This story contains violence, and a few mild swear words. Comments are
welcome, if they're nice.
"Vecchio! Get your butt in here!"
It was a cold day in Chicago that afternoon. Detective Ray Vecchio had just
returned from his lunch break at a cheap coffee shop with no warmth. Inside the
Chicago PD building, the air was stiff and rigid. Ray popped his head into Lt. Welsh's
office.
"Sir?" Ray answered. The Lieutenant's face was hard.
"Sit down, Vecchio." Ray sunk down in the hard wooden chair facing directly
towards Welsh's desk. He didn't really seem angry. He almost seemed kind of
forgiving.....almost.
"Vecchio, I've been examining your work on the Asher case." He squinted his
eyes and paused in his conversation. Ray took the chance to jump in.
"Sir, I know I haven't been working my best recently, but-"
The Lt. butted in. "Vecchio, you're off the case." Welsh remained firm, but he
didn't look Ray in the eyes.
"I'm off the case," Ray repeated in disbelief.
"Vecchio-I'm not finished." Ray lifted his head. He hated that tone that
Welsh got, that bad-news-bearing tone. "I'm suggesting a leave of absence for you."
Ray's eyes saddened, but the rest of his face was swept with fury. He stood up
and repeated Welsh's words.
"A leave of absence." He didn't feel right. He briefly felt slightly dizzy, like
he was dreaming. He was silent.
"Vecchio, you've been working under a lot of stress....." Ray turned away
from him in anger. "Maybe some time off until-"
He couldn't finish his sentence. He was interrupted by Ray slamming his
door shut.
Ray sat alone on his bed in his bedroom late that afternoon. He still wasn't
sure how to feel or how to act. No one else was home; his mother and sister had
gone to the mall, his brother had headed for a Bulls game-a Bulls game Ray could
have gone to but didn't. He was supposed to be working on the Asher case instead.
It had been a kind of stressful period for Ray, but he had no idea other
people had noticed as well. It was getting close to the evening and Ray had no plans,
no dinner, and no one around to talk to. He was alone.
Alone. The word rang through his head like a firebell. Instead of breaking
down and crying like the sissy he wasn't, he picked up the phone and dialled Fraser's
number. It rang ten times, and no one picked up. Ray set the phone back down and
glanced at his watch. It was 5: 07. No one would be back home for a couple of hours.
Frustrated, Ray picked up the car keys to his '67 Riviera and left.
Benton Fraser had gone grocery shopping in a convenience store near his
block. He returned to his apartment promptly at 5:30, just in time to feed his loyal wolf,
Diefenbaker. He set his two paper grocery bags down on the table, took a plate of
cooked hamburger out of his refrigerator, and dumped the plates contents into Dief's
food bowl. After putting away his bag of groceries, Fraser sat down at his tiny kitchen
table and called Ray at work. No answer. He dialled Ray's cell phone. Ray had left the
phone at his house, so again, there was no answer. Fraser stirred around
uncomfortably. Ray always carried his cell phone with him.....
Ray had driven himself far away from his house. He felt so frustrated. It
had been three months since Fraser was released from the hospital. He recalled it
painfully. It was nine months ago that bitch had come to take Fraser out of Chicago,
out of his life. Nine months since Victoria Metcalfe had broken Fraser's heart. Nine
months since Fraser had been shot. Shot by Ray, his best friend.
Ray cringed. he shifted around on his stool. He raised his head in sorrow
and ordered one more scotch.
He had driven himself right into a bar. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and
noticed his watch: it was 11:00 already. Gulping his booze, he silently cursed at
himself. Leave of absence. A damn leave of absence. His glass was empty
again. He'd had too many. He knew it, too. Or, he realized it as he staggered into the
men's room. He kept trying to tell himself he was drunk. It was like his body knew it
but his mind wouldn't believe it.
He needed to call somebody. Not home. His mother always worried when
he was home late, the shock of her baby boy being stuck, drunk at a bar, would hurt
her too much. He didn't want to leave the Riv there overnight, but he knew he couldn't
drive home. He was going to get a cab, but it struck him that he only had a few bucks
left. Not enough to get a cab.
