Possession

"Under a blackened sky, far beyond the glaring streetlights,
sleeping on empty dreams the vultures lie in wait..."
Sarah McLaughlin, 'Wait'

The dark tenement hallway was still now, where only previously it had rung with screams, hoarse shouts, a cacophony of ragged noise. With the advent of night, the drama seething underneath its ceilings swelled to bursting, bulged the walls with hate. But now the monster sleeps.

'Daddy don't hit me no more I'll be good'
'Daddy don't hurt me no more I'll be good'
'Daddy don't'
'Daddy don't'

A thin seam of light is pulled around the corner of the doorway, sucked into the blackness like a line of life; the door creaks on hinges tired with ancient age, the window reflects the dark within, all-seeing eye.

"Don't cry, baby."
Who are you, mister?
"Such a pretty baby."
Who are you, mister?
"Did daddy hurt you, honey?"
Who are you mister?

And creeping out the doorway, cradled in his arms, sneaking into darkness. Your tattered teddy bear regards the scene wanly, from out of shiny animal eyes; the wind blows through the places you have been....

"Where the hell's Fraser?! Elaine!"

The precinct in morning: a hell of clanging telephones, shattering door-slams, file drawers that screech in and out on reluctant hinges. Detective Raymond Vecchio, disgruntled, cut while shaving... "Elaine?!"

"Whaaaat?" A cup of coffee, slid across the desk; cream and sugar, just the way you like it. "You're in a lovely mood this morning."

"Spare me, Elaine." Vecchio took a gulp of the coffee, burned his mouth. "God *damn*! Who made this?!"

"You've got three this morning: two homicide, one B&E with intent, and there's somebody over there to see you." Elaine gestured towards the waiting area, slapped a trio of files onto Vecchio's desk. "I'd say you should get on it."

"Where's Fraser?"

"No idea." Elaine shrugged and moved off, disappeared into the crowd. Vecchio sighed, pulled the files towards him. Probably just late, he reasoned; maybe Benny's alarm didn't go off or something...

"The ice is thin, come on, dive in; underneath my lucid skin
the cold is lost, forgotten..."
Sarah McLaughlin, 'Ice'

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Lt. Harding Welsh leaned across the desk, his avuncular face serious, set in lines of deep intent. "Because if you can't---"

"I can." The voice was firm, deliberate; belying the throbbing fear that roiled underneath the surface. He suddenly recalled a line from T.S. Eliot about "Tiresias, blind, throbbing between two lives" and that was it, wasn't it? Dangling here, throbbing, between this most recent life and this most recent darkness.

"We just want you to know what it is you're dealing with." Meg Thatcher's voice was limned with a thin skin of fear, or perhaps apprehension; she refused the cup of coffee that Welsh had placed in front of her, concentrated her energies on sitting straight, maintaining her official decorum. "We may be sending you to your death."

"I know that, sir." A quiver, eyelash flicker; he's not scared, no, not yet, not yet.... The ice is thin, come on, dive in--- "Sir?"

"What is it, Fraser?"

"I understand that there is to be no contact...uh, after I-- -"

"Go under?" Thatcher reached for the cold coffee, took a sip and forced herself to swallow. "No. None at all."

"As much for your protection as ours, Fraser. We know these guys have Mob connections." Welsh gazed at him for a long moment, his eyes thoughtful. "I know that you and Vecchio have worked closely together for several years now, but you must have no contact with him when the transition is completed. You'd endanger him and his family, I'm afraid."

"I wouldn't want to do that, sir." Forgive me, Ray...for disappearing off the face of the earth like this.... "And my uh, wolf, sir?"

Thatcher made a face. "I'll take care of him."

"But you don't like--"

"I *said* I'd take care of him, Fraser!"

There was a moment of tense silence and then Welsh spoke, rising out of his chair. "Well, that's it from our end; all I can say at this point is--good luck." The older man extended his hand, and Fraser took it, and then Harding was gone. Only Thatcher remained seated at the small table, her features lit by the harsh halo of light thrown from the overhead lamp.

"Well." Her voice was thin, uncomfortable. There was nothing more to say. "Do us proud, Constable."

"Yes, sir."

His eyes were the bluest blue she'd ever seen, and so damned *earnest*! And he stood there, underneath that dim light, his hands clasped behind his back, ready to give himself over to what ever darkness lay in wait outside those windows. "And, uh...be careful, Fraser." She rose from the table, collected her coat, and when she turned, he was there, standing in front of her, standing close. "What?" It was uncomfortable; he made her uncomfortable, damn him! Why couldn't he let her send him off without---

"Could you give Ray a message for me?" His eyes searched her face, hoping.

