Ray doesn't realize it, but then I hadn't told him what I hadn't seen. "Well, that's not an option," he says.

"So now we have to find someone who knows dead people."

Ray looks at me. I drive him to Moma Lolla's apartment.

Gerome Laferette is outside the building, playing with his daughter. It seems like she had grown a foot over the year, and she looks at me with serious brown eyes and frowns. "Where's Diefenbaker?" she asks.

"He had to go away," I say. She doesn't ask why.

Gerome grabs her and pulls her back. "Go inside and wash your hands," he tells her, and she trots up the stairs. "You bring great evilness with you, do not touch my daughter," he says.

"I'm sorry about that," I say, and take off my hat. "Can you help?"

"It's not voodoo," he says.

I shake my head. "No, it's not."

"But it is evil spirits. Come inside."

Ray's uncomfortable, but he follows me inside to the apartment. Moma Lulla's there, and she clasps my hands before recoiling. You come to the right place. Tell me about this evil man," she says. "And why he haunts you so."

"The man killed my mother. My father had left him for dead," I say. It doesn't hurt as much if I say it all at once. Ray moves closer to me, but I don't think he's aware that he's done it.

"And now he wants you and your partner dead."

"So he says."

"And he's attempted it?"

"First with Diefenbaker, and just now again."

Moma nods. She shakes her head, and then reaches out to touch Ray. Ray doesn't duck his head out like I expected him to, and Moma purses her lips and nods at me. "I see," she says.

Ray rubs his eyebrow. "What do you see?" he asks, and then clears his throat.

Moma shakes her head. "You'll know soon enough," she says.

I flush, and I'm not exactly sure why. "The...uh...matter at hand, Moma Lolla?"

She smiles again, and nods. "Bad spirits need bad magic, and you have a long trip ahead of you. Come with me."

I take a step forward, but she puts her hand out. "Not you," she says.

"Me?" Ray asks. "Why me?"

"Because the spirits want it," she says.

I'm left in the main room for ten minutes, and Ray comes out of the bedroom with a bottle of wine and a completely perplexed expression. "We have to go to Muldoon's grave," he says.

"His grave?" I ask.

"We're supposed to...uh...annoy him."

"Annoy him?"

"Annoy him, and uh...spill wine on his grave."

Muldoon is buried in the Territories, but Ray's not complaining about the trip. "Is that all?" I ask.

His head bows down again, and he's staring at my boots. He mumbles something, but I don't follow it. "Pardon me?" I ask.

He looks up again, and he's flushed. "Chanting, all right? There's chanting. Dr. Seuss does voodoo."

He phones ahead for the plane tickets and then puts his phone away. "No icefields?" he asks as we head down to the car. He unlocks the doors and we get in.

I shake my head. "No."

"Mountains? Submarines? Snowshoes?"

"I can't promise you anything about the snowshoes, Ray."

Ray takes a moment and then nods. "I can accept that," he says.

He drops me off at my place. It takes me the full hour to pack.

The plane to Edmonton is full and the smell and the pressure of everyone in the plane make it impossible to relax. We didn't get adjoining seats, and not having Ray beside me makes me very uncomfortable for some reason. I worked alone for the majority of my life, and I don't want to know why suddenly I'm uncomfortable without him beside me. I pass it off as concern for his safety, but I don't think Muldoon has the energy yet for another attack.

We wait in Edmonton for over five hours. Ray buys some smarties at a kiosk, and we sit down and wait. The airport chairs are the premolded shells, and Ray has a hard time getting comfortable with his long legs. Eventually he nods off with his chin against his chest, but it's not long before it rolls to the side and lands on my shoulder. I don't move him.

I appreciate the smell of him so close. I don't sleep, but I do slide down slightly in the chair so as to not wake him up and half close my eyes.

I have no idea how long Muldoon has been sitting across from us, but it's hard to control my start so as not to disturb Ray. "You're looking a little pale, Muldoon. Physical activity tires you?" I ask.

He doesn't look as wane as my father had that last week, but the exhaustion is obvious on his face. "He wants you, you know. I see you in his dreams."

"Stay out of his head," I say as hard as I can without waking him. His breathing doesn't change.

"Or you will do what, exactly, Benton?"

I look away from him and it angers him. "When you fuck him, I'll be there, Benton. I'll taste the sweat off his lip. You won't see me, but I'll be there."

