Flowers for Ceila  

 1. Departed  

 Ray sat back uneasily into his armchair. Absent-mindedly, he touched the
healed scar on his chest. For some reason, it was still causing him
discomfort. The wound was closed up but in his mind it festered
unbelievably. He was alive, he reminded himself. He was alive to be with
his family while Bill and Solly, the two men who had joined him on the
mission, perished violently. He would close his eyes and see them. Ray
didn't share these thoughts with anyone. Bess knew how worried he was and
tried to soothe him but she never really delved deeper into his psyche.
Ray bore the pain alone.  

 He put the pain aside. He was a hero and the trial of the Carlotta cartel
was behind him. On his day off, Ray stayed at home with Bess and the
children and whiled away the endless hours by sharing their activities. He
leaned his head back and thought of his friend, Benton. It was transferral
month at the consulate. It was rumoured he might move back up North. The
thought pained Ray. Ray was not simply attached to Benton. It was a
connection that openly defied definition. A brother, a brother-in-law, a
friend, a partner. Ray tried not to think about the potential move but
somehow he felt it was inevitable. Benton had more than a career but a
family of his own and he had to settle them in the vast North where he had
grown up. But Ray felt he would see him again.	

 The door burst open with a mini blast of cold November air. Bess came in
from a day of shopping. Bags burdened her every step. It was as though she
had hit every boutique in Chicago. Ray smiled at her return.  

 "Did you buy anything for me?" he asked. 

 Bess smiled as she removed her parka. 

 "No," she shyly admitted. "Just a few things for a friend of mine." 

 Ray's interest was peaked. He rose from his chair. 

 "Who?" He approached Bess. "I've never heard of him." 

 "Her," Bess corrected and with a bowed head made her way upstairs. 

 That was no answer. Snubbed, Ray settled into his armchair again and
tried to nod off.  

 Night. Yellow stars twinkled like crushed amber drops thrown carelessly
in the sky. Frost recovered the cornices of the houses in the quiet
suburb. Ray slept. The moonlight could faintly peer into the bedroom. A
solitary slender shadow moved furtively in the dark. The aspirins Ray had
taken made him very woozy. He did not feel Bess as she stirred at his side
and breathed softly on his countenance.  

 "Ray," she whispered. 

 Ray awakened slightly and lifted open his eyelids. 

 "Bessie, why are you up?" he asked weakly. 

 She stroked his forehead gently. 

 "Ray, I have to go and visit a friend." She leaned over. "Will you look
after Benton and the children for me?"	 

 "Where, Bessie?" he slurred, his hand instinctively waving to her face. 

 Bess removed the hand and smiled. 

 "Just an old friend, Ray. You wouldn't understand." 

 Bess moved away. 

 He nodded weakly, vaguely and then fell asleep again.	

 Sun. The welcoming signal of the day moved Ray to rise and embark on his
journey through life. Ray pulled himself up and reached out for Bess.  

 "Bess?"  

 The covers revealed nothing. Bess was not there. Ray hopped out of bed,
peered into the bathroom to see if she was brushing her teeth and then
pounced downstairs to the kitchen. Cyfrin sat at the table eating a bowl
of cereal.  

 "Cyfrina, where is your mother?" Ray asked.  

 Cyfrin shook her head so the loose black curls shook also.  

 "Maman is not here. She had to go."  

 Ray smiled gently on the child.  

 "Where did Maman go?"	

 Cyfrin shrugged.  

 Ray let out frustrated breath. He reached for the telephone. He dialled a
number and waited for an answer.  

 "Hello?"  

 Ray warmed to Benton's voice.	

 "Hi, Benny. How are things?"  

 Constable Benton Fraser looked at his watch and then glanced at the table
where his children ate breakfast.  

 "I am well, Ray. Why do you ask? This is quite early for you."  

 Ray thought it was odd for Benton to complain. Benton was always up early
and never minded when he was bothered for anything.  

 "Benny, do you know where Bess is? She wasn't in bed and she's not in the
house." 

 Benton seemed as troubled as Ray.  

 "No. Why would she be missing?"  

 "I dunno, Benny. You tell me."  

 Benton's brow furrowed.  

 "I really could not help you, Ray. Are you sure she did not say anything
to you?" 

 Ray scoured his brain.  

 "She said something about visiting a friend but I don't know who this guy
is or where he lives."	

 Benton exhaled heavily and raised his brow. 

 "Are you sure it was a man she is alleged to be visiting?" 

 Ray became impatient. 

 "I dunno. I..." Ray stopped as memory paused him. "She said something
about a she. Bessie bought some stuff for a she."  

 Benton nodded. 

 "Yes. Now, who is she?" 

 Ray became scarlet with anger. 

 "You know, you're not a great help, Benny!" 

 Ray slammed down the telephone and slumped in a chair, leaving Benton
bewildered. 

 Cyfrin pushed away her bowl. 

 "Maybe she went to visit Grandmere," the child offered. 

 Ray scuffed her hair and smiled. 

 "Yeah, maybe she's there." 

 Ray got up to use the telephone again. He took a deep breath and began to
question if he was overreacting.   

 Ray sat nervously at his desk. It was two days since Bess had left. She
was not in Quebec with Anais, the amiable French woman who was once her
mother-in-law. Bess had no other family. Had she left him? Why? He loved
her more than anything. She couldn't have. She still left her things in
the house and she would never leave her children.  

 "Hey? Hey!"  

 Ray swivelled his head to the stern voice. A blond-haired man swung a
bagged danish over his head.  

 "What do you want, Lenny?" Ray addressed Detective Lenny Tavish.  

 "I figured since you became such a gloomy gus, you might not want to eat
this delicious danish but give it to someone who may want it."	

 Ray waved his hand to him.  

 "Ah, I was gonna save it for someone special." Ray broke into sobs. "But
it looks like she's not coming back."  

 Lenny remembered the last time Ray broke into sobs and resolved never to
be put in that situation again. He quit Ray's desk for his own.  

 "Poor sod," he muttered. He picked up a file and read it. "Gabrielle
Ryan. Where are you?"	

 2. Return  

 November grew colder. Ray could feel it in his chest. A taxi pulled up to
the driveway. Ray held his breath. Bess emerged from it with one suitcase,
far fewer than what she went with. She approached the door. Rory and
Cyfrin ran to the door, yanked it open and embraced their mother. A week
was a lifetime separation from her.  

 "Maman, we missed you and we love you!" Cyfrin proclaimed retaining her
grip on Bess' legs.  

 Bess answered her daughter's love with a touch. 

 "Mum, did you go see Grandmere?" Rory asked. 

 "No, I didn't," she answered softly. "I just went to see an old friend." 

 At a loss, the children fled for more frivolous pursuits. 

 Bess hung up her parka and made her way into the living room. Ray
remained surprisingly silent. He locked his eyes on her in an
incriminating and scolding gaze.  

 "On a pleasure cruise?" he asked sarcastically. 

 Bess became aloof at the reproach. 

 "No," she shook her head, "just to visit a friend." 

 She met Ray's eyes. Anger flashed through them. She tried to placate the
flooding fury. 

 "Ray," she extended her hands to him. 

 Ray would not take them. 

 "Where the hell were you?" 

 Bess was smitten by his sharp reprisal for her hasty departure. 

 "I'm sorry, Ray. It was just an old friend. No one you would know..." 

 "You left me alone with the kids!" he returned. "I thought you were
dead!" 

 Bess tried to stifle laugh over the paranoid assumption. 

 "Ray..." 

 Ray turned his back to her. 

 "I don't want to hear it. You go now!" 

 Stung, Bess crept away to unpack her things. She would hand out the
souvenirs later.  

 Benton shuffled the endless series of papers and filed them. All week and
all last week had been the same thing. He had heard Bess returned and was
much relieved to see her safely arrive home. He never questioned it when
anyone in his family left inexplicably and returned after a long period of
time. It was a way of life, second nature. Why question it at all?  

 A knock at the door disturbed his routine. Inspector Thatcher strode in
with a file. She placed it on his desk.  

 "This a transfer request form," she explained.  

 Benton looked confused.  

 "I'm required to hand them out to any officer having served here for over
two years. To keep things circulating, they say. Fill it out and file it
before the end of the month."  

 She left with a perfunctory nod. Benton placed the file down. Home.
Inuvik seemed like home but so did Chicago. He sat down to read the
transferral request over. He went over in his mind what he had said to
Anna just a short couple of years ago. When one has travelled as much,
close doesn't mean so much any more. Benton put the paper down and leaned
back in his chair. What did it mean now?   

 3. Have You Met Sir Jones? 

 The week-end being over, Ray was happy to return to work. Bess came back
and, though relations were cool, things returned to normal. He felt a
contentment. Sweeping aside the coldness and deception at home, he tried
to think of a time when it may be forgotten. Now the contentment turned to
elation, like winning the Stanley Cup. Speaking of Stanley...  

 A tall, scrawny man with dirty-blond hair grinned as he slouched at Ray's
desk. Detective Stanley Kowalski was finally getting the kiss-off. He
could return to his post at the thirty-third precinct. Something in Ray
felt unnerved about the man.  

 Stan regarded Ray. He wondered how he could have gotten on Ray's bad
side. He thought deeply. Ray had been bitter after the mission. He had
been torn from his wife and newborn daughters for three months. The second
youngest, to whom he was attached very closely, thought of him
relentlessly. Ray had been the only one to come back alive and at least he
was wounded severely, on the brink of death Stan had been told. Stan
remembered when he first encountered Ray after the mission. He jolted Ray
playfully, slapping him sportively on the chest, a friendly, meaningless
gesture. After that, a paleness, a trickle of blood dripping from the
corner of his mouth and then broken stitches. That might have done it.	

 "What are you doing at my desk, Kowalski?" 

 Stan grinned. 

 "Just getting a feel of the old girl before I go." 

 Ray huffed. 

 "Feel your own desk. Hit the bricks," Ray pointed his thumb elsewhere. 

 Stan shrugged. 

 "You don't have to be Mr. Meanie," Stan replied. "I said I was sorry." 

 Ray smirked. What could Benton have seen in him as a friend? He was quite
plainly a jerk. That was another thing- where did he get off being chummy
with his partner? Ray and Benton were the best of friends and their
crime-solving record was unrivalled in the precinct. When he first strode
up to his house and swung his arm over the broad shoulders of his best
friend, Ray knew it. The man was sent by the devil to replace him in every
respect. Ray would never see that happen. If Stan would only leave now,
then he would be able to forget the slap-on-the-chest incident and his
being friends with Benton.  

 "Just hit the road, Kowalski," Ray warned.  

 Bess shuffled into the twenty-seventh precinct past the herds of felons
and flustered police officers. She removed her parka and climbed the
staircase to the squad room where Ray would be toiling away at tedious
paperwork. She came in with a cheesecake in a tupperware dish. This would
placate Ray, she thought. She spotted him speaking with another detective
and scurried over.  

 "Ray!"  

 Ray swivelled around. He was surprised to see her.  

 "Ray, I know how cross you've been with me but I think I can mend the
fence with this delicious blueberry cheesecake, your favourite...."  

 Bess stopped. She caught Stan's blue eyes. He stopped as well and rose to
his feet. 

 "Oh my God..." she uttered and dropped the cheesecake.  

 Instantly, Stan and Bess locked themselves in an embrace and kissed
passionately. The other officers were stunned at the rising drama and
murmured sly innuendoes. 

 Ray's eyes became saucers. It was not at all common for Bess to
passionately kiss strangers. In fact, it never happened. He drew his
sidearm.  

 "Kowalski. Get away from my wife now!"  

 Stan broke his kiss and concentrated on the gun that was a mere
centimetre from his face. 

 "Uh, Ray, I..." 

 "Shut the fuck up, Kowalski." 

 Ray cocked his gun. Bess removed herself from Stan and tried to plead
with him. 

 "Ray..." 

 "What the hell were you doing, Bess?!" 

 Bess became shaky. She understood Ray's fury well. 

 "Ray, you don't understand..." 

 "What part don't you think I understand, Bess? The part where you were
trying to suck out Stanny-boy's tonsils?"  

 Bess spun on her heels to face the man she just kissed. She looked
ashamed.  

 "I don't know what you're talking about, Ray. I've never met the man in
my life."  

 Ray became aghast.  

 "What?! You mean to tell me that you normally become intimate with total
strangers?!" 

 Ray turned to Stan again and cocked his gun.  

 "I said nothing when you broke my stitches, kept calm when you were all
buddy-buddy with Benny and now, I can contain myself no longer."  

 Stan shut his eyes to evade the fury of a semiautomatic shot to the face.
 

 "Vecchio!"  

 Everyone swivelled around. Walsh's face was the most unique shade of red
they had every seen his puglike countenance ever take on.  

 "In my office right now!"  

 Trembling slightly, Stan and Ray entered the office. They stood uneasily.
Stan took it upon himself to start talking.  

 "It wasn't my fault, sir. Ray here was, like, to trying to dust me 'cause
he thought I was makin' moves on his old lady but I wasn't 'cause I go to
church and I know that it's against God's law to, like, make moves on
another guy's wife and..."  

 "Shut up, Kowalski!" Walsh snapped. He rose from his desk and threatening
pointed his finger at Ray.  

 "I'm going to ask this once and only once- why were you trying to kill
Detective Kowalski?"  

 Ray inhaled and stood proudly, in full conviction of what he had done.  

 "Sir, Detective Kowalski came onto my wife in a manner that was both
menacing and not conducive to the moral climate of this precinct. I felt
that the appropriate measure of correction in this situation was a gunshot
to the face."  

 Walsh raised his brow.  

 "Oh, really? And do you think I.A and the D.A. will agree with your moral
conclusions?"  

 Ray was silent.  

 Walsh sat back down.  

 "Now, I'm going to forget this incident because I don't feel like going
through this crap again." Walsh read a file. "I spoke to your commanding
officer, Kowalski, and he and I have came to a calming conclusion. You're
to stay on in this precinct as Vecchio's partner."  

 The two men became pale with the surprise. Ray could not contain himself.
 

 "Sir, I can't..."  

 "I don't want to hear it, Vecchio!" Walsh warned.  

 Stan could not keep silent either.  

 "Sir, I respectfully request that I'm not partnered with him." He waved
his arm to Ray. "He's nuts!"  

 Walsh put his hand down.  

 "The both of you are going to be partners or you can hunt for other
employment in Palookaville!" He turned to Stan. "No badmouthing him nor
messing with his better half." He swivelled definitively to Ray. "I don't
care if Kowalski was picking out wallpaper patterns with your missus,
you're going to be his partner and like it! That means no pointing a gun
at him! Is that clear?!"  

 "But sir!" Ray protested.  

 Walsh held up a hammy hand.  

 "Not another word! Dismissed!"  

 Ray exited the office with Stan. He bit his lip and silently uttered his
desire for revenge.  

 "I'll make you pay for trying to destroy my life, Kowalski."  

 Stan rolled his eyes believing the threat was empty. The gesture only
strengthened Ray's resolve.  

 "Kowalski's gay!"  

 Stan's eyes bugged out. The rest of the squad room paid close attention
and again the rumour mill went spinning.  

 Lenny's eyes lit up.  

 "I knew it!" He motioned Dewey. "You owe me a twenty."  

 Dewey reluctantly forked over twenty dollars. Stan gaped in shock at the
audacity of the slander.  

 "I'm not... You can't... I don't believe...."	

 Stan's face was scarlet in hue. Fists were curled at his sides.  

 "I am going to fucking kill you."  

 Ray huffed.  

 "Oh, really, Stanley. Let's do try to be civil about this."  

  

 Benton doodled at the corner of a report and then made quickly to erase
it. He was bored and occupied with thoughts other than paper clip purchase
orders. The transfer weighed heavily on him. The North had always been his
home and when he was torn from it after his father's death, he felt sure
he would return to it. But things changed. Everything changed. Ray
happened, and with him, Bess had forged for herself a new life and
branched the family tree further. He married Elaine, the fair and good.
Benton laughed when he said those words to himself. They seemed trite but
true. She was the ray of light that kept him anchored in a world that
became more complex than fox traps and dog sleds. There was no more lone
R.C.M.P. post burdened with snow until the replacements came in the
spring. Now, there was a wife and two children. Chicago was Elaine's home
and he could never leave it. It wasn't fair to Elaine.	

 "Constable Fraser?"  

 Benton rose from his desk at Thatcher's clarion call from revery. A tall
man wearing the familiar red serge stood next to her.  

 "This is Constable Parker Rossi, from Calgary," she introduced him. "He
is here to observe the workings of the consulate."  

 Benton knew it well. He was the replacement. He rose to shake hands with
him. 

 "I understand things here are quite sedate," the man observed. 

 Benton new differently. He would be eaten alive. 

 "Quite," Benton responded. "I'm sure you'll find things here are in
order." 

 Parker smiled back. He excused himself to follow Thatcher's tour of the
consulate. 

 A slight rap disturbed Benton. It was Ray, waving a brown paper bag
before him. 

 "Cherry-cheese danish time!" he rang out and handed Benton the treat. 

 Benton gratefully accepted the danish and relished in its cherry-cheese
goodness. 

 Ray cast his head to the side. He observed the young man next to
Thatcher. A burr of closely-cut brown hair and green eyes, a tall, lanky
gait.  

 "Oh my God," Ray uttered to himself. 

 "What is it?" Benton asked. 

 Ray pointed at Parker. 

 "Who is he?" 

 Benton glanced behind him and returned to his danish. 

 "He is Constable Rossi. He is here as an observer. Why?" 

 Ray looked meaningfully at him. 

 "He's the one! He's the one! I swear it!" 

 Benton was puzzled. 

 "Who?" 

 Ray took out a picture of his father. 

 "My half-brother," he said softy. 

 Benton became interested in this secret. 

 "Are you sure? How do you know?" 

 Ray lay down the picture on Benton's desk. 

 "Years ago, my father was caught screwing around with some waitress on
her way to New York. She said she was from Canada. When my father tracked
her down a year later- I dunno, to relive former glories- she had a little
surprise for him." Ray hung his head. "It was never mentioned again."  

 Benton was aghast.  

 "Could he really be your brother?"  

 Ray became solemn.  

 "There is only one way to be certain." He turned to Benton. "There is one
fear inherent in my family, one fear so horrible, so dehumanizing that the
very human spirit flinches at the thought of it."  

 Benton was mystified by Ray's eloquent statement of fear and even more
mystified by what the fear may be.  

 "What is it? The fear of death? Fear of closed spaces?" 

 Ray's eyes were wide and clear. 

 "No. Fear of... sock puppets." 

 Benton, let down by the banality of Ray's reply, became more nonplussed
than before. 

 "Sock puppets?" 

 "Yeah," Ray nodded. "Sock puppets." 

 "So we put a sock on our hands and frighten him with it?" 

 Ray shook his head. 

 "Oh no- you put a sock puppet on your hand. I'll just watch." 

 Breathing heavily, Benton went to his foot locker and took out an extra
pair of socks. He placed one on his hand and walked over to Parker who was
now alone. Benton walked over carefully, methodically, as the hunter does
his prey. Parker never suspected him. Benton raised the hand covered with
the sock.  

 "Constable Rossi, would you like to meet the Sock Puppet?!"  

 The grim young man gasped and let out a girlish scream. Ray now knew
beyond anything else that he was his half-brother.  

 Intrigued by the scream, Constables Turnbull and Ramsey Ferguson entered
the main office.  

 "What's going on?!" Ramsey cried.  

 Benton left Parker to collect himself. He could see on Ray's face that he
was right.  

 "Constable Rossi is your brother!"  

 Further intrigued by the mystery, Ramsey retrieved the personnel file on
Parker. He and Turnbull studied it.  

 "The DNA test proves it!" Ramsey proclaimed. 

 "He has your blood type!" Turnbull joined in. 

 Ray huffed. 

 "Just like you to throw in pertinent facts and proof, Turnbull!" 

 Benton took Ray by the shoulders. 

 "You must reconcile yourself to your brother if you are ever to have some
sort of relationship with him."  

 Ray knew he was right.  

 "But how?"  

 "Just explain to him the facts and your honest intentions. I am sure he
will be willing to listen."  

 Ray nodded. It had to be done. He would be cool, calm, collected. He
would stride over to the young man and invite him fullfold into the
Vecchio family circle. He walked over carefully. He touched the man's
shoulder. Parker turned around.  

 "Yes?" 

 This was the moment of truth. 

 "I know it's you, Rossi!" Ray cried and judas-kissed Parker on the cheek.