"You know I can't do that." She bit the ends off the words, swallowed her anger. Why was he so damned acquiescent all of a sudden? Something hummed between them, some discrete energy---

She leaned close, laid her palm against his cheek, and gazed for a long moment into his eyes; something unfathomable moved in their depths, and then his eyelids flickered as she pressed her lips against his mouth.

Warm--

"I'll see you when you get back." Thatcher grabbed her purse and fled, leaving him alone. Night pressed against the windows, eager to get inside.

"Into this night I wander, it's morning that I dread;
another day of knowing of the path I fear to tread..."
Sarah McLaughlin, 'Possession.'

Couldn't have just dropped off the face of the earth...where was he?

"Why won't you tell me where he is?!" Vecchio had stood in Welsh's office, an hour before end of shift, nagging to find out. "He didn't come in at all today, we were supposed to have lunch, he's---"

"Detective Vecchio!" Welsh's voice was like a whipcrack, echoing in the confines of his tiny office. "If I knew where Constable Fraser was, don't you think I would tell you?"

Vecchio stared at him for a long moment. "Yes."

"Get out."

The house was empty; Ma and the girls were gone to Florida, that's right. Gone on holiday. Frannie was probably soaking up the sun and Teresa and the kids were crawling all over Disney World. Yeah, that's right...Disney World.

He let himself in and picked up the phone, dialled Fraser's number, and listened to the rings reeling out into silence. What the hell was going on here?

Victoria?

No. Kill that thought, Ray. She's gone, she's not coming back.

What, then?

He warmed some lasagna for himself in the microwave, carried the plate through to the living room and switched on the television set. It was weird, eating here all by himself, without Ma and the family...weird, being all alone.

Where was Benny?

It was weird. Ray reached for the phone again, drew his hand back...maybe Fraser had some girl over there; no, that wasn't his style--

Now why the hell did I think that??

Because of that kiss?

He kissed me in prison...

Ray laid the plate down, rested his palms against tired eyes. God dammit! Why did Benny have to go and---

"Ray, I'm sorry--"

What? Oh.

His imagination.

'I'm sorry, Ray...' The slow slide of Fraser's hands up his arms, the electric touch of Fraser's fingers, brushing his lips, coaxing his mouth open, and then the warmth, smooth heat, silken tongue-tip flicker---

Christ! Look at me...

The front of his slacks bulged perceptibly; this was embarrassing! Thank God Ma and the girls weren't around...

Where would that have gone, if he had let it continue, if they hadn't been standing naked in a prison shower? Could he even imagine it? The thought was enticing, but taboo...

Imagine it...

"Benny..." A sudden warmth in his groin, a flush of heat deep in his belly. He remembered the shape of Benny's mouth, the heat of his tongue, coaxing his mouth open. He'd thought about it since then, truth be told; he'd thought about it a lot. What would it be like, with another man?

Benny's not just another man...

Standing in those prison showers, foreheads pressed together, leaning against him and forcing myself *not* to sway into his arms, wrap myself around him, even though I wanted to more than anything, more than anything...

"I'm sorry, Ray..."

What?

Oh.

He went into the other room and flicked on the computer; the screen glowed blue, settled into an electronic hum. The rest of the book was still there; he had fourteen chapters so far. Hard to believe, but true.

"I never knew you could write, Ray."

What?

Oh.

"I fear I have nothing to give, I have so much to lose here
in this lonely place...tangled up in your embrace, there's
nothing I'd like better than to fall...."
Sarah McLaughlin, 'Fear.'

The building was a warehouse, or had been a warehouse: something normal and benign. High up, the windows were blacked out, hiding what was inside.

The tip of his cigarette glowed red in the darkness; he took a final, lung-deep drag and flicked it away, rasped a hand over the dark stubble that lined his cheeks and chin. Time to go.

The door yielded to his hand, but that was to be expected: he was one of them, he held certain privileges here. He followed the winding corridors past makeshift rooms, cardboard dividers, to the sound of a projector, the flickering light on the wall.

"Hey, Vito. Something new?" He slid into position, lit a cigarette, his back pressed against the wall, nonchalant. It was easy when you turned off everything inside, you could look then, and not be affected.

"Yeah, ain't she pretty? Real classy doll, I'd say."

The little girl on the screen---

He drew hard on his cigarette and abruptly looked away. Jesus Christ---

Ray, I'm sorry... "I looked into your eyes, they told me plenty I already knew."
Sarah McLaughlin, 'Plenty'

The room was deserted save for her, curled up under a filthy blanket near the wall, curled up underneath the projector whose unseeing eye had so lately described in celluloid every flicker... There was a curious, unchildlike knowledge in her eyes; no fresh horror could be manufactured by them that would in any way surprise her, there were no surprises left.