"I don't want him!" I snap, unable to control myself, and Ray yanks back and blinks. I follow the sudden motion, and when I look back, Muldoon's gone.

"Dead guy?" Ray asks.

I nod, too tired to obfuscate.

He nods and rubs his face. "Who don't you want, Fraser?" he asks, head still in his hands.

I'm at a loss for words, but he's still mostly asleep and doesn't notice. He remains motionless for another dozen heartbeats, and then looks up again, alert. "What's to stop this guy from like...pushing the pilot out of the airplane or whacking him over the head or something?" he asks.

I shake my head. "I would imagine his little stunt at the bus-stop drained him, Ray. He looked tired."

"My heart bleeds," he says. He stretches, and his back cracks again. He makes a face, and I'm offering put it him back into alignment before I realize what I'm saying.

He takes off his jacket and sits down in front of me. I put my knee to his back, but it's not until I put both hands on his shoulders over his thin shirt that my mouth suddenly goes dry and my stomach knots up. It's been...I have to count back. Three years since Victoria, and that felt different. That hurt, this is...this is...too much. I stand up and leave him on the floor.

Walking helps, but the international airport isn't that large and it isn't possible to walk far or fast enough. Eventually they call our flight, and Ray's waiting for me at the gate. "You okay there?" he asks.

I nod.

"No...demonic possession going on? Your eyes aren't going to glow in the dark and you're not gonna spew pea-soup, are you?"

"No, Ray."

"Are you sure? 'Cause I'm pretty sure that's what a demonically possessed person'd say."

"It's something else entirely, Ray."

Ray nods, and then his eyes widen and I know he knows. "That whole going home thing?" he asks, misguidedly, and then pales. He opens his mouth to say something, but then shuts it again, deliberately.

I feel like hell, but I allow him to continue to think so. I can't look him in the eye because of it, and he pulls back.

For the first time, I relax.

The flight to Whitehorse is long, and it's morning again by the time we arrive. It's still dark, though, but there's a thin streak of light over the horizon.

Ray gets out of the plane stiffly and starts to shiver. His leather jacket's useless, but he has to wait until we claim our bags before I can give him a better coat. The snow on the ground is nothing more than a dusting, but the further north the truck heads, the more serious it becomes. Light comes eventually, but it's a thin weak light through the heavy clouds. More snow threatens from black clouds to the west, and the storm chases us all day to the first camp.

The last of the summer crews heading south have taken most of the cabins, but I manage to rent a single bedroom. By the time we've bunked down, the storm hits.

I give Ray the bed, but there's a cold draft coming from under the door and it's impossible to get comfortable. My softness disgusts me, but the truck won't take us any further north and it's dogsled from now on, and I don't want to stop tomorrow exhausted. I move to the chesterfield, but seven springs dig into my body and I can't sleep.

Ray's asleep, but he wakes when I enter the room. Without me saying anything, he moves over, and I slide into bed with him. He shivers, pulling the covers closer. "You're freezing," he mumbles.

"Pardon me," I say.

"Don't let it happen again," he says, and then he's asleep.

He wakes me up trying to move over me. I suppose I pinned him to the wall when I joined him. I open my eyes just as he is fully over my body, and I suppose I startled him and he falls over me.

"Sorry, bathroom, I couldn't--" he starts, and then moves his leg to push off me and feels me. He jerks back, eyes widening, but only for a second before he smiles. I could pass it off as just a morning erection caused by an extended bladder, but then he moves again, this time much more deliberately. "Hey," he says.

I am surprised how good he feels over me. He settles down, hesitant, but I suddenly don't want him next to me; I know we're not alone. I push him away and he sort of slides off to the side. He looks at me, startled for a heartbeat, and then flushes. "I...uh...I'm uh...I'm sorry," he says, and pulls himself up. I follow him into the other room.

He turns away, pacing. "It's not you, Ray," I try, but he waves his hand.

"Don't Fraser. I get it."

"No, you don't get it, Ray. Believe me. I am interested."

Ray takes a second to hear me. "Run me by that again?"

"I am interested, Ray. But not with Muldoon...watching."

The thought obviously upsets him. "He was here?"

"No. He told me on a previous occasion should we ever...he would be."

"Okay, from now on, you disclose everything the dead guy tells you," Ray says.

"Understood."

"I mean it," he snaps, taking a step forward. I take a step forward as well. "Because...communication is good. You know, to communicate."

I nod, taking another step. "Communication is very good."