 Benton slapped his hand to his head and uttered his disapproval. 

 Parker pulled away from Ray. 

 "Who are you?!" 

 "I'm Ray!" Ray cried. "Ray Vecchio! I'm your half-brother!" 

 Parker shook his head violently. 

 "I am the only son of Giovanesse and Laura Rossi." 

 Ray shook his head. 

 "No! You were adopted. You are apart of my family. I can prove it. The
sock puppet. Everyone in my family is afraid of them." Ray nodded once
more. "Oh, and apparently we have the same DNA and blood type,
yadda-yadda-yadda."  

 Parker could not believe it.  

 "You come to my house. Meet your family. Meet my wife and children- your
nieces and nephews."  

 Parker became pale.  

 "Why should I?"  

 Ray pulled on his shoulders.  

 "Because we're family. You come to my house." 

 Ray backed away slowly, never once breaking eye contact with his newly
reunited half-brother.	 

 Benton threw down his Stetson and sighed heavily. He was exhausted, an
emotional fatigue that pinned him to a depression.  

 "For someone who has a desk job, you seem more worn out than I am,"
Elaine swore.  

 Benton lifted his head slightly to acknowledge her and then heaved onto
the bed. He did not want to speak. Elaine sat next him.  

 "What's bothering you?" 

 Benton stared at the ceiling. 

 "Is it the transfer?" 

 Benton cast a look at her. 

 "I read the transfer request form," she handed the opened envelope to
him. 

 Benton took it from her and did not speak. 

 "What do you want to do?" 

 Benton still did not answer her. 

 "Ben?" 

 "I don't know what I'll do," he finally replied. "I need to think, about
you, about the children. I can't just pick up and leave."  

 Elaine rested beside him. 

 "My home is with you, Ben. Nothing will change that." 

 He looked at her. The load felt lighter now. 

 Elaine took the envelope from him. 

 "Just don't think about it," she said and tossed it from Benton. She
gripped his shoulders. "Instead of maintaining the right elsewhere, think
about maintaining the right in bed."  

 Benton's lips curled into a smile as Elaine pressed her lips to his.  

 The air was crisp, an element noticed by the wives of policemen as they
packed themselves into the foyer of the great hall. The cold bit their
naked ankles. They rushed in, all the while gossiping and primping
themselves. The great policemens' ball was in progress- an
anyone-who-is-anyone affair. Stan skulked in the background. He had no one
to take to the ball. Stella, his ex-wife, was decidedly busy, as she had
been during the marriage and any other time she did not wish to associate
with him. He drank soda water dejectedly and watched as luckier men danced
with their wives.  

 Ray slipped Bess' coat off and placed it on the back of a chair.  

 "Does Francesca know the telephone number?" she asked repeatedly.  

 Ray coaxed her fears.	

 "Bess, things will be fine. Frannie can look after things." He swallowed
a lump in his throat. "Now- we can enjoy an evening without that bastard
Stan!"	

 Bess bit her nails.  

 "You won't make a scene if he shows up, will you?"  

 Ray held his breath.  

 "Of course I won't," he promised reluctantly. "But he won't be here. Only
men with wives will be here."  

 Ray cast a look across the room. Stan was there.  

 "Shit!" Ray swore to himself.	

 "What is it, Ray?" Bess asked.  

 "Nothing, my sweet buttercup," he lied. "Dance with me."  

 He led Bess away from the table and started to foxtrot with her.   

 Stan swigged down yet another glass of soda water. He threw the plastic
cup away. Picking up snow crab with his fingers, he stuffed the meat into
his mouth and licked the juice off. His eye caught the small of a woman's
back. He remembered the pale skin and how smooth it was. A hand,
olive-coloured, defiled the fair flesh. Stan moved closer to the woman. He
could not stop. He bumped into other dancers, failing to apologize for his
thoughtlessness. He reached his hand forward to destroy the moment of
clarity the other man had with the woman.  

 "May I have this dance?" 

 Ray's face became red in hue. Bess became a shade paler. 

 "Kowalski...." 

 "Ray, please," Bess interrupted. "I'll dance with you," she agreed and
left Ray. 

 Ray was dumbfounded. 

 "Do you believe that?!" he asked passers-by.  

 "It's you again," Bess said softly. She tried not to look into Stan's
eyes.  

 "I was going to say the same thing," Stan responded with a toothy grin.  

 He tilted his head in an attempt to peer into Bess' baby-blue eyes. She
frustrated his attempts.  

 Stan held Bess. He foxtrotted with her around on the dance floor. Bess
could scarcely feel herself being lifted from the ground.  

 "You're light on your feet," she smiled, at once looking at him. 

 Stan said nothing. His face curled into a slight, self-assured smile. 

 "I think it runs in the family." 

 Bess' eyes moved from Stan. 

 "Indeed." Her gaze returned. "I almost forgot about you." 

 It was a lie but Stan did not know. 

 "I could never forget you." 

 Bess' eyes found Stan again. The music stopped. 

 "I have to go now. Ray will have your head if I don't return.." 

 She broke away from her embrace and ran back to Ray. Stan tried to reach
for her but she was gone.   

 Ray gripped the steering wheel. He avoided Bess. She sat serenely in the
passenger seat and gazed out at the frost-covered trees. 

 Silence and again silence. 

 "So why the hell were you dancing with him?!" 

 Bess bit the inside of her cheek. 

 "Ray, really!" 

 "You slept with him, didn't you?" 

 Bess was scandalized. 

 "How could you suggest such a thing?" 

 "Oh, I don't know," Ray replied, "You kissed him, you danced with him.
That gave me a few clues."  

 Bess was furious.  

 "I'm going to ignore your juvenile insinuations, Ray. They are not worth
getting worked up over."  

 She swivelled her head back to the window.  

 "He's very light on his feet," she smiled subtly.  

 Ray gripped the steering wheel more tightly. He thought obsessively how
he would like to blind and torture the man who was ruining his life.   

 4. Destination- Anywhere 

 Ray sat dejectedly in the living room, indiscriminately tossing Sports
Illustrated magazines to the corner. Bess had been asking that he clean up
the basement. He steadfastly refused though he did not voice his defiance.
She had been secretive, furtive and obfuscative. He liked that word and
would use it often in reference to Bess from here on in. He would not
co-operate with Bess in anything. He did not feel a need to. If she could
lie, he would be idle and purposefully so.  

 Bess entered the living room with her hands on her hips and her apron
soiled with cookie dough.  

 "Ray, when are you going to clean the basement out?! You won't let me go
down there! Why ever won't you do it?"	

 Ray clenched a magazine tightly in his fist. Civil disobedience, he
thought. He would not give in.	

 "You're being childish, Ray, really," Bess scolded him. "Now, clean out
the basement and put aside my trunk."  

 Trunk?  

 Ray rose and started for the basement.  

 "Of course, my precious powder-puff," Ray cloyly apologized, "how could I
be so ignorant? Do forgive my former churlish behaviour."  

 Ray disappeared into the basement. Bess scratched her head. He used an
unusual vocabulary just then. Unusual for him, anyway. She shrugged off
the odd behaviour and resumed her work in the kitchen.	 

 Ray scurried like a mad man. He needed to find the trunk. In it would be
the reasons for Bess' odd behaviour. An old yearbook, a photo album, an
withered postcard. His foot caught something. He kicked it and then yelped
in pain. He had found Bess' trunk.  

 Ray crouched down to open it. There was a padlock on it.  

 "This looks like work for the universal key," he muttered and retrieved
his crowbar. He pried the lock open and lifted the trunk lid. Papers were
neatly tied with string. Old books were warded off of mildew. He looked to
a recently used shopping bag. It was a boutique bag. He slipped his hand
in it. His finger caught a slip of paper. It was a stub for a commuter
plane. He looked at it closely. It read NorthWest Territories. Ray did not
think that was too odd. But why did Bess keep this from him? He searched
further into the trunk. A child's notebook edged through a series of photo
albums. Ray read the cover. C. Agipuk. Was this Bess' friend?  

 Ray picked up the aged, torn stub.   

 "North West Territories, huh?"  

 Ray chuckled to himself. He would seek out this friend of Bess' and her
secrecy be damned!   

 Ray asked for a three-day leave. He made every believable excuse he could
to Bess and fled like a thief in the night to Chesterfield Inlet.  

 He had seen the town from above. It was a speck on the tundra, a
collection of tiny houses cordoned away from the vast and endless fields
of snow. Ray grabbed his backpack and endeavoured to find the home of C.
Agipuk. 

 The snow was not thick but crusted on the ground. It was a severe frost
that caught one's breath. Ray wandered aimlessly throughout the shanty
town. The bungalows were ill-painted and barely anyone moved outside.
Ahead, one bulky figure chopped firewood and chucked it to one side. Ray
walked steadily over.  

 "Excuse me, excuse me!" he said, "I'm looking for..." He glanced at the
piece of paper. "C. Agipuk."  

 The figure lifted her head.  

 "That would be me," she said smiling. "I'm C. I mean- Ceila."	

 "Kehla?" Ray intoned.	

 The girl nodded back.	

 Ray regarded her. She was a waif in a huge parka. Wisps of black hair
edged out from the seal fur rim of her hood. Crystal blue eyes pointed at
Ray. Her face was fresh and inviting. 

 "Do you know Bess Vecchio?"   

 Ceila looked baffled.	

 "I know a Bessie MacLeod."  

 Ray shook his head.  

 "That used to be her name. It's Bess Vecchio now. I'm her husband."  

 Ceila looked shocked.	

 "Wow! She never told me she was married."  

 Ray now gaped. This girl-child was kept in the dark yet she did not feel
betrayed. It was at first a shock and then acceptance. Her face melted to
a quiet contentment.  

 "Oh, well- I suppose she just didn't think it was important. I mean..."  

 Ceila stopped.  

 "Actually, I don't know why she wouldn't tell me that."  

 "How do you know Bessie?" Ray asked.  

 Ceila stopped and thought for a minute.  

 "I knew her ever since..." Ceila slapped her head for lack of memory. "I
don't really remember. I've always known her. She's the best friend I've
ever had. She's always bought me clothes and magazines and books. She even
took me to Ottawa once, but that was a long time ago."	

 Ceila paused for a minute.  

 "Hey! Do you wanna come in for a minute? I could make us some tea."  

 Ray nodded earnestly. He wanted out from the cold more than anything.	

 They trudged inside and sat down. Ceila removed her mitts and threw
firewood in the old iron stove. She placed a kettle on the surface. She
placed a plate of cookies before Ray and sat down.  

 "You might want to leave your coat on for a minute," she suggested, "it
takes some time for this place to warm up."  

 Ray looked around. The bungalow was small, drab and uncluttered by
furniture.   

 "You live here?"  

 Ceila nodded. She removed her hood. Her hair was the darkest black and
fell in short wisps about her head.  

 "My mother and father used to live here with me but they died a few
months ago. My older brother, Ira, took all of their stuff and left me
with some of the furniture- a couple of chairs, a cot, nothing much."  

 Ray nodded.  

 "And Bess? She came to see you recently."  

 "Yeah," Ceila concurred. She bit on her lip. "She wanted me to leave this
place. She said maybe I could get a place of my own, or crash with her for
a while. In fact, she wanted to place me in McGill."  

 "What did you say to her?"  

 "I couldn't really leave," Ceila replied. "Not yet, anyway. I'm nearly
finished school. Then I'd like to go to McGill."  

 Ray leaned forward.  

 "If you could leave, would you?" 

 Ceila's eyes brightened.  

 "Like- yeah!" Ceila twirled fancifully. "I would leave and become a
nurse, like an emergency room nurse." She clasped Ray's hands. "In big
cities, there is a great need for them. That's 'cause they have so many
guns and..." She calmed down. "I think I could help."  

 Ray still held the girl in his gaze. She was young, desperately naive and
alive. Very alive. The place was stifling her.	

 "It's a big city you want?"  

 Ceila nodded again.  

 "How would you like to come to Chicago?"  

 Ceila spun her head to see if she heard right.  

 "You could go to school there. Live with Bessie and me. Chicago has many
gunshot victims that could use a bright kid like you. So- would you?"  

 Ceila's face brightened.  

 "Would I?"  

 She stood up and squeezed Ray.  

 "That would make me very happy!"  

 Ray held her at arms' length.	

 "I'll buy you a ticket. Pack all of your things. I'll prepare a room for
you at home. Don't worry about school. Just transfer everything to
Chicago."  

 Ceila spun on her heels. A room at a home just for her. It sounded to
good to be true.  

 "When?"  

 Ray smiled slyly to himself when he thought of the cover being ripped
wide open.  

 "Soon."   

 5. A Home By Any Other Name 

 Ceila had never been this far south before. Everything was different.
There were more people. They jostled one another and were more abrupt. The
buildings were bigger. Smog choked one's breath. There were no more French
signs. Everything looked so foreign.  

 Union Station. This was the last stop. Her legs felt rubbery. She would
tread into unknown territory. She tried to prepare herself even though she
had spent two whole weeks fantasizing about the brave, new Chicago, the
world where anything, Ray promised, could happen. When the train last
jerked and stopped, she jolted off and vowed never to look back.  

 Ceila danced off the platform. Nameless, faceless people walked
anonymously by. The smell of fuel and smog leaked into her lungs. She
coughed and then suppressed the urge. Chicago was a new and interesting
world. It would never make her sick. She checked the tag on her trunk and
then hailed down a porter. The porter dragged her trunk to the storage
where it would be kept until Ray the marvellous benefactor would retrieve
it. That being done, Ceila marched to the subway.  

 She held on tightly to her backpack. Ray had warned her that there were
unsavoury types who may prey on her. She remained warily conscious of
them. She was awed above anything. This wasn't the pristine Ottawa she had
visited once when she was seven years old. This was big town America, the
mythical and oh-so-real. She tried to ground herself. Everything would
make much more sense when she met Ray again.  

 She left the subway and plunged into suburban Chicago. Octavia Drive, the
pathway to a new life, lay ahead of her. She skipped joyously to her
destination. Ray's house was but a metre away.	

 Ceila executed a perfect handspring, swung her lithe body to the door,
jangled the keys Ray gave her and let herself in. No one was home. The
house was eerily barren. She entered the living room and called out. Her
voice echoed but made no impression. Ceila looked at the row of picture
frames lining the mantle. Cheery faces with blue eyes and black hair.
Ceila picked one picture up.  

 "Wow!" she remarked to herself. "Bess' kids look a lot like her."  

 A white note was wedged between two books on an end table. Ceila cleft it
between her slender fingers and read the neat scrawl on it.   

 Ceila, 

By the time you read this you will have realized nobody's home. Your room
is upstairs, the very last one, at the end of the hall. Get settled in.
Remember- this your home now.  

 Ray  

 Ceila folded the note once and started up the stairs. Her room was small
but warm and had a view of the neighbourhood. It was delightfully
suburban. Behind the window, she could not hear the cars drift by nor the
children scream as they dodged snowballs headed for their vulnerable
persons. Snow fell each night and accumulated on the bare branches and
bland nature strips. At once, Ceila felt homesick. The cold and the snow
up North was untouched and preserved somehow by the intrusive hand of
progress. Here, the liminal balanced itself on the line of encroaching
urban decay.  

 Ceila left her backpack in her room and went back downstairs. Her eye
caught another slip of white wedged in the same books on the end table.
She picked it up.  

 Ceila, 

here is some money. Buy yourself something nice. I'm sure Bess will be
surprised to see you when she gets home. 

 Ray  

 Ceila would take up Ray's offer. She walked out of the house ready to
delve into Chicago's wicked side.   

 Ray walked in through the door first. Bess' endless series of tasks kept
her from the house all day. Ray hoped it was long enough to smuggle Ceila
in. When he saw that the notes he had strategically left were missing, he
smiled. His plan was working.  

 Ray crept upstairs to Ceila's room. He rapped softly on her door and let
himself in.  

 "Ceila?"  

 Ceila sat up on her bed. She placed her copy of Time magazine down and
ran to her benefactor.	

 "Oh, Ray, I can't thank you enough!"  

 Ray silenced her.   

 "Never mind that. It's okay. Did you make it here alright?"  

 Ceila nodded eagerly.	

 "Great. Bess is just downstairs. She'll be happy to see you."	

 Ceila grinned.  

 "I'll be down in a minute."  

 Ray went back downstairs and waited for everything to set in motion.  

 Bess came in with the last bag of groceries and marched to the kitchen.  

 "The doctor said Cyfrin's teeth are coming in fine and she is now up to
date for her shots." 

 Ray nodded. 

 "That's good to hear. Where is Cyfrin now?" 

 Bess tilted her head to Cyfrin's general direction. 

 "I think she is showing Francesca her needle marks." 

 Ray went to fetch the girl and allay her recent fears of syringes. 

 Bess returned to the lobby to retrieve her purse. 

 Ceila charged down the stairs and paused when she saw Bess. She expected
the fresh pink glow on her face when she had always visited her.   

 "Bessie!" Ceila cried. "Surprise!"  

 Bess' oval face remained pale and became paler yet. Ceila saw this and
was disappointed. Ray had left Cyfrin to join Bess and cushion the shock.
Bess knew right away what deception had taken place. She spun her head to
Ray.  

 "What the hell is she doing here?" Bess gasped. 

 Ray took her to the next room. 

 "Bess, I can explain...." 

 Bess' face was scarlet. 

 "Damn right you'd better!" 

 Ray could not brook the initial deception Bess had perpetrated on him. 

 "I think you need to do some explaining." 

 Bess huffed. 

 "Oh, I need to do some explaining?" 

 "Yeah," Ray nodded. "Like, why didn't you tell me about Ceila? And why
was she left alone? And why didn't you tell her about me? Why all the
secrets? I thought we talked about this. No more secrets. We agreed."  

 Bess slowly became conciliatory. 

 "Ceila is just a girl. She hasn't even finished high school. She doesn't
know how cruel this city can be."  

 Ray spread his arms. 

 "That's why she has us." 

 Bess would not accept Ray's impractical ideas. 

 "Ray, you did this to get back at me for not telling you. I have my
reasons...." 

 Ray shook his finger at her. 

 "There are no reasons why you should keep anything from me." 

 Ray walked out of the other room and drew Ceila to her. The girl's hands
were lost in her pockets. Her face was etched in appeasement.  

 "Bessie, I'm sorry. It's just that... Ray invited me and..there's so much
I can do here and..."  

 Bess took her hands.  

 "Never mind that now. You will stay here until something can be
arranged."  

 Ceila was worried.  

 "You mean- I'm going back? Oh, please don't! I don't want to go back
North! Please, Bessie! I'll do anything!"  

 Bess gently silenced her.  

 "We'll think of something."  

 Ray was at ease. Bess was not so willing to send her back now.  

 "Go wash up for supper," Bess instructed.  

 Ceila turned to leave. A pink pamphlet stuck out of Ceila's pocket. Ceila
tried to conceal the pamphlet from Bess. Bess grabbed it from her.  

 "Slappy's Body Piercing Shop?" Bess glared at the girl. "I certainly hope
you won't frequent this establishment."  

 Ceila guiltily avoided Bess' eyes. 

 "Um, yeah. I won't. I will go now."  

 Ceila ran upstairs. The wicked side of Chicago would have its price.	

  

 Stan's day had gone from bad to worse. He had spent it running
fingerprints on missing adolescents, more than likely runaways. His
partnership with Ray left something to be desired. Ray was abrupt, loud
and very cruel in light of the kissing incident weeks back. Now he was
just tired. He hoped to crash on his bed and sleep for a few hours. He did
not even want to fix himself something to eat.	

 Stan slammed the door and made his way out of the underground garage. His
steps halted immediately. He ran to his car in a state of shock. Stan
gaped in the driver's side window of his car. The mass of keys he used for
his car and apartment hung from the ignition behind a very locked door.  

 "Ah, for fuck's sake!" he swore. "Fuck it!!"  

 He kicked the door. It was pointless to break into his car. He would just
have to go to his apartment to get the master keys, a set he had made for
this eventuality. However, he would have to ask his landlord to let him
in, an unpleasant task at best.  

 He climbed the stairs grudgingly as the elevator was broken. He would
pause by his landlord's apartment on the way to his own with a heavy
heart. Though he felt the day could not get any worse, it was the worst
day of his life.  

 Stan crept through the barely opened door of his apartment. His landlord
need not have opened the door. Police officers caved into his cozy flat
with yellow tape, fingerprint dust and cameras. Lots of cameras.  