Daddy don't hurt me I'll be good.

"Hey. You gonna sleep here tonight?" He sat gingerly on the edge of the creaking sofa, leaned over her.

"Don't got nowhere, mister." She peered out from underneath the blanket, peered at him with her ancient eyes. "You got somewhere?"

Clamp it down, don't feel it, don't feel it, Jesus Christ, Ray, I'm sorry...

"You shouldn't be sleeping here, it's not a nice place for a little girl." None of this is a nice place for a little girl. "Don't you want to go home?"

"Don't got nowhere, mister." Daddy don't hurt me I'll be good.

This cannot in any way be any kind of truth, Fraser thought, or at least the Fraser hidden deep inside him thought this. He fumbled inside his pockets, lit a fresh smoke from the crumpled pack of Marlboroughs. This cannot in any way be any kind of truth because if it is, then this means certain things, goddammit!

What kind of world...

"How old are you?" Find out, Welsh said, get us something we can use, something indictable, something damning.

"Seven. I forgot my teddy." She peered at him, and a little hand snaked out from underneath the blankets, fastened around his wrist. "When can I go, mister? That man said I could have candy."

Fraser stumbled away from her, reeled outside, forced himself to lean against the wall and take deep breaths, forced himself sane. Forgive me, Ray...

"Hey, Benny!"

His eyes snapped open, gaze darting around the empty grounds, but there was nothing, nothing but the wind. Where was Ray now? What was he doing? I should have told him, Fraser thought, I should have found some way to get a message to him. He leaned forward, pressed his palms to his forehead.

"Don't take it so hard, Benny. Hey, you did what you could..."

The warmth of a palm on his shoulder; I'll look up and he'll be there, I'll look up into his eyes, his smile, he'll be there...

"Ray?"

"Hours pass, days pass, time stands still; light gets dark
and darkness fills my secret heart forbidden..."
Sarah McLaughlin, 'Ice'

He was dreaming: the kind of dream that lovers have about the Other when the Other is no longer near; the kind of dream that lovers have when the beloved has been swallowed up by darkness...

Cabin in the wilderness, tundra resolved into a sea of white, it's winter, winter...

"Hey, Benny!" Go ahead, shoot; be a helluva lot easier than getting out of this snowsuit. "Jesus, Benny, what's wrong?"

He doesn't look like himself, he doesn't look like anything that I have ever seen... "Benny, what's wrong?"

"Ray." He's walking, moving closer, his hands are on your arms, his eyes are old, ancient pain... "Ray, please help me..."

His body is solid, warmth that seeps through you; you gently peel away the winter layers, move him nearer the fire, clasp him in your arms...

He's clasping your face in his hands, his thumb smoothing your bottom lip---

Suddenly, there you are, or there he is, in bed; you're sliding along the naked length of him,

Benny...

I love you Ray

Benny...

His mouth is warm, the smooth shape of his tongue slips coaxing between your lips---

Ray Vecchio jolted awake as the telephone shrilled near his ear. He automatically reached out a hand and grabbed it, fitted the receiver to his ear. "What?"

"Ray? Is that you?" Frannie. "You sleeping or something?"

"Uh." What did that mean?

"Listen, Ma wants to know if you want some oranges. We were gonna bring back some oranges, but Ma doesn't know if you want oranges. So---" The sound of gum cracking, the hum of long- distance wires-- "You want oranges?"

Oranges... "Um." Hard to clear the sleep from his mind, that dream--

That dream.

"Well, we're gonna bring 'em anyway, you know, we don't know what to get ya!"

"Uh-huh."

"For God's sakes, Ray, snap out of it! You wanna talk to Ma?" Frannie held the phone away from her ear for a moment; he could hear the various noises of the hotel room in the background. "Ah, she's in the shower. Listen, I'll get oranges. Hey, is Fraser there?"

Ray depressed the switch hook, listened for a moment to the dial tone. The house was very still. He stretched, pushing his slender body back against the sheets, arching his back; the centre of him pulsed with a latent desire. 'I love you Ray'

Wow. What in hell was he thinking, to dream that? And it had been so *real*, too! He and Fraser...

Benny...

Ray slid a hand down his body, his flat stomach, clasped himself, briefly summoning up the dream-images... Fraser in the dream had been all supple warmth and heated kisses; the touch of his hands was very real...