Fraser! He'd call Fraser, that was it.
Ray reached into his pocket.
"Oh no, my phone!" he cried out loud. He didn't realize he'd left it behind.
"Somebody stole it!"
Depressed, he used a pay phone and called Fraser. Fraser was quite
relieved and agreed to come and get him right away.
Ray was too intoxicated to think clearly. He knew his friend would be
coming in a yellow taxi. Sure enough, he saw a yellow taxi. Many of them. And
because of what seemed like a hundred scotches, he saw double of all the yellow
taxis.
He was sure he saw Fraser in one of them. It had to be. It was a cab on
the other side of the street- a very busy street. He had to make it to Benny.
He stepped off the curb into the road. All he could see next was a pair of
blinding white headlights. There was a loud horn blast and a screeching sound, then
nothing. Ray laid motionless is the middle of it all.
Fraser arrived in front of the bar soon after the ambulance did. He was
greeted with bright red and blue flashing lights, and paramedics all around. Fraser
pushed past a crowd of people who were all barricaded off the center. He immediately
felt mild sympathy towards the unfortunate person in the center, although he wanted
to get a closer look. As the paramedics turned over the unconscious man lying in the
street, Fraser saw who it was. He went pale.
"Ray!" he shouted over the noise. "Ray!" the mountie pushed all the way
through into the middle, next to the ambulance. He repeated Ray's name, but he was
frightened and not completely sure how to handle himself. A woman in a black
paramedic uniform quickly approached Fraser.
"Is this your friend?" Fraser nodded, not taking his eyes off Ray.
"Yes ma'am."
"Alright. Do you want to ride in the ambulance?" she questioned delicately.
The uniformed people lifted his friend onto a stretcher.
"Please."
Fraser made sure not to be in anyone's way as he boarded the ambulance.
The doors shut closed, and Fraser heard sirens blaring away outside. His heart
pounded.
Next to him, the uniformed men were sticking all kinds of tubes and
needles into Ray. There was a gash on the top of his head which one man was trying
to cover with a cloth, already partly soaked in blood.
As another paramedic moved aside, Fraser noticed something else. Ray's
leg was broken, badly. There was blood- it was too much blood. Fraser made himself
look away.
"What happened?" he asked with dead seriousness. The same woman he'd
talked to before answered him, without looking up.
"Your buddy here's unbelievably drunk. Tried to cross the street and got hit
by a car going full speed."
Fraser winced. It didn't seem real. It was always especially hard for him
when these things happened- which they frequently did, partly because they were cops,
and also some bad luck. It was supposed to be on of those mishaps that only
happened to "those other people".
The ambulance pulled into the hospital. Immediately, all the paramedics
hopped out and pulled out the stretcher. Fraser followed them all the way into the
building, until a woman stopped him and told him he had to stay in the waiting room.
Reluctantly, Fraser anxiously sat down. He stayed awake and alert the entire night.
Fraser had taken upon himself the unpleasant task of calling Ray's family
and telling them of his accident. He decided that the less he told Frannie and Mrs.
Vecchio, the less hysterical Frannie would be driving to the hospital. He had conveniently
forgot to mention that Ray had been stiff drunk, and also that his knee was bending at
a very unnatural angle.
Fran and Ray's mother rushed into the emergency room, looking terrified.
Fran, wearing a very short fluorescent pink skirt and a tight black short sleeved shirt,
ran to Fraser in panic.
"Oh my gawd, Ben, what happened?" she screeched. Fraser gestured for
the two of them to sit down. Mrs. Vecchio obliged, while Frannie sat nearly in Fraser's lap
and clinging to his arm.
"Ray was hit by a car," he said rather bluntly. Francesca's eyes widened,
although she already knew that much.
"Is he going to be all right?" Mrs. Vecchio put in. "Where is he?"