 Eyes found their way to Stan, accusing him. His landlord, Huey, Dewey,
repairmen, the forensics team. Stan gaped. Dewey approached him.  

 "Stan, this looks really bad. Repairmen working on some pipes found a
woman buried underneath the floorboards of your bedroom. We have reason to
believe the body is of a prostitute who went missing a while back."  

 Stan could not say anything. Dewey led him through to his bedroom. Stan
looked on the pale body. Her clothes were scanty and gaudy. Her face was
contorted in shock, the moment of a painful death etched on her face.  

 "Do you know this woman?" Dewey asked.  

 Stan gaped at the dead woman and then at Dewey at the audacity of such a
question.  

 "What the fuck is a dead whore doing in my apartment?! I'm as shocked as
you are, Tom! I mean- jeez! Why the fuck would I have a dead whore
underneath my bed?! Why the fuck would you pin me for something like
this?! This is unbelievable!"  

 Dewey huffed.	

 "I'd like to believe you, Stan, I really would but when somebody finds a
dead prostitute in the floorboards of their friend's apartment, the
suspicion-wheels in their heads turn like crazy."  

 Stan leaned back.  

 "We'll have to take you downtown," Dewey said, "we'll also have to bar
this apartment from access, especially yours'."  

 Stan became cross.   

 "Well, that's just fucking great! Really!"  

 Huey gently took Stan's arm.  

 "We don't like it any more than you do."  

 "Everything we have now is circumstantial," Dewey rejoined, "with the
exception of the location of the body. I mean- the D.A. is never going to
buy this one."	

 Stan slapped his head. Of course Stella would never believe this. His day
was, without question, the worst day of his life.   

 Stella Kowalski paced the interrogation room. She threw down the case
file. Stan exhaled heavily. He did not want to reunite with his ex-wife
this way.   

 "You are so lucky you have Judge Ramirez turn a blind eye on you. In a
civilized country, you would be drawn and quartered."  

 Stella stormed out the door.  

 "I hope you never have children."   

 Stan never forgot Benton's kindness and mercy. He was an understanding
man and Elaine was lucky to have him as a husband.  

 "I'm sorry- you want to what?"  

 Stan looked up at the ingenuous Mountie plaintively. 

 "Please, Benny. I've got nowhere else to go." 

 Benton sat on the step of the fire escape. 

 "What about your family?" 

 Stan flopped his head down. 

 "As luck would have it, nobody, but nobody is in town. And even if they
were, no one would let me in. They think I'm guilty."  

 Benton understood.  

 "Well, I think you are innocent. You do not strike me as a man who would
coldly and calculatedly throttle a young woman to death and then bury her
body underneath your floorboards not so much out of stupidity but out of
some sick sense of memento collection."  

 Stan seemed comforted by Benton's clinical assessment of his good name. 

 "I'm afraid I cannot let you into my apartment. There is simply not
enough room." 

 "I can sleep on the couch," Stan suggested. 

 "But where would Diefenbaker sleep?" 

 Stan leaned on the railing. 

 "I'm lost, Benny. What can I do?" 

 Benton breathed once. 

 "I'll talk to Ray." 

 Stan went pale. 

 "You've gotta be kidding! He's crazy!" 

 Benton smirked a little. 

 "Nonsense. He always punches those he likes in the face." 

 Stan gaped. 

 "But he won't let me in!" 

 Benton held up his hand. 

 "Nonsense. I will appeal to the man's good nature."  

 "No way!"  

 Benton was shocked at Ray's curt refusal.  

 "But he has nowhere to go."  

 Ray shrugged.	

 "Well, don't look at me. I hate him. I do not trust him around me let
alone my family. He can't. He just can't."  

 Benton looked at Ray in the childlike pout way he had always done. The
cloudy blue eyes that went glassy at a moment's notice, the gentle mouth
curved downward in melancholy. Ray could never resist it.  

 "Alright, damn you! Stan can stay here for the night."  

 Benton smiled lightly. He called Stan into the lobby of the Vecchio home.
 

 "Ground rules," Ray started, "you are to sleep in the garage like an
animal because that is what you are. You can't talk or even look at my
family and no mooching food."  

 Benton looked as though he would protest but Stan nodded. He was too
tired to care at this point.   

 6. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? 

 Ray peeked into the consulate from the front window. He cupped his hands
over his eyes to keep out the light. His breath fogged the window. Parker
worked oblivious to Ray's constant vigilance. He would stay for another
week before packing off back to Canada. If Benton would take the transfer,
then Parker would be a fixture at the consulate. It was odd. Ray would be
both losing and gaining a brother. He moved from window to window as
Parker shifted throughout the office. Ray's face was so close to the
window pane his nose was pressed against it.  

 "Ray!" 

 Ray spun around. The breath had left him. 

 "Ah, jeez, Benny! You scared the hell out of me!" 

 Benton's face was stern and disapproving. 

 "You are trespassing on Canadian soil." 

 Ray looked plaintive and pleading. 

 "But I only wanted to see Parker." 

 Benton crossed his arms. 

 "And you could not do this through legal channels?" 

 Ray looked guilty immediately. He crossed his hands. 

 "Could you bring him out here, please? Just for a minute. I want to ask
him something and then I'll leave. I promise."	

 Benton could not refuse his friend anything. He went inside and quietly
ushered Parker out.  

 Ray waved at him. 

 "Oh," Parker uttered dismally. "It's you." 

 Ray walked slowly to Parker. 

 "I just wanted to invite you to my house." 

 Parker shook his head. 

 "Look. I am not apart of your family. You just can't invite me into your
home and expect me to be apart of your life."  

 Ray became downcast. How could he expect the young man to join his life
like that? 

 "Hey- why don't you just come this evening, maybe at seven. Just to meet
everybody. Don't give up on us like that. You don't have to do anything.
We're family. Please?"	

 Parker thought for a second.  

 "I will come this evening. For supper. But I will not promise you
anything."  

 Ray beamed. He walked over and kissed the man on the cheek.  

 "At seven. You won't regret this."  

 Ray walked from the consulate. Parker braced himself. It would be a bumpy
ride.  

 Ray excitedly handed Benton a cherry-cheese danish.  

 "You may invite your family also, Benny," he advised. "This will be an
evening of family."  

 Ray's eyes drifted dreamily into the distance. 

 "To think- my family will be together under one roof. My wife, my kids,
the boy-" 

 Benton knew he meant Rory. 

 "You, Elaine, Danny and Anna, Ceila..." 

 Benton's brow furrowed. 

 "Who is Ceila?" 

 Ray became cross. 

 "Don't interrupt me!" He began again. "Ceila and now Parker. We'll all be
one big happy family. Then, Bess will give me a son."  

 Benton shrugged his shoulders.  

 "Well, Ray, you have three perfectly healthy and beautiful girls and
Rory. What of him?"  

 Ray became cross again.  

 "He doesn't count! I want a son of my own. It's easy for you to say. You
already have a son."  

 Benton could not understand Ray. He himself would not trade Anna, or
Danny, for that matter, for anything.  

 "Who is Ceila?"  

 Ray sat down.	

 "Ah, she's some kid that Bessie's looked after. She lived by herself up
north so I decided she should come down."  

 "And is there any particular connection between Bess and this girl?"  

 Ray scratched his head.  

 "I dunno. She's some teenaged girl up in Chesterfield Inlet that Bess
took a shine to. That's all."  

 Benton nodded his head.  

 "What?" Ray asked.  

 "Nothing," Benton replied. "We shall arrive at seven."  

 Ray smiled.   

 "Don't forget the kids, Benny."   

 Stan threw the bed sheets over the cot Ray gave him. He allowed him to
stay in the garage but nowhere else. Stan had been eating store-bought
donuts and coffee since he had been kicked out of his apartment. He sat
dejectedly in the cold garage. He was barred from his home, his car and
from work. All he could do was freeze in silence until Huey and Dewey
could clear his name.	

 The door leading to the house cracked open. Bess peeked in and carried a
tray over to Stan.  

 "Ray would kill me if he found out but I couldn't resist giving you some
soup. He really shouldn't lock you away like this but once he puts his
foot down..."  

 She placed the tray on Stan's lap. He reached for her hand. Bess froze.
She withdrew herself quickly.  

 "I'll get you some tea."  

 Bess collected herself in the kitchen. Perhaps it was better that Stan
was in the garage. The temptation grew too much at times.  

 Ceila pounced into the kitchen. 

 "Hi, Bessie!" She strode over the boiling pot on the stove. "I smell
soup." 

 "I just gave some to our guest...in the garage...." 

 Ceila was shocked. 

 "He's in the garage?!" 

 Bess looked guilty. She wrapped a cup of tea in her hands. 

 "Well- Ray doesn't like him." 

 Ceila rolled her eyes. 

 "I can't believe Ray not liking anybody." She took the cup from Bess.
"I'll give this to him."  

 Bess gaped.  

 "No, Ceila..."  

 Ceila shook her hand at her.  

 "Nonsense. I should greet this guest."  

 Ceila skipped over to the garage. Stan dipped a bread roll into the soup
and ate it. He wiped away a drop of soup when he felt he was not alone.  

 "Uh, hi," he uttered shyly.  

 Ceila smiled. Her ribbon lips glossed of a healthy pink. Her eyes
sparkled. Stan sat up straight when he saw the elfin girl.  

 "Hi!" she piped. "I'm Ceila. I'm staying here, just like you, except not
in the garage." She placed the cup before Stan. "What's your name?"  

 "Kowalski," Stan answered. "Detective Stanley Kowalski." 

 Ceila beamed. 

 "Wow! A policeman! Do you work with Ray?" 

 Stan grumbled. 

 "Yeah." 

 Ceila was perplexed. 

 "You sound like you don't like Ray." 

 Stan continued eating his soup. 

 "That's because I don't." 

 "Why?" 

 Stan looked at Ceila. She genuinely did not understand why he disliked
Ray. She seemed incapable of disliking anyone. Her face was pure. It was a
quality Stan had long forgotten. His gaze drifted to her shirt.  

 "Oh, wow! Spider-man!"  

 Ceila pulled back her cardigan so Stan could have a better look at the
ominous webface. 

 "Yeah. I got it at Newbury Comics. You know what they say- nothing is
certain but death and your friendly neighbourhood Spider-man."	

 Stan nodded at the simple truth. 

 "I see you also got something else at Newbury Comics." 

 A tiny puncture on Ceila's slender belly housed a silver ring. 

 "Oh," she toned guiltily. "Don't tell Bess. She may get angry." 

 Stan agreed. 

 "So, are you a cousin of Bess' or something?" 

 "Oh, no," Ceila shook her head. "Bess has been my friend for the longest
time. I'm down here because Ray invited me. He wants to get me into a
medical school here. I want to be a nurse, maybe work in a trauma centre."
 

 Stan nodded. She was so bright and eager. He felt an instant rapport with
her.  

 "I've got to go," Ceila got up to leave. "I think I hear Bess call me.
See you later perhaps?"  

 Stan nodded.  

 "Hey, Ceila?"	

 Ceila turned her head.  

 "Call me Stan."  

 Ceila grinned and waved an adieu to Stan. She joined Bess in the kitchen.
Bess rested her hands tensely on the counter and bit her lip.  

 "It seems that Ray has decided to have a dinner party tonight!"  

 "So?"	 

 Bess swivelled her head to Ceila.  

 "I can't prepare like that! With four hours notice!"  

 Ceila shook her head.	

 "I don't worry about it! I'll help you. That's what I'm here for, Bessie.
Now where do we start?"  

 Bess gulped. She was not even sure she wanted Ceila there.   

 Parker pulled up to the curb, gulped once and swallowed a Tic-Tac. The
plain house on the corner emitted an eerie light from within, a light that
warned one doom was nigh. Parker shut his eyes.  

 "No guts, no glory."  

 Parker steeled himself and walked slowly to the house. The door was
opened. An outline of a very familiar man beaconed Parker to the purpose
he had to fulfill. It was by the Almighty Hand of God that he would
survive it.  

 Parker entered the Vecchio home with hesitance. Ray waited at the foot of
the stairs for him. Ray stepped forward slowly, regarding the young man
carefully. Ray gripped Parker's face and planted a kiss on it.	

 "You're here."  

 Parker nodded slowly. Ray waved his hand over to a flock of children who
lurched against the balustrades timidly peering at the stranger.  

 "This is Anna and Daniel, Fraser's kids."   

 They waved cordially.	

 Ray ushered them away and picked up the shy Cyfrin.   

 "This is my Cyfrin- your niece. Isn't she special?"  

 Ray kissed her fondly. Parker looked as though he had no idea what to
make of her or what to do with her. 

 "Hold her, Parker. She's your niece." 

 Parker awkwardly held Cyfrin. She smiled at him and her green eyes
sparkled. 

 "Are you Italian?" 

 "I'm Canadian, I guess," he offered. 

 Cyfrin's eyes lit up. 

 "Are you from Tonto?" 

 Parker understood she meant Toronto. 

 "No, I am from Calgary. I was born there." 

 "Oh," Cyfrin understood. "I'm from Tonto but I live here in Daddy's
house." 

 Parker thought she was sweet but he did not wish to be too involved with
her. He hadn't much experience with children and had no real desire to
stay with Ray's family.  

 "Why don't we, uh, go see the rest of your family?"  

 Cyfrin hopped from Parker's arms and ran into the sitting room.  

 "Uncle Ben and Elaine are here, Parker! And Aunt Frannie is in the
kitchen!"  

 Parker sat down lowly in the corner of the sitting room. Benton and
Elaine had been quietly conversing. They stopped and regarded him.  

 "You must be Parker," Elaine presumed. She extended her hand to Parker.
"I am Elaine."	

 Parker took her hand.	

 "I don't know if I should be here," he confessed.  

 Elaine's eyes brightened.  

 "Oh, we all feel that!"  

 Parker understood Elaine immediately but then had the feeling of a hidden
danger of staying at the Vecchio home any longer. He wondered how Benton
could stand it. He knew he partnered with Ray for a long time. He had
insinuated himself into his family before Ray consolidated the bond by
marrying Elizabeth, or Bess as she was affectionately known. This Benton
had told him hours before Parker arrived. The rest- the filial piety, the
passion and the anger- he would have to understand for himself. There was
no greater teacher than experience.  

 A tug at his sleeve alerted Parker. Cyfrin looked up at him.  

 "Aunt Frannie wants you in the dining room."  

 Cyfrin led him to the dining room where a diminutive woman excitedly set
the table. She spun on her six-inch heels and beamed when she first caught
sight of Parker.  

 "It's you!"  

 Parker remained still. He waited for her to make the first move.  

 Francesca embraced Parker and then pulled away from him slowly as she
carefully extricated her dangly earring.  

 "Ray has told me so much about you." 

 "All good I hope," Parker nervously wished. 

 Francesca waved away his fears. 

 "Don't worry. Ray thinks you howl at the sun." 

 "Howl at the moon," Parker corrected. 

 "Whatever. When he said you were a Mountie, I nearly flipped my lid!"
Francesca continued. She neared Parker and whispered to him. "I keep
thinking about Benny, you know. I think he is so cute. Oh well. I don't
think you would be interested."  

 Parker gulped impulsively. 

 Francesca resumed setting the table. 

 "We can't blame him for marrying Elaine and having a son by him, now, can
we?" 

 "I suppose not," Parker replied sympathetically. 

 "After all," Francesca ranted, "it's not like I'm not fertile or
anything!" 

 Parker turned pale. Such evolutionary mating rivalries gave him
butterflies in the stomach. Seeing he was disturbed, Francesca retained
her cool.  

 "Anyway, you can sit next to Ray at supper. He's the head of the family
since Pop passed away. I don't know if you would have wanted to see him or
anything. He never wanted to see any of us when he was alive. But don't
worry about that. We've got so much ground to cover. We'll show you all
the baby pictures and wedding photos. You should see the ones of Bess. She
looks so divine in white."  

 Parker never doubted she wouldn't. 

 Francesca realigned the plates. 

 "I know Bess isn't Italian, but we can't hold that against her." 

 Parker stepped back. 

 "Well- that doesn't really bother me." 

 Francesca seemed taken aback. 

 "Oh- oh well, never mind. I'll go get the garlic bread." 

 Parker swallowed. Phase one was over.	

 Anna and Rory hid themselves in the nook of the bannister. They plotted
mischief incessantly. The world was filled with breakable, flammable and
throwable things and it was their mission to set such things in terrible
motion. It was why God had put them on the planet. Now, they watched as
bodies moved from below.  

 Elaine searched in earnest for Danny. Danny had eluded her earlier by
chasing the gentle Cyfrin through the corridors. Benton strolled Bess'
twins into the sitting room where they would be at peace away from the
hurried dinner party plans. The guest wandered aimlessly. He did not want
to be there. Only the house guest, the girl from the north, captured their
interest.  

 "Why is she here?" Anna asked.  

 Rory clenched the balustrades.  

 "Ray invited her. Mum seemed to be annoyed when she first saw her. I
dunno why. But then she was okay with it. I like her. She bought me a dart
gun today."  

 Anna's blue eyes brightened. 

 "Wow!" 

 Rory nodded. 

 "Yeah. We shot the snowman to death with it." 

 Anna swept her black hair away and dreamed inspiredly. 

 "I wish I had a dart gun to kill snowmen with. We need to thin out their
ranks a bit." 

 Parker left the sitting room for the dining room, then left for the
sitting room again and then for the washroom.  

 "He looks like he doesn't want to be here," Anna noticed.  

 "Oh I know," Rory concurred. "Maybe we should put ice down his shorts?"  

 Anna shook her head.  

 "No. We only do that when the guests are lulled into a sense of security.
He seems too nervous to do that. In fact, he may expect it. No. We'll
break the ice before we put it down his pants."  

 Rory nodded. Anna had such a way with these things. 

 The two climbed downstairs and approached Parker. 

 "Hi," Anna said bashfully. 

 Parker waved hello. 

 "We're glad you're here," she said quietly. 

 Rory looked up to Parker with awe. 

 "When I grow up, I want to be a Mountie just like you." 

 Parker was touched. 

 "That's nice. Really." 

 The children smiled angelically. 

 "Stay away from him." 

 Anna reeled her head to her father. Benton's blue eyes became brands
keeping the knavish girl at bay.  

 "You've won this round! But we'll be back!" Anna warned as she and Rory
ran off to the dark corners to further plot their evil.  

 "If I had not intervened, Constable Rossi, Anna and Rory may very well
have gotten the better of you," Benton warned.	

 Parker had never seen children so evil.  

 "What would they have done?"  

 Benton shrugged.  

 "Oh, I don't know. Probably put ice down your trousers, I suppose." He
motioned Parker into the sitting room. Come this way. They won't bother
you for a time."   

 Parker gratefully accepted Benton's invitation.   

 Anna and Rory were angry that their evil plan had not worked.	

 "We'll have to do something else. But what?"  

 Anna thought hard. The doorbell disturbed her contemplation.	

 Bess rushed to the door. Detectives Huey and Dewey smiled broadly. Dewey
held a bottle of wine up to Bess.  

 "This is for you, Mrs. Vecchio."  

 Bess thanked them.  

 "We're here for Stan," Huey explained. "We're not supposed to let him out
of our sight." 

 "That shouldn't be hard," Bess told them. "He will eat supper with us. I
had to twist Ray's arm- literally- but I managed to convince him in the
end. I assure you, Detectives, nothing sinister will happen in or out of
your presence. Please. This way."   

 Rory scratched his head.  

 "Could we put Tabasco sauce in his food?"  

 Anna scoffed.	

 "That's old. We need to be adventurous."  

 Ceila left the kitchen. Everything was nearly ready. Diefenbaker trotted
behind her with a piece of Chicken Kiev in his jaws. Ceila esteemed him.
She crouched down and pet his ruff.  

 "Aren't you sweet? I see Constable Fraser got you from way up north."	

 Diefenbaker did not mind the attention. Ceila grabbed her jacket and led
the wolf outside to the porch. She teased the creature gently, as a child
would a helpless puppy. Diefenbaker did not mind. After all, it was she
who gave him the chicken.   

 Stan willowed through the house like a ghost. Ray did not want to see him
but on the count that his half-brother was there, he would not be utterly
cruel to Stan. He would have joined Benton but Huey and Dewey were there.
He cursed silently. Francesca and Elaine waited dejectedly in the dining
room, restraining Danny and Cyfrin from chasing one another. Stan cursed
again. For once, he truly wanted to be alone, not necessarily have
loneliness thrust on him. He meandered idly to the kitchen. Bess tossed a
few tomatoes into a salad. She had scarcely noticed him come in.  