He joins me, inches away. "Good."

He ducks his head down, and looks up at me at an angle. I keep expecting him to pull back, and I suppose he's thinking I will do the same, but neither of us back away. I want to touch him, to pull him next to me to see how exactly we'll fit together vertically. I almost convince myself that it would be in the interest of science when Muldoon applauds from the corner.

Ray whips around and jumps back. I have to remind myself he's never seen a dead person before. I look around, but there's nothing really Muldoon could use to hurt either one of us. Ray's looking around as well, but his gun is on the back of the single chair in the bedroom and it wouldn't do him any good if he did have it.

"What do you want?" I demand, but Muldoon's not talking to me.

"Ray, isn't it? Are you speechless? What's a matter, boy, were you expecting something a bit more..." Muldoon changes in the next heartbeat. His face crumbles like it had been when they dug his body out of the pile of rubble. His skull had been crushed, and when Muldoon opens his eyes, a bubble of black blood drips down his chin.

Ray shudders; he never could handle dead things, but Muldoon couldn't have known that. Muldoon reaches out to touch him, but Ray doesn't flinch. Muldoon's hand is covered in dusty grime, but Ray is angry and he only shudders as the hand passes through his cheek.

Muldoon disappeared, and Ray sits down, shaking. "Are you--"

"Give me a minute, Fraser."

I back away. When he stands up again, his face is still white, but he clears his throat. "Ray?" I ask.

He blinks. "Yes, Fraser?"

"Are you...okay?"

"I'm fine, Fraser. A dead guy just touched me, but I'm fine."

"You took that...well," I say. I want to tell him brave he was, but there's no way I can do it without sounding condescending. I want to kiss him, and the urge is so strong that I have to press the back of my hand against my mouth.

He nods, mouth tight. "Can we go?" he asks.

The storm deposited about a foot and a half of snow over the night, but the morning was cold and clear. We're on the trail before the sun comes up, and it's good to be back behind a sled, even if it's not Diefenbaker leading the sled. The lead-dog is capable, though, and doesn't back talk half as much as Dief did. Ray's still shell-shocked in the sled, but if he had shown Muldoon how disgusted he really was, Muldoon never would have let it go.

We have to camp a night out. I build a big fire, and take the first watch. Ray falls asleep almost immediately, and as much as I would have liked him to stay up a while and talk, watching him sleep is relaxing. The lines of his face smooth out and he looks at peace.

The dogs become restless just before midnight, and I get up to settle them. I redistribute the tallow between them, and just as I get to the fire, Muldoon looks up from massaging Ray's temples.

All the lines are back in Ray's face, and I'm worried that he is going to roll into the fire if he continues his thrashing. His mouth is open in obvious pain. "He's as much a boy scout as you are, did you know that? Such a strong, motivated sense of right and wrong. How much more do you think I can feed into his good, clean mind before he overloads?"

"Let him go," I say.

"Or what exactly will you do, Benton? Enlighten me."

I kneel beside Ray as if Muldoon's not even there. He twists away and his jacket rides up to expose his back, and I put my hand on the cold, bare skin. "Ray, you have to wake up," I say.

"He can't," Muldoon says, smiling at me. "He's lost in his own private hell. Don't think I didn't see through his little stunt this morning, Benton, but that's not what he fears worst. People suffering at his own hand, now, that's something I can show him exactly how it feels."

"Ray!" I snap. His eyes flicker, but it could just be a response to his REM dream. "Ray, listen to me. It's a dream. Wake up. Ray, it's me. Listen to me."

"Isn't that adorable," Muldoon says, and his hands tighten around Ray's head. Ray cries out with a sound that is pure pain, and his hand in mine tightens to the point where I'm sure he's about to break fingers.

"Ray, damn it, that's not you. This isn't you!"

"It is now. Do you know what a gunshot wound smells like on a woman just shot? The heat from the blood is almost enough to warm your hands over on a cold night. Until the body cools, of course. Pity that."

Ray opens his mouth, but he can't make a sound anymore. It's torture for him but it's worse for me to see him like that. His body is writhing against his bedroll, and I'm not reaching him. "Ray, you can't hear me, but I'm sorry for this," I say.

