"You're dead   Ann Marston Normal Samuel Herman Muth & Associat 2
6914 2000-09-08T14:11:00Z 2000-09-08T14:11:00Z 24 7318 41718   347 83
51232 9.2720	0 0		     Bump in the Night Barb G
<mailto:barb@slashcity.com>   "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.