 "Stan, what are you doing here?" 

 Stan hopped onto the counter. 

 "Just tryin' to find some solitude." 

 "How about the garage?" she suggested. 

 Stan could see the sarcasm and did not appreciate it. 

 "I don't think so." He looked at her intensely. "How about here with you?
I can be quiet. If you want, I can..." He twirled a knife in his hand.
"Cut some tomatoes."  

 Bess shook her head.  

 "No thank you."  

 A silence fell between them. Stan longed to break it. He wanted to say
what he had wanted to say for the longest time.  

 "I don't think you've changed much, Bess. I mean- I know I have. High
school was a long time ago." He paused again. "But you seem like you're
frozen in time. Maybe your hair was longer but..."  

 "Stop it!"  

 Bess put down the knife. She started to tremble. Stan moved to her. He
caught her eyes. She moved around the counter to avoid him.  

 "There's something you wanna tell me, Bess. I know it."  

 Bess' lip quivered. She left the kitchen. Slumping down on the bottom
step of the main staircase, she wrapped her arms around her knees.  

 "There's something I haven't told anyone. Something I've been afraid
to.."  

 Stan sat near her.  

 "What is it?"	

 Bess became paler and paler.  

 "I was just a girl. I could never have looked after her. She deserved a
home, a home I couldn't give her."  

 Stan became wracked in suggestion. He could feel it. If only Bess would
say it and confirm the gnawing, hidden truth.  

 "Who?"  

 Bess saw faint shadows move back and forth outside. The girlish laughter
sounded hollow in the chilled air.  

 "Ceila," Bess softly admitted.  

 Bess dropped her head.  

 "I was hoping never to see you again, actually," she confessed. She
looked up at Stan's earnest blue eyes. "But now that I know your name and
you know who she is and what she is to you, I guess I will never be able
to avoid you again."  

 Stan lifted himself from the step and stared at the lithe young woman who
played with Diefenbaker on the frosted front porch. He touched the screen.
 

 "Stella never..." he swallowed an obstruction, "...never wanted kids. She
had a career. That was good enough for her but not good enough for us." He
touched the door lightly. "I always wanted a child to run around the
house, to wake me up on Saturday mornings..."  

 Stan drifted off. He turned to Bess.  

 "How? When?" 

  

 7. Your Only Sunday 

 Ottawa, Ontario 

 May 18, 1980 

 She stepped off the bus from Winnipeg. The long journey did not fill all
her promises or fulfilled dreams or the airy sense of fortune that she
felt was wont to descend over her. No. She felt tired. She had trekked
across the Arctic with the Agipuks, the bickering Inuit couple who had
agreed to take her in, to Chesterfield Inlet and from there caught an
illicit ride on a cargo plane bound for Winnipeg. She had never been to
the "big city" before and she found out quickly how cruel it could be. She
slept on the sidewalk waiting for the bus ride to another life. When she
caught it, the glamour of a life on the lam began to seep into the reality
of the sordid smoky dens, endless bush, gibbering, faceless masses and the
empty pockets of reality. Still, she clung to the reason why she had left
her brothers and father behind. Any life here was better than the ghost of
a life she had just left.  

 She moved into a hostel. Strangers moved in and out but she shut her mind
to it all. She looked outside. The academy was beyond the way. She would
apply Monday morning and then all would be set. She would lie about her
age if she had to.  

 She reached into her backpack. The trail mix had dried up. She huffed.
She would have to get some more. Leaving her backpack in her footlocker,
she made her way to a corner store and bought the affordable nutritious
food- stale bread and corn chips. By the time she returned, her backpack
and its few contents were strewn all over her room. Anything of any
practical value was gone. Leaning against the wall, she brushed away
frustrated tears and bit her cheeks. She would have to be stronger than
that. Now that she was in the big world, tougher measures were needed to
survive. She would make it even if it was by the skin of her teeth.  

 She was allowed to stay for another night. The hostel owner was
reasonably satisfied that she would pay her bill. She wandered past the
Rideau Canal chewing on stale bread and gripping her backpack. Tour buses
lined the waterfront. Eager tourists hopped off and immediately flashed
their cameras at anything and everything. She thought it was at once
foolish and excessive but at the same time was awed by it. They, too, had
never journeyed outside themselves. For them, this trip was an adventure. 


 A gaggle of boys stumbled away from a bus laughing and joking. They had
steered away from classmates and chaperones. They were positive there was
a tavern nearby. 

 The boy who stuck out the most was a thin, bespectacled blond who gawked
at everything. He was awed by what he had seen the strange, new country
and yet quite uncomfortable with it. He looked around cautiously and
smiled only when jostled by his friends. He was the sore thumb of the
group.	

 He ambled steadily, stubbing his foot on a rock and avoided the flash
cameras. He seemed more interested in the trees. He let his interest be
captured by them. Some were thick-branched pines, others were long,
slender, crowned carefully with light green leaves. His focus drew the
comparison to the girl among the trees. She was slender, tall,
black-haired. Her eyes lifted from the ground to his eyes, a portentous
gesture that lured them to one another. 

 He walked over, bowing his head and stubbing his foot on moss. She
remained coy as young girls should never entice boys they did not know. It
was advice from grandmothers that was rarely heeded. She started to walk
and he followed her. She said something to him. He wasn't quite sure what
but it didn't matter. She kept walking. The walk turned into a jaunt and
he kept pace. She laughed. The chase was a game now.  

 She let herself run wild through the thick branches but they would not
protect her from the young man who chased her endlessly. He caught up with
her, pulled her to him and planted a clumsy kiss on her lips. As he inched
closer, the kiss became more polished and evolved to something more than
just a kiss. The clouds that rumbled above became heavier and heavier.
Rain fell in dense droplets. It wet their flesh as it became more and more
exposed. Time became irrelevant. Out of its redundancy was borne great
meaning. The boy lost his shyness, a quality that would make him
thick-skinned later on in life. The girl lost her virtue- something she
longed to have back when she met more worthy men who would stay.  

 They had no idea what time it was or even that it had passed. The moon
was out. It touched the ends of the branches and lit a way out the woods.
They boy awoke. The girl was still asleep. He touched her head gently. He
thought he would see her again. She must live here. The boy searched for a
tag, anything with her name on it. Finding none, he shrugged off the worry
of never again approaching her. Satisfied that he had entered a realm of
experience only older boys spoke of he grinned a toothy grin. His grin
faltered when he looked at the girl again. She wasn't a piece of meat but
a face without a name. He got up, dressed and left the woods. Curfew was
breached and there were serious penalties for that. He would come by
tomorrow.  

 In the morning, he awoke refreshed. He would go and look for the girl
now. But the chaperones herded everyone on the tour bus. It was time to go
up north. All he could do was drag his feet. Ships passing in the night.
He would remember the phrase for the longest time.  

 She woke up. Her clothes were wet and her hair was matted with twigs and
dew. She brushed herself off. She could not believe the boy would leave
her. But when she exited the clearing, the buses had gone. So had he.  

 A month had passed. She entered the academy and began training. Wouldn't
her father be surprised when he found his little girl was training to be a
Mountie. She was as strong, as fast and as intelligent as the other
cadets. She would make it a month before her brother.  

 She felt dizzy some days, nautious most of the time. She attributed it to
the change in environment. She was eating, breathing, drinking and
thinking different things. Her body and mind would adjust.  

 Her body did adjust unexpectedly. The bulge in her stomach grew. Her
sickness did not pause in time as she thought it would.   

 She knocked quietly on the nurse's door. Discretion was the key. The
revelation was quick and shocking. Three months pregnant. She would have
to wait another year if she wanted to continue in the academy.	

 Commissioner John McCartan was an honourable and morally upright man. He
was also one of her father's friends. This revelation would ruin her and
the family. An unmarried, expectant runaway was the scarlet mark most
unwished for. But he found contingency plans in everything. There were
many families looking for a healthy child to call their own. Her baby
would be one of them. In the meantime, her studies would be interrupted.  


 When March came around, bitter winds blew flakes of snow everywhere. She
waited in the emergency ward for the longest time. The baby was born with
little effort. The child was very small and bright eyed. Immediately, she
fell in love with the tiny girl conceived so many months ago. She could
ignore the informality. But not the tail.  

 The doctor said the tail was merely an extension of the spine that failed
to shunt itself off in the womb. After a few months, the doctors removed
it leaving only a scar at the base of the spine.  

 The hardest part was letting her go. It took months for her to find a
family. The Inuit family she travelled with offered to take the baby in,
as a form of payment for taking her in so many months ago. She
procrastinated and hesitated but time had run short. Nearly a year old,
she had to let her baby go now. She turned her back on the infant and fell
weeping in Commissioner McCartan's arms. He offered her whatever solace he
could. She uttered the baby's name now- Ceila- abandoned. But McCartan
would have none of it. She was a bright young girl with a future ahead of
her. She could resume her studies at the academy now. Instead, she made
haste to Toronto to pursue a degree. She would be adventurous later. She
would be a Mountie yet.   

 Bess breathed out heavily.  

 "And that was that."  

 Stan did not speak. What could he say?  

 Bess rose from the steps and touched the frosty window pane.  

 "I tried to give her a good life, to be some kind of mother." She
scoffed. "A frail shell of a mother. A visit every few years."	

 Bess bit her lip. Stan reached out and touched her shoulder. 

 "You're not a bad mama, Bessie. You did what you could and that's better
than nothing." 

 Bess' eyes shot angrily over to Stan. 

 "It is so easy for you to say! Where the hell were you?!" 

 Stan steeled himself. 

 "I didn't spread my legs for the first guy who came off the bus!" 

 Stan regretted his words immediately. 

 "Sorry."  

 "No," Bess shook her head. "We're both to blame." She sat down on the
steps. "What to do now?"  

 Stan straightened his posture. 

 "Tell her the truth." 

 Bess gaped. 

 "Are you mad? That will destroy her.. Destroy everything..." 

 Stan sat beside her. 

 "She has the right to know. I want her to know." He gripped Bess'
shoulders. "I'll do this right. I promise. She's my kid, the only thing I
have to a family of my own. Now she's half grown. Let me have what time
there is left. Please, Bess. I promise it won't get out of hand."  

 Stan rose.  

 "Let me do it in my way. I have to, Bessie. You know it's the right thing
to do."  

 Stan left Bess on the step. She buried her face in her hands and remained
perfectly still.   

 Anna gaped.  

 "Did you hear that?"  

 Rory kept quiet.  

 "Maybe we should pretend we didn't hear it. We might get in trouble," he
whispered.  

 Anna nodded slightly and looked on her despondent aunt. She knew of
secrets, what to tell and what not to tell.   

  

 Ceila came into the sitting room. She eased into a chair and played
solitaire with a spare pack of playing cards. Goose bumps disappeared from
her flesh. Stan edged slowly to the french doors and shut them upon entry.
Ceila raised her head.	

 "Oh, hi, Stan!" 

 Stan smiled at her. 

 "Can I sit with you?" 

 Ceila nodded fervently. 

 "Of course you can." 

 Stan sat across from Ceila. 

 "Everyone treatin' you nice?" 

 Ceila nodded. 

 "Oh yes. I love it here. Ray has been so good to me. Bess is starting to
get use to me being here and I love the kids. They're so cute."  

 Ceila giggled. Stan edged closer to her. 

 "What?" 

 Ceila shook her hand at him. Stan insisted. 

 "What is it? Tell me." 

 "It's that Fraser guy," she admitted. "He is, like, so dreamy." 

 Stan became shocked. 

 "Oh- maybe you wouldn't like him. You know- he's married and everything."


 Ceila nodded. It made sense. 

 "Yeah. I guess so." 

 Stan swallowed hard. 

 "Ceila?" 

 She still focussed on her solitaire game. 

 "Yeah?" 

 "Tell me about yourself." 

 Ceila thought for a second. 

 "Um...my name is Ceila Agipuk. I'm a Canadian citizen." 

 Stan shook his head. 

 "No, no. Tell me about yourself." 

 Ceila tried to grasp what he meant. 

 "Like, what do you want to know?" 

 Stan leaned forward. 

 "Like- what is your favourite colour? When's your birthday? What's your
favourite food? Where would you like to travel?" He cast a glance on a
tattoo on her right arm. "And the tattoo? What is that?"  

 Ceila looked at it once. 

 "It's the Inuit sign for sun surrounded by a Celtic border. Cool, eh?" 

 Stan looked at it. 

 "Does it mean anything to you? I mean-?" 

 "The sun is for everything," she explained, "because nothing grows
without the sun and the Celtic border- well- I thought it looked cool. You
know- like two cultures mixing and everything."  

 Stan revealed his tattoo. 

 "Champion spark plug logo." 

 Ceila grinned. 

 "That looks cool." 

 Ceila laid down a new set of cards. 

 Oh- and my favourite colour is green, my birthday is March seventeenth, I
like seal and raspberries and I always thought I could go check the Skye
Islands and Morocco out."   

 Stan smiled. She was so versatile and so pure. Stan stopped smiling as
the sense of duty haunted him.	

 "Ceila, I...uh...I want to tell you something and it's not easy." 

 Ceila became bright-eyed. 

 "Yes?" 

 Stan avoided her eyes. 

 "You see, long ago, I met this girl and we...um...liked one another
and..." 

 Stan stopped. He could go no further. 

 "I want to say this and I can't but I have to. You have to know." 

 Ceila tilted her head, puzzled by Stan's difficulty to speak. 

 "What is it? Just say it." 

 Stan steeled himself. He would do it. 

 "Ceila, I'm..." 

 Francesca came in. 

 "Supper's ready." 

 Ceila bounced up. She paused at Stan. 

 "I know- why don't you tell me after supper?" 

 Stan nodded slightly but he doubted it would be any easier then.  

 8. The Truth Is the Most Painful Thing 

 The dinner table slowly filled up. Ceila wedged herself between the
children and Elaine. Ray sat patiently at the head of the table and waited
for everyone to take their places. Dewey and Huey sat down on far right
along with Benton. Francesca and Bess filled up the left side.	

 Ray looked around. 

 "Not everyone is here." 

 Parker willowed in, desperately trying to avoid Ray. 

 "There you are!" 

 Ray rose and let the man be seated to his left. 

 "Sit right here so everyone can see you." 

 This made Parker more uncomfortable. Everyone began to talk. All he
wanted was out. 

 Stan meandered in. The only place left was a chair at Ray's right hand.
Gulping once, he sat down. Ray glared at him.  

 "If you even think of opening your mouth," Ray warned, "I'll hang you by
your eyelashes."  

 Stan clenched a fork and tried to decide where in Ray's anatomy to place
it.  

 Ray rose and cleared his throat as if to speak.  

 "Friends, family and people I know from work," he again glared at Stan.
"I have brought you here for one reason- the most important reason there
is- family." He turned to Parker. "This is my brother, Parker, and I want
you to treat him with the same friendship and respect you would treat me."
With that said, he kissed Parker on the cheek.	

 Huey scratched his head. Should he let the air out of Parker's tires? 

 "Now we may eat," Ray allowed and the food was served. 

 Dewey spoke to cut through the annoying silence. 

 "So, Parker. Where do you come from?" 

 Parker stopped eating. 

 "Calgary." 

 Dewey nodded. 

 "So- where is that?" 

 "In Alberta." 

 Dewey understood. 

 "In northern Alberta or southlike?" 

 Ray placed his fork down. 

 "No more questions." 

 Dewey's shoulders caved in. He caught the saucy looking girl squeezed in
next to the children and Elaine. Ray's moratorium on questions put a
damper on asking her any important questions as to age and consequently
any drinks that may follow.  

 Benton raised his head.  

 "Tell me, Ceila. Will you be attending classes here? I understand you
come from quite a distance."  

 Ceila nodded.	

 "I want to see if I can get into medical school." Ceila nodded in Ray's
general direction. "Ray bought me over."  

 Benton nodded.  

 "Indeed. He made an arduous journey up north to retrieve you. I wonder
why that is?"  

 Bess dropped her fork.  

 "Really, Ben. These questions just seem endless. We have plenty of time
for discussion after dinner."  

 Benton seemed a bit annoyed.  

 "I merely asked a question."  

 Bess gingerly shook her finger at her brother.  

 "Unh-unh. Mum's the word," Bess laughed. She stopped and reflected on
what she had just said. "Mum as in the colloquial usage, you understand." 


 "What the hell are mumbling about?" Ray asked.  

 "Nothing," Bess denied and resumed eating.  

 The silence bothered everyone. How could a dinner party be restricted to
eating?  

 "Can I have the salt?" Stan asked.  

 Ray swivelled his head to the offending man. How dare he speak? Stan
realized his mistake right away.  

 "Can I have the salt, please?"  

 Stan eventually received the salt.  

 Parker cleared his throat.  

 "Tell me, has your department taken any preventative measures against
crime in the past year?"  

 Ray stopped eating. He could not believe it. The man had spent so much
time in Canada that he had become a Fraser.  

 "Parker, this is family, friends. Don't talk about business here. Talk
about something else."	

 Parker scratched his head.  

 "Like what?"  

 "I dunno," Ray muttered. "Hobbies, jokes, anything." 

 "I do have some model planes." 

 Ray was nonplussed. 

 "Let the next thing to come out of your mouth be exciting." 

 Parker thought. 

 "I did invite some friends over to reenact the Battle of Britain." 

 Benton nodded eagerly. 

 "Are you apart the Historical Aeronautic Reenactment Society? Things get
rather jolted at their meetings."  

 Ray huffed.  

 "Like how? Building Popsicles planes with only sugar-free gum?"  

 Benton became quite grave.  

 "Steps have been taken to ensure that decapitation from above never
happens again."  

 Ray went silent. He turned to Parker.	

 "You don't decapitate people, do you?"  

 Parker shook his head no. With that, Ray reached over and kissed Parker
on the cheek once more. Bess' pale skin turned red ever so slightly.  

 "Why are you forever kissing him, Ray?" Bess asked. 

 "Because he is my brother," Ray replied. 

 That answer would not suit Bess. The tension slowly rose. 

 "But Ray, really, your kissing him is incessant and embarrassing." 

 Ray firmly placed his hand on the table. 

 "Maybe he'll give me the son you can't!" Ray rasped back. 

 Everyone at the table started to feel uncomfortable. 

 Stan stopped eating. 

 "You know, Ray, if you're having trouble in the baby department, maybe I
can help." 

 Ray swivelled his head to Stan. 

 "If you even think of touching my wife, Kowalski, I'll kill you." 

 Benton had become paler than usual. He had to diffuse a potentially
dangerous situation. 

 "I find that the winters are far colder then in previous years, wouldn't
you say so, Elaine?"  

 Elaine nodded instantly. 

 "Oh, yes. Very chilly. How about you, Ray? Any complaints?" 

 Ray broke from his temper. 

 "Oh, yeah." 

 Benton nodded. His diversion worked. 

 "I believe it is due to Arctic air..." 

 "Nobody gives a rat's ass!" Ray snapped. He turned to Stan. "That man is
trying to steal my wife."  

 Bess exhaled.	

 "Oh, Ray, really."  

 Huey raised his hand.	

 "Ray, I think you're a little strung out right now."  

 Ray flashed him a dirty look. Parker felt very uneasy. Francesca
remembered Ray's little speech of not revealing embarrassing things at the
dinner table.  

 "Look," Ceila spoke up, "if there's, like, an issue, you can resolve it
peacefully, you know."	

 "Ceila, this is hardly the time for your opinion," Ray rejoined.  

 Bess rose.  

 "Don't you yell at her!"  

 "I never yelled at her!" Ray defended himself.  

 Bess glared at him.  

 "Yes, you did!" She picked up the carving knife. "If you ever yell at my
baby again, I'll kill you!"  

 She lunged for Ray but he held her off. Benton swung around and held Bess
back. He asked everyone to sit down. Parker could no longer eat. Stan, on
the other hand, did nothing but. He was merely a guest, an unwanted guest,
in the home. Ray sat back down and glared at Stan.  

 "You have brought discord to my house!" Ray blamed him.   

 Stan prodded his fork away.  

 "Nobody asked you, guido."  

 That was a beacon to leave the room with all haste. Benton and Elaine
picked up the children and moved them to safety in the kitchen. Ray rose. 


 "You call me a guido in my own house?"  

 Ray punched Stan in the face. Dewey stepped in. Parker made haste out of
the dining room to the kitchen. He turned to Benton who was consoling his
excited children.  

 "Does this always happen?"   