Muldoon's smirk turns into astonishment as I deliberately knee Ray in the groin. Ray sits up with the pain. He struggles to get away to wrap himself around his hurt, and then he gasps as I let him go. He looks around, wildly, and I have to release him as he stumbles to get away. I'm sure he would have wanted to run, but he manages a few stumbling steps before he vomits up his supper. I get to him and rub his shoulders as he heaves long after there is nothing left in his stomach to dislodge. The only thing left to do is hold him as he sobs, and I do so calmly. The fire collapses on itself and turns to embers before he finishes. Ray's soaking wet with the melted snow and his own sweat, and he lets me change him into dry clothing.

"Fraser?" he asks. His voice cracks.

"Yes, Ray?"

He's silent. I wait, but what ever he wants to say makes his gorge rise again and he fights with himself to keep from retching. He puts his arm around my waist and holds me, and I do the same.

"I...uh..." he clears his throat. "Stay with me."

I squeeze him instead of answering.

He can't sleep. I don't blame him. He keeps his head on my lap and I keep my hands over the spot Muldoon touched. His hair is soft without the gel in it, and if it weren't for Victoria, I would have sung to him.

By morning the dogs are rested and ready to go. Ray shuns the breakfast and sits in a huddle. The coffee cup I give him has stopped giving off steam by the time I'm done packing up the camp, but the level of the coffee hasn't changed. "Ray?" I ask, softly.

He doesn't look up. "What do you want, Fraser?"

"We should go."

He stops breathing for a heartbeat. "Yeah. Go. Great. Let's head 'er."

He doesn't attempt to get up. I offer my hand and he stares at it like he's not sure of what to do. I start to worry that what Muldoon did to him was permanent, but then he shakes his head and lets me pull him up. The coffee spills in the snow, but he grips on the empty cup with white knuckles.

We head out. Ray's quiet for the entire morning, but by noon I hear my name being called. "Ray?" I ask.

"You uh...want to tell me about the breeding habits of the arctic fox or something?" he asks.

"What?"

"Let me hear your voice."

So I talk. Eventually I know I'm repeating myself, but the actual tangents of conversation that I follow are irrelevant. Ray nods along to it, and in the second hour, he starts asking questions. By the time we get to Buck's camp, he's back.

Diefenbaker is the first one to us once I put the dogs up. He snuffles Ray, first, though, and doesn't even look at me when I call him an ingrate. Ray kneels down next to him and ruffles his hair as Buck comes to the door.

"Come in, take your boots off. We have extra beaver and we're splitting it up."

"I don't think so. I thought we would switch dogs and keep going," I say. I don't want to sleep, and I doubt Ray feels differently.

Buck nods and waves us away. Ray helps me harness the dogs and attaches them to the sled, and even runs beside me for the first little bit. He looks tired and the run helps. The sled is better with Diefenbaker at the head. We're at the gravesite by morning. Muldoon was buried alone on a hillside just past where he died. His family has put up a tombstone, and with the recent snowfall, it's impossible to see that the grave has recently been disinterred.

Muldoon is waiting for us. Ray gets out of the sled stiffly, but his fists are balled up at his sides. "Come for more?" Muldoon asks.

Ray unzips his backpack and takes out the bottle of wine. "What, did you think you would break him?" I ask.

Muldoon licks his lips. "I thought that was your job," he says.

Ray is so determined that I thought Muldoon isn't visible to him, but Ray's neck muscles clench, so he heard that. He comes up to me with his bottle of wine and then kisses me. I freeze, totally unsure, but when we break apart, Muldoon is clearly annoyed.

"Step one," Ray says, grimly.

Muldoon tries to stop it, but Ray smashes the bottle on the headstone, and the red wine splashes down. He spills the second half of the bottle over the grave proper, and Muldoon bends over, gripping his stomach.

"Step two," he says. He takes a deep breath and begins his chant.

"Earth, bone,
And winding sheet,
Take this spirit
away from me.

Send it back

To tortured lane

Send it back,

Away, away."

He repeated it three times. Muldoon's howl disturbs the dogs and they start to growl, but it's over. Vapors rise up from the ground and wrap themselves around Muldoon's limbs, and even as he tries to fight them, they pull him down with them. He screeches when his feet are pulled through the snow, and the agony in his voice is not enough to satisfy the need I have for him to suffer. I move to Ray, but Ray's staring at the spot Muldoon disappeared into. I know why; if he looks away it would be indistinguishable from any other spot in the landscape.

"Fraser?" Ray asks, finally.

"Yes, Ray?"

"Let's go home."

"Home's good," I say.

He puts his arm back around me. Home will be very good.

The End.