"Good God." Ray spoke it aloud, pressed a hand to his eyes. Here he was lying in bed with a hard-on, all because of some dream. He shouldn't have stayed up so late last night writing on his novel, he should have gone to bed earlier. Thank God it was Sunday.

A whole week now, since Fraser left. It was kind of a good thing that he wasn't around, to see the total mess that Ray was in now. How in the hell was he to know that his little project would degenerate so harshly, slam him back into the past, that place he didn't dare go...

Don't hit me Daddy I'll be good...

"No fucking good for anything, Raymondo! I should give you the back of my hand, I should---"

"Carmine, leave the boy alone!"

Don't hit me Daddy I'll be good...

"Just shut up! How come you're such a screw-up, you little asshole? You wanna tell me that?"

Don't hit me

Don't hit me

"Ray, I'm sorry..."

"All the fear has left me now, I'm not frightened anymore.
It's my heart that pounds beneath my flesh. It's my mouth that
pushes out this breath..."
Sarah McLaughlin, 'Fumbling Towards Ecstasy'

"Come back here, you son of a bitch!" The clatter of footsteps in the darkness behind him, running feet. His breath, coming in harsh gasps, can't run with her in my arms, she's too heavy---

"You get back here!" A bullet sang past his cheek, a ricochet twanged off the wall in front of him; he couldn't run with her in his arms, she was too heavy---

I can make it. I can make it. She's holding out her hand to me, I can make it, running after a train, goddamnit---

"Benny, she's got a *gun*!"

He fancied he could hear it, blasting towards him; the impact rocked him back on his heels--

My God, they shot her!

"Benny, she's got a *gun*!"

"You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be alright---" Oh God, so much blood, so much--- "Don't die, don't die, don't die---"

"Son..."

"Not now Dad! Can't you see she's---"

Dead.

"She's gone, Son. Leave it be." Bob Fraser, there and not- there, part of the past, part of memory and the night.

"But I have to---"

"Benny...?"

Don't got nowhere, mister.

"Are you alright?"

Ben Fraser raised his head, slowly, gazed at the woman. She was pretty, who was she?

"Constable, are you alright?"

"Yes, sir, I am." He drew out the cigarettes, lit one. "Where am I?"

"In Chicago. I'm sorry we had to bring you here like this--- " 'Like this' meaning a closed van, the FBI... It hardly mattered now.

"Where's Ray?"

Lt. Welsh stared at him for a moment, glanced at Thatcher. "Oh, you mean Vecchio?"

Yes.

The door was unlocked, it was a small matter to walk right in; Ray was there, just through there, sitting at a desk.

"Benny?" His expression was one of absolute amazement.

"Ray." Just walk. One foot in front of the other, just walk into his arms...

"Are you alright?" Rising from the chair, moving towards you, those reading glasses, where did he get them. "Jesus, Benny, you look like hell..."

"Ray..." And hold him.

"It's okay. It's okay."

He's trembling, too; it must be alright, he's holding you and trembling like that...

"I love you, Ray."

The first touch of his mouth: electric. His hands, on your arms, sliding to embrace you anew. His lips are a perfect fit on yours. "What'd they do to you? What's with this hair, and...are you *smoking*?"

Let me taste you. Let me feel you, underneath my hands. Where did you get that ridiculous cardigan, you look positively avuncular--

What in hell does that mean, avuncular? Hey, don't look at that, I'm writing--

I never knew you wrote, Ray...

Where have you been?

I missed you

I missed you

Ray drew him gently into bed, fearing the scars that lingered there, just beneath the surface. He left Fraser's clothes in a pile on the floor, a shed skin, remembrance of another time. His lover's body was just the way that Ray remembered it from dreams, arching up against his own in ecstasy, in comfort, in relief.

"I love you, Ray."

"Benny---"

"Don't ask me, not yet." Fraser's fingers traced the shape of Ray's bottom lip, slipped into his mouth.

"I love you, Benny." It didn't matter when Fraser chose to tell him: now or later, it didn't matter...

"I want for us to go north, Ray. Up to my father's cabin. I want us to---"

All he could say without crying. Ray held him while he wept.

"I can't make it better."

"I know." Fraser's wet cheek against his own. "Just make it hurt a little less."

"Listen as the wind blows, from across the great divide.
Voices trapped in yearning, memories dropped in time. The night
is my companion, and solitude my guide. Would I spend forever
here, and not be satisfied... And I would be the one, to hold you
down, kiss you so hard, I'll take your breath away. And after I'd
wipe away the tears, just close your eyes...."
Sarah McLaughlin, 'Possession.'

THE END.