 "Oh no," Benton shook his head, keeping in mind a discretion needed if
Ray were ever to have a relationship with the young man. "This is entirely
unexpected. In fact, it is not as serious as one may believe."	

 Benton usually spoke too soon. Ceila rushed upstairs and then downstairs
with her medical kit. Elaine and Benton found the courage to go in. The
fight had subsided. Dewey was on the ground unconscious. Blood seeped from
his head. Ceila knelt down to treat him. She dealt with him quietly,
efficiently and gently. Bess marked her every move. She was proud of her.
Ceila drew up. Everyone else who had partaken in the fight or tried to
break it up were now repelled from one another in anger and disgrace.  

 "Now," Francesca placed her hands on her hips, "what's going on here? I
mean- I know we aren't supposed to reveal embarrassing things at the
dinner table," she turned to Ray briefly, "but it seems that some people
have broken that rule quite happily." She stopped at Bess.  

 Bess fidgeted.  

 "Surely, you don't think that I am, in some way, involved in something
scandalous?"  

 Everyone in the room nodded.  

 "What the hell is going on, Bessie?" Ceila asked desperately.	

 Bess wrung her hands. She could not tell the terrible truth but she would
have to. She looked dead into the girl's eyes.	

 "Ceila, I have deceived you. I am not just your friend..." Bess stopped.
"I gave you up for adoption seventeen years ago..." she managed.  

 Benton bowed his head. The truth had been revealed awkwardly. Ray snapped
a look at Ceila and Bess. Ceila's jaw dropped. Her upper lip trembled.	

 "You?" she pointed at Bess as if to reaffirm the truth just now told.	

 Bess nodded unsteadily.  

 Ceila became indignant.  

 "You abandoned me! All these years and you could have said something..." 


 Bess reached out to her.  

 "Stay away from me!" she cried. "I hate you!"	

 Ceila plowed her way through solid bodies and upstairs to her room where
she wept and wept.  

 Bess withdrew from everyone and leaned against the wall.  

 "Wow!" Francesca exclaimed. "This is like the new book I'm reading, Lust
in the Afternoon. It's about this socialite who has a child out-of-wedlock
and years later, the father of her baby appears and..."  

 "Not now, Frannie!" Ray snapped. He cast a look on the shamed Bess. "You
are her real mother? Who is her father? Why didn't you say something?"	

 Bess hesitated.  

 "Um...well..."  

 Ray thought quickly. All of it made sense now.  

 "You mean that Kowalski is Ceila's father? What blood test figured this
out?"  

 Bess did not look at Ray.  

 "No blood test. Ceila was born with a tail. It was removed shortly after
her birth. It's a paternal trait. If you examine Stan, I'm sure you'll
find evidence of a tail."  

 Everyone grimaced and spun around to Stan. He looked up at their accusing
eyes.  

 "What?"  

 "Show us your tail, freak-boy!" Ray demanded. 

 Stan withdrew from everyone. 

 "No one is examining me!"  

 Parker slumped down exhaustedly. 

 "I think you're all freaky. You're all apart of some sort of sick cult!" 

 Parker ran out. Ray ran after him. 

 "Parker!" 

 Parker jumped into his car. 

 "You people are sick! It's like you're stuck in a David Lynch film! I
never want to see you again!"  

 Parker started his car and drove off. Ray ran after him until the end of
the block. Defeatedly, he staggered back to his home. Dewey regained
consciousness. Huey carted him to his car and drove him to the emergency
room. Elaine had gone up to Ceila's room in an effort to console her. The
evening ended abysmally.  

 "My brother is gone," Ray said quietly. He was drained of emotion. He
would not even strike Stan. "I hate you so much."  

 Stan ignored him. 

 "My girl's crying upstairs," Stan replied. "I have to talk to her." 

 Stan climbed the stairs to Ceila's room. He motioned the luckless Elaine
aside. 

 "Ceila? Ceila, it's me -Stan. Can I talk to you? Please?" 

 After a minute of silence, the lock sprung open and Stan walked through. 


 Ceila collapsed on the bed. 

 "Ceila, honey?" 

 Ceila still convulsed with sobs. Stan lifted the pillow she used to cover
her face. Her eyes were red and her face dripped with tears. Stan reached
for a tissue and wiped her face.  

 "Baby, I want to say that I'm sorry. It's my fault. I wanted to tell
you." Stan rolled his eyes. "You know, if I were smart about it, I would
have looked after your mama when she needed me." He touched her face
lightly. "Maybe things would have been quite different."   

 Ceila shook her head.	

 "No. It's not your fault." Her sobs became more pronounced. "It was her
fault. You...you tried to tell me..before supper...she could told me. She
never said anything. She just hung over me, a lame excuse for a mother..."


 Stan took her shoulder.  

 "Don't say that about your mom. You don't understand Ceila. It's hard
enough raising a kid now. Imagine if you're barely out of high school and
you're all alone. Adopting you was a good thing, even if it doesn't seem
like that now."   

 Ceila could scarcely believe Stan. 

 "She deceived us both. How can you stand her?" 

 Stan could not answer. Whatever he might say to her would not be good
enough. 

 Ceila swivelled around and through a few things into her backpack. 

 "She wants me to go back up north, well, now she's got her wish." 

 Stan took her arm. 

 "Ceila, no." 

 Ceila started out the door. She was met by Benton, her tall, dashing
uncle. 

 "Where are you going, Ceila?" 

 She sniffled. 

 "I don't know." 

 Benton looked at Elaine once. 

 "Why don't you stay with us?" Elaine suggested. 

 Ceila scratched her head. 

 "But I hardly know you." 

 Benton shook his head. 

 "Nonsense, Ceila. You are family and I will not have you stay just
anywhere. Please." 

 Ceila looked to Stan for support. 

 "Yeah, I would invite you to my place but there's a dead whore stuck in
the floorboards." 

 Stan slapped his forehead. Benton glared at him. 

 "Are you sure you can look after my niece in the manner to which she is
accustomed?" 

 Stan shrugged. 

 "Ceila, stay the night with us. Tomorrow we will get you a passage back
up north." 

 Ceila bowed her head and nodded. 

 "Why can't she stay with me?" Stan objected. 

 Benton shook his head. 

 "Until you are cleared of the current charges, I cannot legally nor
morally allow my niece to stay with you, despite my personal feeling that
you are innocent. Let the law pursue its course, Stan." He turned to
Elaine. "Get the children. We'll leave."  

 Stan took Benton's arm.  

 "Benny, she needs me right now."  

 Benton placed his hand on his friend's shoulder.  

 "That may very well be but you must understand that I am at a crossroads.
I do believe you are a decent, kind- and yes- God-fearing man, but what of
the appearances?"  

 "To hell with appearances!" Stan swore. "Ceila's my little girl."  

 "Alas, I cannot," Benton apologized. "And if indeed, by some odd quirk of
fate, you are persuaded by voices in your head to crack open skulls and
feast on the delicious goo inside, I could not bear what may happen to
Ceila. What kind of uncle would I be?"	

 Stan was totally lost at this point.  

 "Do not listen to such voices," Benton warned. "Believe me, I know how
destructive they are." 

 Benton bid his friend adieu for the night.  

 Ceila stomped down the stairs. Bess ran to the door to prevent her from
leaving. 

 "Ceila, where are you going?" 

 "I don't want to be anywhere near you," she replied. 

 Bess took her arms. 

 "Please. Let me explain. Don't go. I can't bear it..." 

 Ceila pried herself loose from her mother's desperate touch. Benton came
down the stairs in time. He touched his sister's shoulder.  

 "Bess, please not now. It is not the time."  

 Bess shoved him off.  

 "Damn you, Ben! Who the hell are you to judge me?!"  

 "I am not judging you," Benton angrily replied. "But nothing can be
resolved so quickly, no matter how emphatic your plea."  

 Ray came out to the lobby.  

 "Ceila, where are you going?"	

 "I am going with Benton," she replied wiping away evidence of a tear. "He
and Elaine seem to be the only normal people in the family."  

 Ray was indignant.  

 "I object to that on a philosophical level!"  

 Ceila opened the door at last.  

 "Thank you for everything you've done for me, Ray." She looked up once
last time at his house. "Chicago doesn't seem like such a bad place."  

 Ceila waved good-bye and walked to Elaine's car. Ray held Bess in his
arms so she would not run after the girl. Somehow he felt it was best that
she run. He cared for her more than she knew.  

 The door shut at last. Ray bowed his head.  

 "I've said it before, I'll say it again- Stan is a bastard."	

 Rory woke up with the sun. He always did. He could hear the wretched
arguments and brawls of last night. He felt uncomfortable when people
fought. Now everyone fought over who belonged to who and what about the
tail? He hated it and tried to forget.	 

 He descended the stairs quietly with his remote control car and started
to play with it. He would race it along the hardwood floor. It was a nice
quiet activity he could do before everyone woke up.  

 "Rory?"  

 Now he would have to stop. Ray had just woken up. He tightened the belt
on his robe.  

 "You, uh, probably heard us arguing last night, huh?"	

 Rory remained silent.	

 "Look- we weren't ourselves," Ray tried to explain. He stopped. "I'll
make ya some breakfast."  

 Rory resumed racing the car into the kitchen. Ray raised his eyebrow.	

 "Rory, give me that thing."  

 Rory handed him the remote control.  

 Ray looked at the remote control and looked at the icebox. He looked at
the remote control and looked at the icebox. He again looked at the remote
control and then looked at the icebox.	

 "Methinks I have an idea," Ray grinned to himself. 

   

 Stan staggered out of the garage. He grumbled to himself.  

 "Waffles would be nice."  

 He felt rather contented in an odd way. He knew now that he had a child
of his own and he formulated plans to raise her. Trips to Coney Island,
playing catch with her in the park, eating unhealthy buckets of ice cream
with her. He would go to the library today and look up books on child
care. No one would say he was a bad father, whatever else he may be.  

 Rory sat eating breakfast at the table in the kitchen.  

 "Good morning, Rory," Stan mumbled.  

 Stan approached the icebox to get at the waffles and all their waffly
goodness. His hand reached out for the door handle. Inexplicably, the door
swung open rapidly and hit Stan square in the head. He flew back and
landed on the floor.  

 Ray came waltzing into the kitchen. He placed the remote control down and
helped himself to some cereal. He rose to get the milk from the
refrigerator. He kicked Stan in the face. 

 "Good morning, Stanley," he piped.  

 Stan slowly rose, rubbing his jaw. He had to get his apartment back.	

 Bess sat at the edge of her bed. Her face was listless and her eyes were
blank. Ray put a steaming cup of tea next to her. She did not budge.  

 "Bess?"  

 She did not flutter her eyes.	

 "Elizabeth?"  

 Bess still did not move. Ray rolled his eyes.	

 "You have to eat. Ceila's upset but she'll get over it."  

 "I can't eat until I speak to Ceila," she admitted.  

 Bess rose to wash her face. She locked the door of the bathroom. Ray's
entreaties fell on deaf ears.	

 Anna stayed in Danny's room for the evening. Now she was free to leave
the room. It wasn't cool to stay in your brother's room. Besides, he
strutted around his room in his underpants. Funny animal underpants, no
less. She walked out, free at last. Whimpering caught her ear. It was
coming from her room.  

 Anna opened the door. Ceila was up. She covered her face and wept. When
she heard the creak at the door, she turned her head.  

 "Ceila, why are you crying?" 

 Ceila returned to weeping. 

 "Please leave." 

 Anna leaned on her bed. 

 "Please don't cry. I don't like it when people cry." 

 Ceila ignored her. 

 Danny burst into Anna's room. 

 "Hi!" He bounced over to the bed. "Ceila, can I see your tail?" 

 "I don't have a tail!" she snapped impatiently. 

 Danny could see she had been crying. He ran to the bathroom and got her
some tissues. 

 "Ceila, smile. We're having pancakes," Danny encouraged. 

 Danny's ploy was ineffective. Red eyed, he ran to his mother.	

 Elaine tottered into Anna's room. Anna and Danny left.  

 "Ceila?" 

 "What do you want?" she snapped. 

 "Crying won't resolve anything. Believe me," she rested her hand on
Ceila's shoulder. 

 Ceila gripped the pillow. She remained unresponsive to Elaine's sincere
touch. 

 "I feel like chopped liver..." she whimpered. "I've been lied to and
humiliated and..." 

 Ceila buried her face on the pillow and wept with even more gusto. 

 "Now I have to go back up north. It's like bad luck follows me around." 

 "You don't have to go," Elaine soothed. 

 "I wish," Ceila added.  

 Dewey rapped on Ray's door. He smiled at the grim Italian. 

 "Hey, Ray!" 

 Ray did not acknowledge him. 

 "How's the head?" 

 Dewey faintly touched the gash. 

 "Damndest thing! That kid stitched me up good. I mean- when Huey and I
arrived at the emergency room, the doctor asked why the hell I even showed
up and just gave me some aspirin. Hot damn if that kid isn't handy!"  

 Ray rolled his hand to illicit a response from Dewey. 

 "I'm here for Stan. Is he around?" 

 "Stan!" Ray cried. 

 Stan emerged from the garage still rubbing his face. 

 "What is it, Dewey?" 

 Dewey laughed. 

 "You'll never believe it! You know that dead prostitute under your
floorboards? It turns out that the guy a floor down did it. He's some
whacked-out plumber who dusted her and- get this- instead of burying her
in the floorboards, he put her in the ceiling because no one will ever
think to look there. I'm not quite sure how he did it, though, but the
forensics team found some scoring that could not have been made from
upward strokes, as though she were not being buried down but rather up. He
confessed and is in lock-up now. Can you believe it?"  

 Stan could not believe it. Ray stared at him.	

 "I'm free?"  

 Dewey nodded.	

 "You can have your badge back, your apartment. You can even adopt a
puppy."  

 Stan gaped. He grabbed his jacket and darted out the door. He pushed past
Dewey and Ray.	

 "Jeez, what's with him?"  

 "Who cares?" Ray offered. "He's gone."   

 Benton dialled a familiar number. He decided Ceila belonged up north. She
would be away from all sorts of bad influences. A rattle bothered him. He
put down the receiver. Diefenbaker responded to the rattle before Benton
did. It came from Anna's room. Ceila had been left alone to sleep. Now,
she stood alert.  

 "What is that?" she asked nervously.  

 Benton cautiously drew the curtains. Stan stood frozen on the fire
escape. He touched the window pane and called out softly to Ceila. Benton
opened the window.   

 "Stanley, what are you doing here?"  

 "Benny, they found the guy who did it. I'm clear," he whispered. "Now I
want to talk to Ceila alone. Please."	

 Benton nodded and led Diefenbaker out of the room. Ceila crossed her arms
and moved away from Stan.  

 "What do you want?"  

 Stan stepped into the room.  

 "Ceila, are you okay now?"  

 Ceila rolled her eyes.  

 "How do you think I should feel? I have been lied to for years and
embarrassed in front of total strangers."  

 Stan's head flopped his head to chest.   

 "I know it sucks but...I would like it if you stayed here with me. You
can stay with me and go to school and everything." He touched her face. "I
love you."  

 Ceila shook her head. 

 "You don't know me." 

 Stan shook his head. 

 "I don't think I need to know you to love you. But I would like to know
you." 

 Ceila looked into his grayish eyes. He was so sweet and so raw. 

 "You never lied to me." She tilted her head. "If I agree to go with
you..." 

 Stan waved his hands at her. 

 "Just stay here for a while, Princess. I've got a surprise for you. You
just stay here. I'll be back in a few hours. Just- cool it."  

 Ceila rolled her head. 

 "Well, that's weird." 

 Benton came into the room. 

 "What was that about?" 

 Ceila shrugged her shoulders. 

 "I dunno." She gave the only answer she could. "He has a surprise for
me."  

 Stan jittered with excitement. Ceila could feel the nervous energy about
him and she was but two metres away. Stan jangled the keys he was
fortunate enough not to forget this time. He grinned broadly and led Ceila
into his apartment.  

 "You walk right in and I'll get you some milk."  

 Ceila did step in. His apartment was full of clutter. It may have been an
organized clutter but it made no difference.  

 Stan took her by the hand.  

 "Princess, this way. Now shut your eyes."  

 Stan led her to a room. Ceila stepped through. The room was tiny but
immaculate. Blanched white walls and soft knitted quilts over the bed. A
chair rested near the bed. A small white bear sat in the nook of the rough
wicker armrest. Ceila picked it up and looked at it fondly. She didn't
need a teddy bear to chase away her fears at night but Stan felt she did.
She may be seventeen but she was his little princess.  

 "It's your's. Do you like it?" 

  

 Ceila nodded.	

 "You can stay here," Stan offered. He leaned over and kissed her
forehead. "We're a family now, honey, and nothing will change that."  

 Ceila could feel it now. She would stay.   

 It had been two weeks since Ceila had moved in with Stan and noticeably
he was a happier man. He was on time for all appointments and deadlines,
his caseload vanished and a smile appeared on his face even after Ray
repeatedly insisted he was a bastard. Stan made sure everything in the
apartment was child-friendly, hardly a concern for a seventeen-year-old.
Ceila had removed the clutter from his apartment and made a nicer, more
natural terrain for Snappy the Wonder Turtle. And together they compiled a
list of family activities ranging from going to church to lengthy strolls
through the park with Snappy, from watching Mr. Bean to body piercing.
Stan was a family man and he loved it.	

 When Ceila was removing extensive cluttering in the apartment, she found
the chest tucked away in Stan's closet. He called it his despair chest.
She opened it. He had folders and photographs of all the things he had
ever wanted. He kept the picture of Stella in its frame. The folder marked
kids was empty. One wish had come true. She fulfilled that wish.   

 Snow fell a little more thickly now. Christmas was but a few days away.
For once, Stan did not feel depressed about the holidays. He had Ceila. He
turned from the window to Ceila who sat rather bored at the kitchen table.
 

 "Wesolych Swiat," he said. 

 "Vesoweekh shveeangt,"Ceila intoned frustratedly. 

 "Wesolych Swiat," Stan repeated. 

 Ceila huffed. 

 "Why do I have to learn Polish?!" 

 Stan patiently kissed her on the forehead. 

 "Because you're Polish." 

 Ceila threw her head back. 

 "I always thought I was Canadian." 

 Stan shook his head. 

 "You're gonna hafta know it for the older people. My grandfather doesn't
speak English that well. He'd like to hear Merry Christmas in Polish from
the younger people. It gives him hope."  

 Ceila rolled her eyes. Stan produced a small package in a gift bag.  

 "This is for your mom."   

 Ceila left the table.	

 "Then you can give to her."  

 Stan felt defeated. Not even the solemn joy of the Christmas season would
move Ceila into reconciliation with her estranged mother.   

 Christmas was over. At last, Stan looked forward to celebrating it. He
had someone to celebrate with. But now was a time to focus on Ceila's
studies. The University of Chicago had an opening for nursing classes.
Stan took Ceila there on his afternoon off.  

 Dr. Gainsbridge waited patiently for appointment. He scrawled some notes
in the margins of his work and replaced his pen in the penholder as Stan
and Ceila sat before him. He seemed quite taken by the waif who sat before
him. She smiled amiably at him and crossed her hands over her bare,
goosebumped knees.  

 "Quite young to enter in a nursing program," he commented.  

 Stan grinned.	

 "Yeah, I know, but she's as smart as a damn whip!" Stan jostled her.
"Tell him what you know."  

 Ceila felt slightly uncomfortable.  

 "I've just finished high school and I am looking into becoming a nurse,
an emergency room nurse."  

 Dr. Gainsbridge nodded.  

 "That's all very well and good, Miss Kowalski, but this is quite an
intense program. It might not be suited for someone so young."	

 Ceila pled with him.  

 "I am ready for this course load. Really I am. I can handle myself in any
situation you put before me. Really."  

 Dr. Gainsbridge leaned back.  

 "Alright. Your patient is bleeding extensively from the lower arm. What
do you do?"  

 "Apply pressure at the crook of the elbow to stop the bleeding," Ceila
responded.  

 Dr. Gainsbridge nodded.  

 "Emergency stitching?"  

 "Apply sutures to the middle of the wound," Ceila obliged him. "If the
wound is infected, release stitches to drain fluid."  

 Dr. Gainsbridge seemed reasonably impressed.  

 "Some exciting medical drama on television, no doubt."  

 "Practical experience," Ceila countered. "A plane crashed not far from my
home in Chesterfield Inlet during a storm. No one else could go so I made
my way over to the wreck and treated the survivors. I saw what to do in an
old first aid book. I stayed with them until help arrived."  

 "Smart as a damn whip!" Stan proclaimed. 

 Dr. Gainsbridge seemed put off by Stan's outburst. Stan could see he was
uncomfortable. 

 "Ceila, could you wait outside, please?" 

 Stan was alone with Dr. Gainsbridge. 

 "Look, I'm not a college kind-of-guy. But that's just me. Don't hold it
against my girl." 

 Dr. Gainsbridge smiled warmly. 

 "I would never dream of it." 

 Stan grinned. He called Ceila back in. 

 "Classes start on the twenty-fifth," Dr. Gainsbridge advised Ceila. "I
trust you'll be there, front row centre."  

 Ceila nodded fervently.  

 "Oh, thank you, Dr. Gainsbridge!"  

 They dismissed themselves from his office and headed out into the cold.
Ceila burst out into shrieks.  

 "Oh, Daddy! This is it!"  

 Stan swung Ceila off of her feet.  

 "I'm so proud of you, Princess!"   

  

 9.The Blood of the Innocent 

 Stan pulled up the curb. Ceila hesitated. She froze. She was completely
unable to move.  

 "I can't go out there, Daddy. People will stare at me. Oh God! They're
staring now!"  

 Stan put his hand on her shoulder.  

 "Princess, I know how worried you are. I remember my first day at school.
I fought with my parents not go. I beat my head against the coffee table.
The doctors said I would have brain damage."  

 Ceila's brow furrowed.  

 "What is the point of this?"  

 Stan giggled.	

 "Stories are funny."  

 With that, Ceila stepped out of the car. She ambled shyly over to a
gaggle of students giggling and wasting their time before classes started.
 

 "Hello." 

 They barely noticed her. 

 "My name is Ceila. I'm new here."  

 One person turned their head. 

 Ceila started to turn away. 

 "Hey!" 

 Ceila swivelled over. 

 "I haven't seen you around. Where are you from?" 

 Ceila smiled slightly at the red-haired girl who queried her. 

 "I'm from Canada, Chesterfield Inlet- it's an Inuit community." 

 The red-haired girl squinted her eyes. 

 "What?" 

 "You know, like, Eskimos," Ceila explained. 

 The red-haired girl laughed. 

 "Oh. Cool. Stay with us. My name is Bina."  

 Ceila smiled broadly at last. Knowing one person was better than not
knowing anyone at all.	 

 A gentle breeze brought with it cooling temperatures, enough to thaw thin
layers of ice and make snow into slush. It also brought with it many
hidden secrets that lay beneath the ice that otherwise would have waited
for the cruel winds of April to reveal.  

 The beat cop tapped his toe against the gravel. The detectives' arrival
seemed to take forever. The east riverbank was the coldest and the
seamiest. Cold waves would lap on the shore uncovering used syringes and
other filth. The cop hated it. He wanted to cruise elsewhere but his find
forbade him to do that. At last, a car pulled up. Lenny and Dewey got out.
 

 "What is it, Norm?" Lenny asked.   

 "I found this kid in the sewer gate," the cop explained and pointed to a
tiny figure hunched by the rusted gate. "She hovered over this other kid."
  

 Dewey stepped carefully down the bank. A male body lay face down in the
frozen mud. Dewey crouched to the body. It was a pale teenaged boy,
drained of all his blood.  

 "Looks like he's been dead for hours," Dewey said.  

 Norm nodded.  

 "Yeah, I know. When I went to get the girl, she went all spaced on me. I
called it in because I knew you guys were working on the missing kids
case."	

 "Thanks, Norm," Lenny said and walked down to the sewer gate. "Let me,
Tom. I'll just turn on the old Tavish charm."  

 Dewey scrunched his face.  

 "I think she needs a fuckin' shrink, Lenny."  

 That, Lenny could determine, was obvious. If he were found huddled near a
corpse, he would be quite out of his wits. Lenny edged to the sewer gate.
A wiry blonde backed away from him. She had on scraps of clothing and was
filthy. She shivered from cold and fear. She inched further into the
sewer. 

 "It's okay," he consoled. "I'm Lenny. I'm a policeman. Nothing will
happen to you. You are safe."  

 As Lenny crawled into the sewer, the girl backed away again. Lenny
crouched under the beams and inched over to the frightened girl.  

 "Come on, come on," he coaxed gently. "I won't hurt you."  

 The girl still shivered and held up her arms in meek defence. She brushed
aside straggly locks of blond hair. Lenny touched her wrist.  

 "You're okay now."  

 The girl struggled but Lenny held on. He pulled out of the sewer and held
her.  

 "You're okay now. I won't hurt you."  

 Lenny turned his head.  

 "Norm, call the paramedics now. Tom, get the squad down here. We're gonna
sweep this area clean."  

  

 The east riverbank now swarmed with forensics teams, sniffer dogs and
paramedics. Lenny tiptoed through the squelching mud and offered coffee to
his commanding officer, Walsh.	

 "Thanks, Lenny," he gruffly offered. "What do you have?"   

 "We believe the girl is Gabrielle Ryan, a premed student over at U.of C.
She went missing over two months ago. We're waiting for an I.D. on the
boy."  

 Walsh shook his head.	

 "Waiting isn't good enough. I want this whacko collared before
Valentine's Day."  

 Lenny nodded.	

 "Understood, sir."  

 Walsh walked away. Dewey threw his head back.	

 "This is freakin' peachy!"  

 Lenny scratched the back of his neck.	

 "We thought these kids were just missing. We never expected them to end
up like this. That boy had every single ounce of blood drained from his
body. There were cuts strategically made for that purpose."  

 Lenny's blue eyes became serious.  

 "I think we may be looking at a cult, satanic, probably."  

 Dewey nodded.	

 "Then we'll need a profile."  

 "We'll question everyone at U.of C. again," Lenny proposed. "These kids
just didn't go missing."   

 The grounds of the university were virtually empty. Ceila emerged from
the empty hallway to the side exit. She no longer wished to study and
decided to call it an early day. Bina had invited her out later on for
pizza. She gratefully accepted. This was the first time she had every
independently made a friend. Later on, she may head back with another
friend for a lab assignment- the cerebral cortex.  

 A pile of books crashed to the floor behind Ceila. She turned around.	

 "Let me get those for you," she smiled and knelt down the retrieve the
books. She piled them up in her arms and handed them back to the owner.
"Take them- you'll need them for class tomorrow."  

 Her reply was met with a quick nod and the swiftness of a blow, all
colours fading to black.   

 Stan looked at his watch.  

 "Where the hell is she?"  

 Storming away from his window, he paced his living room, every so often
tapping Snappy terrarium. He picked up the telephone and called Benton.  

 "Hello?"  

 "Benny? This is Stan. Did you see Ceila? Did she say she was coming home
late? She never said anything to me and now she's late for dinner."  

 Benton's brow furrowed. 

 "No, we haven't spoken in a while. When was she expected home?" 

 "She should have been home now," Stan explained. 

 Benton scratched his head. 

 "I'll telephone Bess." 

 Stan shook his head. 

 "She would never have gone there!" 

 "She may be at Bess' house," Benton returned. "I'll telephone there to
check. I want you to telephone all of her friends and classmates. The
university. She may be there studying late."  

 Stan agreed and hung up. He dialled as many numbers as he could think of
but his fingers fumbled. A panic unlike anything he had felt before washed
over him. Somewhere in the cold and the dark lay Ceila shivering and
reaching for him. Dramatic steps ensured action. He steadied his hand and
dialled one number.  

 "Huey? This is Stan. I need your help."   

 Huey remembered the last time he had been to Stan's apartment. This time
it was for a more wholesome purpose. Wholesome was a terrible word to use.
 

 "Can I look in her room?" Huey asked. 

 "Why?" Stan darted him a suspicious look. "I already looked in there.
There's nothing." 

 Huey put his hands up. 

 "There might have been something you missed. Now, just let me in." 

 Stan relented and led Huey into Ceila's room. Huey looked but did not
touch anything. 

 "Did you phone her friends?" 

 "They never saw her," Stan answered. 

 "Would she be eating somewhere else?" 

 Stan shook his head. 

 "We always eat together." He rubbed his jittery arms. "Oh God," Stan
paced. "Where the hell could she be?"  

 Huey shrugged his shoulders. 

 "Did you have an argument or something? She might have..." 

 Stan spun around and glared at him. 

 "What the hell kind of question is that?! She's happy here!" 

 A knock disturbed the tension. Stan ran to it. 

 "It's her. I know it." 

 Benton took off his Stetson. 

 "A custodian found this," he held a backpack to Stan. "That was an hour
ago." 

 Stan propelled himself back. 

 "Who took my princess?" he asked softly.  

 Lenny paced back-and-forth in the squad room. 

 "Help me out, Tom. So far, there's only been one death, right?" 

 Dewey sat at his desk picking at Thai food. 

 "Right." 

 "Students at the university are the runaways, right?" 

 Dewey nodded. 

 "From fairly well-to-do backgrounds," Lenny continued. 

 "All of whom were medical or biology students," a voice interrupted. 

 Lenny and Dewey turned their heads to a small, dark-haired woman. She
smiled slightly. 

 "Hello. I didn't mean to startle you," she apologized. She extended her
hand. "I'm Dr. Muir. Call me Jean, if you like."  

 Lenny and Dewey cast a look at one another.  

 "And who invited you?" Dewey asked.  

 "I did," Benton strode up to them. "Dr. Muir is here for evaluations at
the consulate and I asked her to confer with you on this case."  

 Lenny shook his head. 

 "This isn't some jaywalking deal, Fraser. It's our case." 

 "Ceila is missing," Benton countered. "I'd like to think of it as my
case, as well." 

 Lenny and Dewey went pale. 

 Jean sat before them. 

 "If you want my assessment, your killer knew the victims, too well." 

 Dewey's brow furrowed. 

 "Victims? We found only one body." 

 Jean nodded. 

 "You were never meant to find that body, Detective. That is where the
killer made the mistake. I assure you there are more victims."	

 Lenny sat down.  

 "So what are we in for?"  

 Jean cleared her throat.  

 "Your killer is possessed with a rage against the victim, such as the
violence against the body but it's systematic. The body is cut and drained
of all the blood. This is someone who is familiar with medical procedures,
familiar enough to drain the blood from certain places- the neck, the
thighs and so on."  

 "Why the blood?" Benton asked.  

 "The blood seems an odd trophy," Jean concurred. She thought for a
second. "Some cultures believed blood had certain rejuvenating qualities.
The Aztecs believed blood of an enemy was an ideal offering to their gods.
The washing of clothes with the Blood of the Lamb in the Book of
Revelations was cleansing of sin and evil. That might be what the killer
is aiming for."   

 "Only Gabrielle can tell us," Dewey surmised. 

 "I must speak with her," Jean asked. 

 Lenny shook his head. 

 "She's in communicado." 

 Benton became slightly impatient. 

 "We will find a way to make her speak. Time is running out." 

 Dewey rose. 

 "I'll take Dr. Muir to see Gabrielle. You two bolt and look for that
girl." 

 Benton nodded. 

 "Right."  

 He glanced at his watch. It was ten o'clock.  

 Bess threw on her coat and rushed out the door. Ray held her firmly,
struggling to keep the spirited woman out from the brink of insanity.  

 "Dammit, Bess!"  

 "Let go of me!" she demanded. "I have to find her."  

 Ray turned her around.  

 "There are five teams looking in different sections of the city, a team
of sniffer dogs and even a helicopter scoping the area. What makes you
think you're going to make any ground if they don't?"  

 "Because she's my baby!" Bess cried. She crumpled to the porch step. "I
have to look, Ray. I'll go mad if I don't."  

 Ray sat next to her.  

 "Let me go, Bess. Benny's out there now. If Ceila comes here or phones,
you should be close by. Okay?"	

 Bess' head fell on his strong shoulders. 

 "I need to know where she is."  

 Ray stroked her black locks.  

 "I know, baby. We're gonna find her."	 

 Benton and Ray stood transfixed on the site where the boy's body was
found.	 

 "There," Benton pointed, "is where the girl dug her way out. A team has
gone through the sewers and has not yet found anything."  

 Ray shrugged his shoulders.  

 "Maybe there's nothing to find. The killer just packed up and left."  

 Benton shook his head.  

 "No. He's here. Hiding."  

 Benton leaned back and looked at the stars. He let the air sting his
cheeks. Ray neared him.   

 "I won't take that transfer."	

 "Yeah," Ray tried to sound disinterested.  

 "It's not fair to Elaine," Benton explained. "I can't go. Not yet. It's
not time."  

 Secretly, Ray was relieved. Now was not the time.  

 Benton looked at his watch again. It was now midnight and the waters
lapped up on the bank softly, bringing out only the moonlight.	 

 10. Chosen 

 Fingers. Ceila had the sensation of having them. They had not yet grown
numb. She tried to lift her wrists. They rubbed against bonds, like wet
mooseskins. She could not breathe. She had not dared herself to exhale
loudly. She was afraid of sounds. More so, she was afraid to open her
eyes. To lift the eyelids would be to reveal to the mind a horror very
much like those terrors that haunted her as a child. The bogey man, the
ghosts of the disgraced forced to wander the world seeking the ruin of
souls, the icy hands of lost fishermen, the devil. Such childish fears
needed to be allayed now. One by one, she opened her eyes.  

 The room was dimly-lit and looked like the holding tank of a rusted oil
tanker. It smelled as much. Dank, cold and awful. She breathed in and
coughed. The air was choked out of her. A hand touched her forearm.  

 "Ceila?"  

 Ceila turned her head as far as it would go. Dr. Gainsbridge smiled on
her benignly and brushed back loose black tousles.  

 "You're cold," he observed. "Let me get you a blanket. You'll catch your
death."  

 Ceila tried to move.  

 "Keep away from me!"  

 Dr. Gainsbridge let a small laugh.  

 "Oh, I can't do that." He placed a blanket around her. "There. You'll
keep warm. Let me find you something hot to drink."  

 Ceila tilted her head to watch his every movement. She was on a wooden
slab. Her hands were bound with leather straps and Dr. Gainsbridge had a
small workbench just a metre from her head. He poured her a mug of hot
liquid.  

 "Why have you brought me here?"  

 Dr. Gainsbridge measured the tremors in her voice.  

 "You needn't be frightened, Ceila," he assured her. "I will not harm you.
I can't."  

 Ceila did not understand him.	

 "Why? Just let me go. Please."  

 Dr. Gainsbridge placed the liquid down and touched her face gently.  

 "I have been searching for you for an eternity. Do you know what that's
like? To search through endless, impure souls to find..." His hands
enveloped her whole face. "Someone pure."  

 He circled to her left side.  

 "I knew it was you from the moment I saw you. The angel sent to rid the
world of impurity. Would you believe me if I said that you came to me in a
dream? Yes, it's true. There you were, in shimmering white, promising me
that from the blood a dozen unrighteous you shall wash it clean and save
us from darkness. You told me to go and prepare and I've made it my
mission."  

 Ceila's lips quivered. She wanted to scream but couldn't. Her throat
refused to make any sound. She just shook her head fervently from
side-to-side. Dr. Gainsbridge just smiled and touched her forehead.  

 "I'm nearly completed my task, Ceila. The time of purification is soon.
Just sleep. You will cleanse us all..." His fingers traced her face. "From
all our unrighteousness."  

 Dr. Gainsbridge disappeared. Ceila shivered some more. He was mad, more
than mad. It was a grip of insanity that she could not comprehend. She
heard a scuffling. He had returned.  

 "Ceila?"  

 The voice had changed. It wasn't Dr. Gainsbridge at all. The voice was
lighter.  

 "Ceila, it's me- Justine. Do you remember me? I'm from your premed
class."  

 Ceila tilted her head to see the girl. She could not bend her head any
further. In the lids of her eyes she could see faintly that Justine was
bound with wire. She was pale and shivering.  

 "Ceila, we have to get out of here. He's crazy...." Justine's voice
failed her. "He's just fucking crazy..."  

 Ceila cleared her throat.   

 "Justine, I want you to listen to me. Now, I want you to tell me where we
are."  

 "I don't know," Justine replied. "Somewhere dark. There are pipes
everywhere. This place stinks."  

 Ceila shut her eyes. 

 "Shut your eyes, Justine, and listen. Just do it." 

 The girl whimpered and shut her eyes as she was told. 

 "What do you hear, Justine?" 

 "Water...I think I hear some rolling sounds..." 

 Ceila nodded. 

 "We must be underground. If he can get in, it's just logical we can get
out, right? We just have to find the hatch to get out." 

 Justine burst into sobs.  

 "There is NO way out! He's going to kill us. He killed Robbie and now us.
Oh God...." 

 A door opened. Dr. Gainsbridge dropped a pack he carried and shook
Justine against the wall. She whimpered even more.  

 "How dare you speak?"	

 Ceila strained her head to see what was going on. 

 "What are you doing? Stop!" 

 Ceila could hear something unsheathe. Justine cried out. 

 "No! No! It was my fault! Blame me! Take it out on me!" 

 Dr. Gainsbridge shook her head. 

 "No. It is her fault." 

 Justine screamed. Ceila heard the grinding of wire on cement and the soft
slash of metal on skin. Justine screamed even louder.  

 "Oh God! I want my mommy! I want my mommy!"  

 Justine no longer sobbed uncontrollably. She no longer made any sound.  

 "The process is nearly complete, Ceila," Dr. Gainsbridge said quietly.
"Rest now. We have much to do when the time is right."	

 Ceila did not move her head. She remained still with her eyes fixed on
the rusted pipes overhead. She squinted her eyes shut, squeezing salt
tears onto her cheeks.	 

 "Ceila?"  

 Ceila opened her eyes again. Bess leaned over and adjusted the warm
covers. Ceila smiled.  

 "Mumma? I'm home?"  

 Bess brushed her hair back.  

 "It's alright," she said softly. "You're safe with me. I won't ever let
you go again."	

 Ceila relaxed into Bess' gentle touch. It was warm and safe. Ceila turned
her head. Stan sat in a chair and rested his head on his forearms.  

 "Good to see again, Princess. You just bumped your head. Things are okay
now."  

 Stan picked up a stuffed doll.  

 "Here he is- Mr. Beanie."  

 Ceila took the awkward stuffed doll resembling Mr. Bean. Stan brushed her
black hair away.  

 "Everything's going to be alright." 

 Diefenbaker pounced on the bed. She scruffed his fur. 

 "Dief!" 

 Benton approached the foot of the bed. 

 "I thought you might like to see him. Are you well now?" 

 Ceila nodded. 

 Ray opened the door of the room. He waved a small bundle of flowers
before her. 

 "I bought these for ya kid." 

 Ceila clutched the flowers. She smelled them. There was no scent. She
looked ahead of her. Her father, her mother, her uncle, her benefactor all
appeared to fade.  

 "Don't go away," she pleaded in a small voice. "Please."  

 Dr. Gainsbridge touched a loose tousle on Ceila's forehead. Her eyelids
moved rapidly.	

 "I will never go away," he promised. "Ever."  

 11. Arms of the Angel 

 The ward led Jean and Dewey through the barren white halls of Dearmont
Mental Hospital. He opened the door of the room that housed Gabrielle
Ryan, the shy blond girl who remained in a catatonic state. Jean removed
her coat and sat before the girl. She turned on her tape recorder. Dewey
remained behind the woman with his notepad ready.  

 "Gabrielle? My name is Dr. Jean Muir. I've come to see you."  

 The girl shivered.  

 "Don't be frightened," Jean assured her. "Be still. I only want to talk
to you."  

 Gabrielle did not move.  

 "I want to ask you about what happened a day ago. Can you tell me? Do you
want to talk about that?"  

 Gabrielle started to shake violently.	

 "I don't want to go back there! Not to the place of darkness!"  

 Jean leaned forward and looked earnestly at Gabrielle. She took the
girl's hand. 

 "You're not in the dark place any more. You're in the place of light. No
one will hurt you." 

 Dewey leaned forward from his chair. 

 "You're safe, Gabrielle. I promise. Tell us what happened." 

 Gabrielle started to cry. 

 "Why? What did we do wrong? Why did he do this to us?" 

 Dewey jumped out of his seat. 

 "Who, Gabrielle?" 

 Gabrielle crumpled into a ball and grated her teeth. 

 "Him..." she whimpered.  

 The doorbell rang and the sweet auburn-haired lady went to answer it. A
tall black-haired woman with angular features greeted her with a softened
smile.	

 "Dr. Gainsbridge?" 

 "Yes," the woman nodded. 

 "My name is Elizabeth Vecchio. May I please speak with you?" 

 The woman allowed Bess and offered her a seat. 

 "May I ask what this is about?" 

 Bess nodded. She pulled out a faded engraving ripped from a briefcase.  

 "I found this not far from the University of Chicago. It reads: L. G.
Someone told me I should ask you about it."  

 The woman clutched onto the engraving. 

 "This is old." 

 Bess looked at her more intently. 

 "Is it your's?" 

 The woman flashed her a look. 

 "What is that supposed to mean?" 

 "Please, Dr. Gainsbridge." 

 The woman rose. 

 "Tell me what this is about or I will call the police." 

 Bess sat up straight. 

 "Dr. Gainsbridge, there is a young girl missing and I need to find her." 

 The woman sat down again. 

 "Is this about those kids...?" The woman steeled herself. "The L stands
for Linus, my ex-husband, not Lucy." Lucy's eyes went vapid. "We met years
ago, in Oxford. I was studying medieval literature and he was an
up-and-coming physician. When you first meet someone, they're so charming
and gentile.... It was an illusion that ended badly. I was studying Middle
English legends of the incubi- demons that creep into the beds of women as
they sleep. He was fascinated by it. He read every passage, every page I
had on the subject, on legends of the devil."  

 Lucy stopped.	

 "What happened, Dr. Gainsbridge?"  

 "One evening, he..tied me up and...." Lucy's eyes became glassy. "What
has he done this time, Mrs. Vecchio? Whatever it is, don't let him get
away with it."	 

 The twenty-seventh precinct was burdened with cases of missing children
and swarmed with frantic police officers.  

 Bess brushed past uniformed officers to Lenny's desk. She rested her
hands on his desk.  

 "Dr. Gainsbridge."  

 Lenny looked up from a file.  

 "What?"  

 Bess stood upright.  

 "You need to look for Dr. Linus Gainsbridge. He's the professor of
medicine at the University of Chicago. He had the opportunity to kidnap
and assault the missing kids and now I have a motive."	

 Lenny shook his head.	

 "What are you talking about?"	

 Bess slowed down for breath.  

 "The man you are looking for is Dr. Linus Gainsbridge. He kidnapped the
kids and is using them for some pagan ritual."	

 Lenny rose.  

 "How do you know this?"  

 Bess gulped.  

 "His wife told me. His ex-wife. He used her the same way." Bess tilted
her head. "Can't you pick him up? He had every opportunity to kidnap the
students. Now he has Ceila. Please. Time is running out."  

 Lenny silenced her.  

 "You went out on your own and did some legwork for us. Gee. Thanks."  

 Bess turned scarlet.  

 "Dammit! This is not a pissing contest! My child is missing. Now at least
question him. Pick him up. Now! He has Ceila. We have to get her now
before he hurts her, too!"  

 Lenny put his coat on and grabbed his car keys. 

 "I'll go down with a squad. You stay here."  

 Bess trembled. She could not stay put. She slipped out the back entrance
and got into her car. She wanted to see this man's face for herself.   

 Ceila woke up. Justine was no longer there. It was just her now. She
turned her head. Gainsbridge stood over her.  

 "It is time."	

 He loosed her bonds and ordered her to stand. Ceila rose slowly. Her arms
hurt and her body felt stiff and cold. Gainsbridge slipped on a pair of
handcuffs and a blindfold.  

 "I must take you to the place where the darkness ends. I will see my
angel in all her glory. Soon."	

 Gainsbridge led her out carefully. The air became crisper and she could
feel a breeze. Ceila was outside now. Faint engine sounds rumbled in the
distance. The dirt was gravelly and the pavement scarce. Her foot caught
something solid, like plastic wrapping.  

 "Careful, angel," Gainsbridge warned. "We're nearly there."  

 Ceila trod on soft dirt now. Gainsbridge's grip became looser. She pulled
her hands away from him and bolted. Her blindfold slipped and she could
see now. She was in a construction site. She ran for the platforms.  

 "Angel! Come back!"  

 Gainsbridge was bearing down on her. Ceila ran again for the platforms.
The only way out now was up.  

 Gainsbridge stumbled. Picking himself up, he scrambled for Ceila. Ceila
swivelled her head back and jumped on a platform. She pulled herself up
and climbed further away from Gainsbridge. He made it to the platform,
fumbling toward her desperately. When he grabbed her leg, she kicked back
and jolted upward.  

 "Get away from me!" she screamed and continued her upward climb.   

 She jetted along platforms in a zigzag motion. She climbed invariably.
Her lack of balance knocked her forward. Only a solid bar prevented her
from falling metres below. She saw a lift and ran to it. Gainsbridge
pounced in front of her.  

 "Come back to me, angel! Don't run! It is prophesied!"  

 Ceila was jutted backward. She screamed. Getting back up, she ran along
the platform away from her erstwhile captor. Her leg caught something and
she propelled forward.	 

 "Ceila!" Gainsbridge screamed.  

 She fell headlong to a lower platform, bounced on her shoulder and
dropped to the ground. She hit the ground without any sort of resonance.
The landing was dull. Ceila left her eyes open staring in fear and
betrayal at the night sky. She did not move. She was unconscious and more
vulnerable then ever.  

 Gainsbridge looked below. His angel failed to fly. A light caught his
face. A car was coming. He would be discovered. He descended the platforms
and thought no more of it.   

 12. The Noose 

 Lenny addressed the group of men assembled in the squad room.	

 "Our suspect is one Dr. Linus Gainsbridge, resident of Chicago, head of
the Department of Medicine at the University of Chicago. We'll send one
squad out to the train station, one to the bus depot and one to O'Hare's.
The rest of you lot will search the sewer drains, the campus, his
apartment. Time's running out. Let's roll."  

 Ray grabbed Benton's shoulder.  

 "If I were one psychopath who kidnapped a whole whack of kids and I were
stupid enough to kidnap the kid of a cop, where would I head?  

 Benton thought for a second.  

 "I would assume that the police would have the train station, bus depot
and airport culled off in search of me. I have no relatives in the area
and my friends are estranged from me. I might decide to flee by car, that
being an anonymous form of transport. I would take the back roads out,
abandon the car and obtain another form of transport."	

 Ray nodded. He took a file from Lenny's desk. 

 "Our suspect owns a Lexus." 

 Benton shook his head. 

 "He won't take his own car." 

 Benton thought for a second. 

 "The boy who was found- what car did he drive?" 

 Ray looked at the file. 

 "A Beetle." 

 Benton nodded. 

 "He'd use stolen license plates." 

 Ray picked up his walkie-talkie. 

 "I want road blocks on all exits out of Chicago. All units are to look
for a black Beetle. The driver matches the description of one Dr. Linus
Gainsbridge."  

 Ray ended communication.  

 "Let's find our man," Benton nodded.	

 Traffic on the I-90 exit was backed up. No one moved and patience wore
thin. Ray strode along the long line of car. A state trooper stood tall
before the car in front of the line.  

 "I think this is your guy," he said.  

 Ray stooped to the passenger side window of a black Beetle. A nervous man
with brown hair and glasses looked down at his feet.  

 "Dr. Linus Gainsbridge?"  

 The man looked up at once, glassy eyes quivering in their sockets.  

 "Come with us."  

 Gainsbridge's hands fell limp on the steering wheel. His mission was
over.	 

 Stan had waited in the squad room all day. He was told he had the day off
but he could not bear to return to his apartment. He lit up a cigarette
and crouched inconspicuously at his desk. Huey strode past his desk.  

 "Stan?" 

 Stan looked at Huey. The man's face was softened to pity. 

 "We found Gainsbridge." 

 Stan rose. He mushed out the cigarette. 

 "You did?" 

 Huey placed his hands on his shoulders. 

 "You don't want to see this. Go home. We'll get him to talk."	

 Stan shook his head fervently.  

 "No. I want to see his face."	

 Stan emerged into the hallway. A cache of officers walked with Ray. Ray
clutched onto Gainsbridge's arm tightly and walked into the interview
room. Stan was barred access to the room but stood at the mirror and gazed
at the suspect intently.   

 Benton waited patiently in the interview room. He wore his brown uniform
today but during the wait he had removed the jacket. His sleeves were
rolled up. Gainsbridge stood nervously before this man. His forearms, he
could see, were well-muscled. His dark hair was cropped short and his blue
eyes were serious, such a seriousness he had never seen before. 

 "Sit down," Ray ordered 

 Gainsbridge did as he was told. 

 "I really would like someone to explain to me what this is all about." 

 Benton shook his head. 

 "Why were you driving a vehicle that did not belong to you?" 

 Gainsbridge looked confused. 

 "Don't insult my intelligence," Benton said. "Please answer the
question." 

 "The car is a friend's..." Gainsbridge tried to answer. 

 "Would that be Robert Vincens, aged nineteen at the time of death?" 

 Gainsbridge did not answer. Benton leaned forward. 

 "You, sir, are in a whole mess of trouble. It would be to your advantage
to tell us what we would like to know."  

 "And what is that?" Gainsbridge asked. 

 "The whereabouts of one Ceila Kowalski."  

 "I don't know who you mean," Gainsbidge denied.  

 Ray huffed.  

 "Come on. She was in your class, your prize pupil. You tell us and maybe,
just maybe, the D.A. might be easy on ya."  

 Gainsbridge shook his head.  

 "I can't help you."  

 Benton rose.  

 "Right."  

 Rolling up his sleeves further, he opened the window and with Ray picked
up Gainsbridge's chair and teetered it out the window. The man screamed.
His knuckles turned white as they gripped the back of his chair for dear
life.  

 "I'll tell you! Dear God! I'll tell you! Don't drop me!" 

 Ray and Benton pulled him in. Ray let the chair teeter violently against
the wall. 

 "Alright, you pathetic, lowlife cocksucker! Where is she?!" 

 Gainsbridge regained his breath. His eyes wandered. 

 "She was so beautiful." 

 Benton's patience wore thin. 

 "Where is she?" 

 "My angel could not fly. It wasn't time." 

 Ray and Benton fell silent. 

 "Why?" Benton asked softly. 

 Gainsbridge wasn't frightened now, only indignant. He snarled at Benton's
lack of comprehension.	

 "They were all dirty. All of them. Twisted and perverse, incapable of
rising from their own filth. But she wasn't like them. She was pure. When
I saw her I knew it was time to cleanse the world. Their blood shall make
us all clean. She will purify it. In time."  

 Gainsbridge's face became vacuous. 

 "Where did you leave her, Dr. Gainsbridge?" 

 Gainsbridge let his gaze fall. 

 "There is a construction site off of Thirtieth. It's near the riverbank."


 Benton grimaced. 

 "You sad, sad, evil, bloody man." 

 Ray and Benton hurriedly exited the interrogation room. 

 "I'm gonna have a squad pull up and an ambulance too." 

 Stan joined them. 

 "Why didn't you drop him?" 

 Benton knew he had watched the interrogation. 

 "He would never have told us where Ceila is." 

 Stan wiped sweat from his upper lip. 

 "Let me go. I wanna go." 

 Benton paused. 

 "I don't know if you should see this." 

 Stan held up his hand. 

 "My daughter is lying there hurt. Satan himself won't stop me." 

 Ray primed his semiautomatic. He looked at the anxious man and for once
did not loathe him. He nodded.	

 "Ride with us." 

   

 Walsh flagged down the Riv. The ambulance, Ray had been told, was on the
way. Walsh took Stan by the arm.  

 "Kowalski- you don't want to see this."  

 Stan pulled his arm from him and ran to the gaggle of uniformed officers.
Benton and Ray followed close by.  

 Ceila lay in the mud. Her skin had turned pale and her eyes stared
accusingly at the blank sky. Her hands were bound in front of her with
copper cord. A tear in her jeans exposed a nasty gash that stopped
bleeding hours ago. Her right shoulder was out of place. Her beautiful
black hair, dried with blood, formed curly wisps in the mud.  

 Ray slapped his forehead.  

 "Sweet Mother of God."  

 Benton bowed his head and shut his eyes tightly.  

 Stan's legs failed to support him. He fell to the mud. Crawling over to
her, Stan rested his head on his daughter's chest. He buried his face on
her sweater and wailed.   

 Benton crouched down to Stan.	

 "Let her go," he said softly. "The ambulance is here."  

 Stan raised his head. His face was red, swollen, wet.	

 "There is nothing you can do for her."  

 With that, Benton shut Ceila's eyes. He clasped Stan's arms and drew him
away slowly as the medics pulled up. They were ready to throw a sheet over
the girl. Benton would telephone Bess shortly to tell her that her
daughter was dead.  

 "She's not dead!"  

 Benton and Stan stopped.  

 The medic squatted over Ceila screamed to another man in the ambulance.  

 "We've got a live one here!" 

 Stan kneeled by Ceila again and took her hand. 

 "Come on, Princess. I know you can hear me. I want you to pull through." 

 The medic pushed Stan away. 

 "Dammit! She's my little girl!" 

 Ray dragged Stan away. 

 "Let them work on her, Stan." 

 Stan was breathless. Ray loosened his hands. 

 "You have to let them work on her. She's gonna pull through." 

 The ambulance drove off. Stan tried to run after it. 

 "Where are they going?"  

 "Cook County Hospital," Benton replied. He turned to Ray. "You collect
Bess and take her there directly. Stanley, come with me."  

 Stan jittered.  

 "I have to be with her."  

 Benton nodded.  

 "I know. Come with me."   

 Ray discontinued his call to Bess. She would frantically make her way
down to the hospital. Ray's mother would look after the children.  

 "Detective?"  

 Ray looked at Walsh.  

 "Are you okay with this?"  

 Ray's skin became clammy.  

 "I brought her here...because Bess...If I knew for one minute that this
would happen I would never have brought here."	

 "Nobody ever thought this would happen, Detective," Walsh replied. "Go
down to the hospital. I'll talk to the D.A. I'm going to see this
son-of-a-bitch on a guerney with a pint of cyanide running through his
veins." 

 Ray nodded. He knew that anything Walsh said he meant. Gainsbridge would
die for this.  

 Dewey and a squad made their way slowly through the meandering sewer
where they found the first victim. Gainsbridge carefully drew a map for
them. He said nothing of what to expect when they got there.  

 "I wish I'd brought my galoshes," Jean regretted.  

 "I wish I brought hip boots," Dewey replied.  

 The head of the QRT team stopped. He blinked the flashlight over Dewey's
face.  

 "Here, detective."  

 A wooden shaft was kicked in. A dry room, once sealed off from the rest
of the sewer, was shown the light of the QRT's flashlights. One of the
QRT's number broke away and retched. No one else moved.  

 "I hope they hang the motherfucker," the gruff leader of the QRT swore.  

 Jean made her way in slowly. Her fingers tugged chicken wire away from a
corpse positioned against the wall.  

 "I've never seen anything like this before in my life," she breathed.
Jean turned and rested her hands on a slab. "There have been many here
before, Detective." Jean ran her index finger along what looked like
scratch marks.	

 Dewey exhaled heavily. He pulled out his cellular telephone and dialled
Walsh's number.  

 "You're never going to believe what we found here, Lieutenant."    

 Stan was decidedly smoke-free when Ceila first came to live with him.
Now, the temptation was too great and he gave into the nicotine god. He
placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. He breathed out unsteadily.
The sky was a cursed gray. He breathed in the cold air. Lifting his hand
weakly, he made the Sign of the Cross.	

 "Please, Dear Jesus, don't let my Ceila die. Please. Anything you want,
I'll do it. Don't hesitate to ask. Please- don't take away the only thing
that makes me happy..."  

 Stan's voice broke. The hot tears rolled onto his cheeks.  

 "Detective Kowalski?"	

 Stan wiped away any evidence of tears and turned to the voice. A nurse
approached him on the balcony and summoned him inside.	

 "Dr. Cowan will speak to you now."  

 Stan stamped out his cigarette and followed the nurse. Bess stood
nervously in the hallway. Benton and Ray paced a few metres, every so
often looking at the doctor. Dr. Cowan was a short man with thinning
ginger hair. Still in his medical scrubs, he read from his chart.  

 "Detective Kowalski?"	

 Stan nodded.  

 "Your daughter is in stable condition right now. It's a good thing she
was found when she was. She suffered torn ligaments in both her shoulder
and knee, a broken shoulder bone and exposure."  

 Dr. Cowan paused.  

 "As for her head injuries, we've induced coma to stop the swelling. We've
had to intervene surgically to stop the bleeding."  

 Bess bit her knuckle.	

 "Will she ever wake up?" 

 Dr. Cowan became downcast. 

 "I don't know. I won't know how serious her head injuries are. I'm
sorry." 

 Stan swallowed an obstruction. 

 "Can we go see her, just for a while- you know- just to see her?" 

 Dr. Cowan nodded. 

 "This way, please." 

 Dr. Cowan led them to Ceila's room. Bess lost her breath when she saw her
daughter. Ceila's head was swaddled in bandages. Her eyes were blackened.
She breathed softly. Stan could barely hear her. Her chest barely heaved
with movement. He covered his mouth. He wanted to cry out but felt he had
no tongue. His eyes became glassy and then swollen. He charged out of the
room and gripped onto the wall. The surface was cold, almost sobering.	 

 "Jesus, how can I live through this?" he asked softly.  

 A hand consoled him. It rubbed his shoulder.  

 "Stan?"  

 Stan turned around. Bess' face was all the more paler.  

 "Stan..." she began again and paused. "I remember when she was five
months old. I woke up to check on her and I saw that she was all red and
didn't move." Bess swallowed hard. "She had a fever. It took over her
body. It was like a red hot poker. I held her so close to me. I wiped her
little face with wet cloths all night. When I woke up- I don't know when-
her fever had broken. She was smiling, I swear it." Bess' face brightened.
"Nothing can break her. Nothing."  

 Stan found it strangely comforting. His head fell on her shoulder.  

 "Don't let her drift away."   

 Stan and Bess sat in Ceila's room. They had been there all afternoon.
They could not leave. The first face Stan wanted Ceila to see was his own.
When he opened his eyes after so many minutes of slumber he saw that she
was still in a coma and Bess was now asleep. Stan rose from his chair. He
would get a glass of water and hurry right back. Ceila would wake up any
minute now.   

 He pulled the door of Ceila's room open and lifted his head. Outside
Ceila's room, Stella waited for him patiently. Stan's breath left him.	

 "Stella."  

 Stella looked at her ex-husband calmly. No truth need be uttered between
them. Stella knew he had gotten what he wanted, a child, and she was left
decidedly bereft. That was beside the point.  

 "How is she?"	

 Caught unawares by the sudden appearance of his ex-wife, Stan shook his
head slightly until sense came.  

 "Uh...uh...sleeping. The doctors say that she, um, might not wake up.
They don't know..." 

 Stella wrapped her arms around her more tightly. 

 "I'm sorry, Stanley, I really am. I wouldn't wish this upon anyone. Not
even you." 

 Stan touched Stella's chin. 

 "No, no. Don't say anything." Stan regained his breath. "She'll wake up,
any minute now. I have to be there."  

 Stella removed Stan's fingers but slowly. His touch was gentle. Stan let
his arm drop. He looked at Stella more seriously now.  

 "I don't want this motherfucker to walk, Stella. Now this isn't about me.
It's for her. And those other kids. Their mothers need some kind of
comfort."  

 Stella raised her hand. 

 "Do you know what that fucker did, Stella?!" 

 Stella nodded. 

 "He's been evaluated, Stan," Stella softly replied. 

 Stan shifted weight to another foot. 

 "What, what does that mean? Evaluated?" 

 Stella hesitated. She gained her strength. 

 "They don't think he is fit to stand trial. The judge believes
Gainsbridge will be remanded to a hospital for the criminally insane."	

 The breath left Stan exasperatedly. 

 "He kills kids, kidnaps my Ceila and he gets a walk?" 

 Stella shook his head. 

 "He won't ever see the light of day. If there is anything I can do about
it..." 

 "That man isn't sick, Stella, he's fucking evil!" Stan shot back. 

 "Do you think I don't know that?!" Stella returned. "What the hell do you
think I've been trying to point out to Judge Hibbert? Huh? That he was
badly beaten as a child and is simply reenacting past pains? No one is
quite deluded to believe that bullshit, Stan, but when your prime suspect
won't even give you his name but maintains some apocalyptic fantasy
wherein some scrawny teenager is meant to save the world, then it's very
hard to convince anybody of competence."  

 Stan slid against the wall. He felt so broken. Stella knelt by him.  

 "Stan, I will do everything I can to make sure he never walks the streets
again. I swear to God."  

 Stella wrapped her arm around Stan and allowed his head to fall on her
shoulder. He felt warm. He remembered the smell of her, her wispy blond
hair and petal-like skin; those nights when the both of them would return
home too tired to even make themselves a meal. They would just retire to
the couch, arm-in-arm, lulled by their soft breathing.	

 Stan lifted his head.	

 "I have to go. Ceila will wake up any minute now."  

 Stan rose from the floor. Stella let him go.  

 When Stan returned, Ceila had still not woken. Bess sang quietly to her,
lullingly as if she were to coax an awake child to sleep.  

 "Le ghunna caol 's a mhial-choin sheanga, Direadh bhean 's a' tearnadh
ghleannan..."  

 "What is that?" Stan asked. "French?"	

 Bess lifted her head wearily.	

 "Gaelic." She stroked back a tiny lock from Ceila's forehead. "I used to
sing it to her when she was a child."  

 Stan sat down.  

 "Keep singing it. She might recognize it and wake up."  

 Stan leaned against the bed and watched Ceila's eyelids for the slightest
movement. Bess continued to sing.  

  

 Benton waited outside Ceila's room quietly. He urged Bess to go home. Her
other children needed her and she needed sometime to rest. Elaine had come
by with Anna and Danny. None of them had any effect on Ceila. She remained
comatose. Rough boots squeaked on the linoleum floor. Turnbull and
Constable Ramsey Ferguson, the new recruit from Toronto, walked cautiously
over to Benton.  

 "Has she woken up yet?" Turnbull quietly asked.  

 Benton had never known Turnbull to be avidly concerned in such matters.
He was touched and mystified by it.  

 "No, no she is still in a coma," he replied.  

 Turnbull nodded slowly.  

 "The consulate has her affects," Turnbull presented a small bundle to
Benton. "Perhaps you could give them to her parents."  

 Benton took them. It was cold and awful. He knew what it meant to return
personal affects. The trappings of violent, unnatural death had stained
them. Still, Benton took them and unwrapped the bundle. A tiny journal
jutted from some clothing and CDS. Benton looked at it. It had
odds-and-ends scribbled within. Familiar with the self-epistolary genre,
he read his niece's journal unashamedly, not to pry but to understand. Her
journal dictated her thoughts of being overwhelmed by "the big city",
daily projects, telephone numbers of boys in her class.  

 Benton closed her journal and placed inside his coat.	

 "Turnbull," he started off slowly, "I'd like very much if you sat with
her for a while. The doctors say she can unconsciously pick up sounds
and..."  

 Turnbull nodded. He never refused Benton anything.  

 "Yes, sir."  

 Benton smiled briskly and nodded adieu to the remaining officers. Ramsey
looked on as Benton left. Once out of earshot, he turned to Turnbull who
had a better grasp of what was going on.  

 "Who is this person, anyway?"	

 "Constable Fraser's niece," Turnbull replied. "An unfortunate victim of
the big city. Let us go in."   

 Ramsey followed Turnbull into the room. He saw the frail girl wrapped in
blankets and wires. He held his breath.  

 "Victim, eh?" Ramsey uttered.	

 Turnbull and Ramsey stood over the girl.  

 "I wonder what we should say to her?" Turnbull scratched his head. "I
know- she'll want to hear the weather reports back home."  

 Ramsey shook his head.  

 "No. If the idea is to wake her up, we have to get her attention, right?"
Ramsey cleared his throat and leaned over Ceila. "If you don't wake up,
we'll tell all the boys in your class that you like them."  

 Turnbull gaped.  

 "Is that true?"  

 Ramsey shook his head.  

 "No, but it might help to wake her up."  

 Turnbull was perplexed. He did not understand how anything fraudulent
could evoke any physical response in people. Still, the idea intrigued
him.  

 "The idea, see," Ramsey proffered, "is to say something that will shock
her."  

 "Then we will write up reprimand reports later, right?"   

 Ramsey faintly nodded.  

 "Yeah, I suppose so."	

 Turnbull nodded.  

 "I know. " He leaned over Ceila. "The weather in Ottawa is bright and
sunny."   

 Turnbull snickered at his treachery. Ramsey, on the other hand, became
more perplexed than his obfuscative colleague.	 

 Stan returned to the hospital. He was now shaven, washed, fed. He refused
to even look after himself after Ceila was admitted to the hospital. He
refused to be comforted. He waited only for her to awaken. Ray took the
man by his shoulders and shook him until, exhausted and perhaps realizing
that she may not wake up, he agreed to go home for rest. Stan had many
days sickleave not taken and would use them all up now until his only
daughter would rise again.  

 Stan entered Ceila's room. Her eyes were less black. Her wispy lashes did
not flutter even in REM sleep. Still, Stan would not be discouraged. It
was only a matter of time.  

 "Hey, Princess. How are you?"	

 Silence answered Stan.  

 "I got something for ya," Stan reached under his coat. He waved a Mr.
Bean doll in front of Ceila's sleeping face. "When you wake up, Princess,
we can rent the movie and..." 

 Stan paused. He ran his fingers over her face.  

 "Oh, baby, you've come so far. We've come so far. Don't leave now.
Please."  

 Ceila's chest heaved mightily and her head turned. Under her shut lids
her eyes rolled a little and then came to a stop. Stan held his breath.
His daughter had moved.  

 "Nurse!" Stan cried out to the empty hallway.	 

 A nurse burst through the emptiness and into Ceila's room.  

 "What is it?"	

 "She woke up!" Stan grinned broadly. "She's better."  

 The nurse checked Ceila's pulse.  

 "No. Just an autonomic response."  

 The nurse let go of Ceila's wrist and left the room.  

 With the verging anxiety gone, Stan sank to his chair with the weight of
the world crushing him again.	

 Ceila breathed again. Stan did not believe this was an autonomic
response. His girl was on the mend. Benton thought better of it. He would
have liked Ceila to rise again and be her old self but he accepted the
nurse's prognosis. He touched a faint wisp of hair that curled under her
bandages.  

 "Stan?"  

 Stan ignored Benton.  

 "She's building up her strength, Benny. I can feel it."  

 "Stan, this may just be a phase. I don't want to see you get your hopes
up for nothing."  

 Stan still looked at Ceila. He stroked her hand.  

 "Elaine told me that when you were up in the Arctic and Danny was about
to be born, you thought he'd be dead and he wasn't."  

 Benton nodded.  

 "It was a realistic expectation. That did not mean I wanted it."  

 "And wasn't it just as real that he could have survived? Huh?"  

 Benton nodded again.	

 Stan spun his head to Benton.	

 "Then why can't it be real now? Huh? Tell me. You've always had the
answers!"  

 Benton remained silent. What could he say? Was it more realistic that
Ceila would survive than she would die?  

 "Stop..."  

 The whisper was faint but heard with clarion tones. Benton rose, turning
pale.  

 Ceila did not open her eyes but her lips after many days open and uttered
with a dry mouth to stop.  

 "I'll summon the nurse," Benton said and went for the nearest nurse.  

 Stan pressed his head on Ceila's forehead.  

 "Come on, baby, look at me."  

 Ceila's head turned. She groaned a little.  

 Stan pressed her lids with his thumbs to open them. Her eyes fluttered to
slits. Her eyes could not focus. They rolled in her skull.  

 "Come on, baby, look at me. Baby?"  

 Ceila stared straight ahead of her.  

 "Daddy?"  

 Stan breathed exhaustedly.  

 "Yeah, Princess?"  

 Ceila swallowed.  

 "I can see."  

 Ceila's moments of wakefulness came intermittedly. The doctor said that
this was the best to hope for now. She should not, by any rights, have
survived or even have made the progress that she did. But her family
didn't care. To see her open her eyes again was consolation enough. If she
could survive this she could survive anything.	

 Benton walked into Ceila's room with a fruit basket. An elderly gentleman
sat next to her. His back was straight and strong and white hair swept
over his scalp. He held Ceila's hand tightly, tapping it every so often.
He spoke in a language Benton did not understand.  

 "Ja mam troche ksiazk z biblioteky. Ty zimnej?" 

 <I have some books from the library. Are you cold?> 

 The man turned to face Benton. His grayish blue eyes sparkled as he
smiled. 

 "Hello," he said in a nasal accent. 

 Ceila lifted her head. 

 "Uncle Ben," she reached for him. "I want you to meet someone." 

 Ceila sat up. 

 "Dziadek, this is my uncle, Benton Fraser," she introduced the man to
Benton. She whispered to the man. "He's from Canada, too."  

 The elderly man rose. Benton saw that the man was a few inches taller
than himself. He was impressive.  

 "Jan Kowalski," the man said. "Staszek's grandfather." 

 Benton was still confused. Jan chuckled. 

 "Stanley. He has told me about you." 

 Benton smiled. 

 "Ah, yes. Mr. Kowalski. How good it is to finally meet you." 

 Jan tapped Benton's hand. 

 "I would so much like to speak with you later on. There is much, you will
find, we have in common."  

 Benton was again intrigued. He wondered what was told about him.   

 "I've come to see Ceila," he admitted lifting a fruit basket, "and to
leave her some fresh fruit."  

 Ceila reached for the basket.	

 "Oh thank you, Uncle Ben." Ceila picked out a plum and bit into it. "When
I become a nurse, I won't feed my patients the food here," she smiled as
she wiped away juice from her chin.  

 Benton smiled. 

 Stan came into the room. He smiled at everyone in it.	

 "Hey, Fraser, hi! Hi, Princess!" 

 Stan nodded his head to his grandfather. 

 "Dzien dobry, Dziadek." 

 <Good day, Grandad.> 

 Jan nodded back. 

 "You met him, huh?" Stan assumed. 

 Ceila sat up. 

 "Why don't you three go out for tea now? Come back in an hour. I'm so
sleepy anyway." 

 Stan seemed disappointed. 

 "I just got here." 

 Ceila threw herself back into the pillows. 

 "You can come back. Please? I do feel so tired." 

 Stan bowed his head. 

 "Okay." 

 Benton turned to Ceila. 

 "Let me stay for a minute. I'd like to ask you something." 

 Ceila nodded and shut her eyes. 

 Stan held the door open for Jan. Once Stan shut the door, Jan chuckled to
himself. 

 "Co?" 

 <What?> 

 "Ceila jest bolesna. Ona wiedzia my chciemy omowic." 

 <Ceila is smart. She knows we want to talk.>  

 Stan could not deny it. They wanted to speak but not in front of her.	

 Jan walked ahead of Stan with his hands behind his back. His eyes
wandered wistfully about the place.  

 "Ja mowilem Ceile po polsku."	

 <I was speaking to Ceila in Polish.>  

 Stan huffed.  

 "Dziadek, ona nie mowa po polsku."  

 <Grandad, she doesn't speak Polish.>  

 Jan shrugged. Benton exited the room. He smiled politely at Jan. Jan
extended his arm to Benton.  

 "Ah! Constable Fraser, walk with us. Please."	

 Benton walked along side of Jan. Stan, out of some sense of order, walked
a step behind and allowed his grandfather to dominate the conversation.  

 "You are my granddaughter's uncle and you have a vested interest in her
future, yes?"  

 Benton nodded.  

 "Yes, that is true." Benton's voice became stronger. "But I cannot cut a
path for her. That is entirely up to her."  

 Jan stopped walking. His face was at first solid and then softened to a
smile.	

 "Ah, how unconventional you are."  

 Jan turned to Stan. 

 "Staszek, please get us some hot chocolate."  

 Stan bowed his head once and left. Benton found the situation curious.
Stan prided himself in being a "bad boy", going so far as to defy his
superiors, but was a willing and voiceless attendant, a child clinging to
his grandfather for the sake of filial piety.  

 "Please, walk," Jan continued.  

 Benton walked through the promenade of the hospital where patients sat
with relatives amid lush greenery and weak sunlight pouring through the
skylight.  

 "Staszek," Jan continued, "Stanley is important to me, more important
than any other grandchild." Jan's eyes became clear. "His mother was from
the old country, a very beautiful and kind woman. When she arrived in this
country she had nothing. She was the hope of her family. You see- at the
time, Poland was...."  

 Benton nodded.  

 "Under the grip of Soviet communism. Yes. Go on."  

 "It was more than that," Jan continued, "it was loyalty, Constable, to
those left behind and to the way of life you couldn't live any more." Jan
was wistful. His eyes were glassy. "When his mother died, she left the
greatest thing she could- her son. I have made it my life's work to look
after him, to serve in his best interests. Do you understand?"	

 Benton's brow furrowed.  

 "I don't think you would know, Constable. Staszek is- you might say-
rare, a price above rubies, my beloved grandson whom I would trade nothing
for, not even my life. So you see, his daughter is also important to me." 


 Benton bowed his head. 

 "Will you forgive me if I am candid?" 

 Jan nodded. 

 "Of course." 

 "I don't think you see your grandchildren as anything but extensions of
yourself, sir." 

 Jan bit his lip. 

 "You are candid, Constable. You have seen death, yes?" 

 Benton thought of his father and mother and Lisa, the woman he could not
forget. 

 "I have." 

 "Then you should understand," Jan cut in abruptly. His face softened. "I
want for her to have a good life. If you know it is unsafe here, then she
should go. I will miss her but I will understand."  

 Stan returned with the hot chocolate. Jan greeted his grandson with a
tender pat on the cheek. He sipped his hot chocolate once and turned to
Benton.   

 "I must meet her mother." 

 Jan returned to Ceila's room leaving the two behind. Benton regarded him.


 "The guardian of a dynasty." 

 Stan flashed a look at him. 

 "What does that mean?" 

 Benton was stern. 

 "I don't think he feels for Ceila. I mean- I am sure he loves her but..."


 Stan shook his hand at him. 

 "I know what you're gonna say, that he's old fashioned and stuff but you
don't know him. He's been through a lot of shit back in the old country. I
mean- you know what it's like to lose everybody, well he's got nobody
else. We're all he has. He loves us, he loves me." Stan edged closer to
Benton. "My own father doesn't even love me but he does."  

 Stan turned to Ceila's room.  

 "We have to listen to Dziadek. He knows what's best."	

  

 Ceila was asleep when Bess arrived. Her long black eyelashes fluttered
and she breathed freely. Bess laid her hand lightly upon Ceila's forehead.
She regarded her child. She had never put too much thought into her
relationship with her. She couldn't. If she were to separate herself from
the girl she placed into strangers' care so many years ago she would have
to be distant. It pained her, but as Bess had been told, it was all for
the best. Now, nothing could be denied. Ceila looked too much like her,
with her tousled black hair, smooth skin. Bess vowed now she would let
nothing part her from her firstborn the way she had before. There were no
more excuses or father figures or inexperience. 

 Ceila shifted when she felt the weight upon her head. Her eyes shot open.
 

 "What are you doing here?" she asked tersely.	

 Bess recoiled.  

 "I wanted to see you." Bess paused for a second. "Wouldn't you be happy
to see me after what happened?"  

 Ceila smirked.  

 "Are you surprised I'm not?"  

 Bess bit on the inside of her cheek and suppressed an urge to slap the
insolent girl.	

 "Ceila, don't do this to me."	

 "What?!" Ceila sat up. "Don't be angry? I don't have a right, is that
it?" The colour flushed from her face. "You lied to me for so many years.
You couldn't even bring yourself to tell me. You had to wait to humiliate
me in front of strangers and now you want me to forgive you, is that it?"
Ceila's fists curled in rage. "You are so unbelievable!"  

 "Ceila, I want to begin again. That's all I ask." 

 Ceila shook her head. 

 "It's too much." 

 Bess huffed. 

 "You want to judge me, Ceila, but you have no right! What would you have
done?" 

 "I would never have lied." 

 "I never lied to you. I just..." 

 Ceila's brow raised. 

 "Never told me anything for the first seventeen years of my life? Yes, I
can see that." Ceila leaned back in her bed. "Please leave and don't let
the door hit your ass on the way out." 

 Bess expected this insolence but she still couldn't accept it.  

 "I can't think of anything to do. You won't forgive me." Bess laughed a
little. "Why should I? Really? I did what I thought was best. I made a
decision, the first decision as a mother, to give you a good home. Was
that wrong?" 

 Ceila's eyes became puffy.  

 "Yeah," she breathed out. "If it means that you lied to me- yeah."   

 Ceila turned her head. Bess knew she was defeated. She rose from her
chair and quietly left the room.   

 13. North 

 Benton joined his fingers together. He had waited for Ray all day. He sat
draining cups of tea after cups of tea. What he had waited to tell Ray
would prove difficult.	

 Ray walked into the sitting room after putting the twins to bed, shut the
doors and sat across from Benton. He smiled.  

 "What is it, Benny?" 

 Benton lifted his head and sat back in his chair. 

 "I made a telephone call yesterday." 

 Ray nodded. 

 "And? How is this different from any other phone call?" 

 Benton was a little more definite. 

 "A telephone call home." 

 Ray became flaccid. 

 "Home? As in Canada?" 

 "Yes," Benton nodded. "I've spoken to Chief Inspector Forbes and he has
agreed to let Ceila stay with him after the trial is over. She'll be able
to continue her schooling and volunteer at the infirmary."  

 Ray huffed.  

 "I can't believe you thought this up by yourself. Didn't you bother to
ask Ceila?"  

 Benton shook his head.  

 "No. I tried to breach the subject but she wouldn't hear of it. She would
have said no so I overstepped my bounds and acted as her sole guardian."
Benton breathed softly. "I have thought this through, Ray, and I cannot
think of anything better. She can't stay here."  

 Ray huffed in his annoyed way. He shook his head.  

 "Yeah and I remember a naive Mountie who would have gotten his head blown
off if it weren't for some guidance."  

 Benton's brow furrowed. He could not believe Ray's irrationality in this
situation. 

 "Ray, that is completely irrelevant. A trained Mounted police officer is
completely different from an impressionable and defenceless girl."  

 Benton's gaze became icy.  

 "You know that now is not the time, Ray. It never was."  

 Benton stood up and let himself out.  

 Ray did not move. He could see Benton was right. He thought of why he had
brought Ceila over in the first place. He damned Bess' secrecy and still
did. But he had grown fond of Ceila. He saw himself as the father he
wished Stan wasn't. And it became clear to him that he must do as a father
should- send her away. There would be a time for her, but not now.   

 A guilty man knows he has many years to wait. The trial was no more than
a phase, something that drifted by unawares. Now, all that lay ahead for
Gainsbridge was years of waiting. He touched the Lucite faintly. Behind
him the stark white walls of his cell shone like a beacon for a dark mind.
He drifted from the Lucite wall and sat on his cot. He had never felt so
alone. His angel was gone. The abyss drew nearer and he trembled. How he
wanted to be saved but knew could not be.  

  

 Ceila could not sleep. Tomorrow she would head back up North, far away
from her father and her uncle. She filled in the hours of sleep with
tears. Everything was too good to be true. She could never stay up here.
It was a lie, like Bess' years-long deception. She touched the furry ear
of the stuffed bear Stan gave her. It was a dopey little thing but she
loved it. She would not take it. She hoped to come back and find it
waiting for her.   

 March seventeenth.  

 Morning. It peered through the windows and summoned Ceila to a life
forced upon her. Today she would have to go back up north.  

 Stan rapped on Ceila's door. He poked his head and smiled at her.  

 "Princess, I have a surprise for you." 

 Ceila smiled gently and followed Stan out of the room.  

 "Taadaa!" he grinned and held up a plate of toast adorned with slices of
kiwi. 

 Ceila let out a laugh. 

 "Thanks." 

 She put the plate down before her. She did not smile any more. Neither
did Stan. 

 "You, uh, should finish your breakfast." 

 Ceila nodded slowly.  

 "You never know when I'll eat here again." 

 Stan's shoulders caved in. 

 "Ceila, please don't think like that. This isn't permanent." 

 Ceila flashed a surprised look to Stan. 

 "I have been lied to, kidnapped, practically killed and now I'm being
carted home, as if I had a choice! I can't come back home because there is
no home!"  

 Stan stood and faced her.  

 "That's not true! This is your home and it will always be your home.
Nothing will ever change that. Okay?"  

 "I want to believe that," Ceila said slowly. 

 Stan's hands rested on Ceila's shoulder. 

 "You know you can come back, right? Right?" 

 Ceila smiled at once. 

 "Right here, home, yeah." 

 Stan held his only child and lost his hand in her short black curls. 

 "This is home, Ceila, come back to it. I'll be waiting."