"I don't know where he is. I'm sure he's going to be just fine," Fraser said,
doubting his own quiet words.
"You were in the ambulance, weren't you Benton?" Fran asked, not
releasing her grip from his elbow. "What did he look like?"
Fraser looked down. He really didn't want to say anything just then. He did
like Fran, and Mrs. Vecchio.....but he just wanted to be left alone. And he didn't want
to give details of his poor friend's injuries.
"His head was bleeding."
"That's it?" Mrs. Vecchio asked him. Fraser nodded. "Then he is
going to be all right. Fran breathed a sigh of relief. She did want to know what time it
was, though, so she consequently released her grip on Fraser's arm. She looked at
her cheap pink watch, which she had made sure to match with her skirt. It was almost
3:30 AM.
"Benton," Mrs. Vecchio said after a long pause, "how?"
"How?"
"Yes, how. How did he get to be in front of a speeding car?" she queried.
Fraser blinked hard. It was another question he didn't want to answer, another subject
he didn't want to discuss. He quickly contemplated in his head whether or not to tell
the truth.
"Ray-" he began. "Ray was drunk." Fraser looked Mrs. Vecchio in the eyes,
very softly. She clasped her hand over her mouth. Francesca's mouth hung open. All three
of them were silent for a long time. Then Mrs. Vecchio got up and left the two of them
in the waiting room. She didn't say a word. Another ten minutes or so passed by.
"You know Fraser," Frannie said quietly, "when Ray wakes up....she's going to
kill him." Fraser laughed, but still didn't feel anything but pain. "I'm going to go find
some coffee, do you want some?" she asked him.
"No, thank you, Francesca." She nodded, glancing once more at his
beautiful face, then left her seat.
More time passed. It was almost 4:00 in the morning and the three sat in
the waiting room, not reading magazines, not conversing in any way, only thinking
softly to themselves. Francesca seemed rather sleepy, and would occasionally rest her head
on Fraser's shoulder, thinking that was very subtle and he would not catch on to her
mild flirting. Mrs. Vecchio sat forward in her chair, and was showing a multitude of
emotions. She felt anger at her son, as well as caring that came hand in hand with her
natural motherly instincts. Fraser just stared at the magazine table in front of him,
emotionless on the outside. On the inside he, too, felt many things. He wanted his
friend to be fine. He wanted for everything to be fine, wishing the whole damn night
never even occurred. Another five minutes blurred by, seeming like hours.
Then, a woman dressed in a hospital uniform approached them.
"Excuse me, are you the family of Raymond Vecchio?" she asked them.
They immediately snapped out of their dazes. She pronounced Vecchio as Ve-chee-
oh, and Fraser was not part of the family. But, too weary to correct her, they just
nodded.
"Well you can see him now, if you want. Only two visitors at a time, though,
please." Fraser, Mrs. Vecchio, and Fran looked at each other, and silently agreed that
Fran and Mrs. Vecchio would go. Fraser rested his cheek on his fist and sat back in
his chair. Waiting.
Fran opened the door to Ray's room. He was not as fine as Fraser had
promised them, but she was eager to see her brother. Mrs. Vecchio and Fran tiptoed
to the side of his bed, leaning on the bedrail. Ray's head had a white bandage on it, which
looked like it had been previously bleeding. His leg, however, had also been bleeding.
It was set in a bandage over his knee, and there was a brace that ran from his shin to
his thigh. They realized his leg was broken.
There was an iv bag that was connected to his arm, and an oxygen tube
that ran from his nostrils behind his head. Frannie smiled gently at him. His eyes were
closed.
"Hey, Ray." she pushed his arm gently. "Ray." Mrs. Vecchio remained
silent, staring at Ray. He stirred, but didn't seem to wake up. "Ray!" she whispered.
He stirred some more, then his eyelids slowly opened. He seemed a little flustered,
but otherwise content.
"Hey, Frannie..." he whispered back hoarsely, then smiled back at her. "Hi,
Ma." his voice was very quiet.
Frannie was looking for something to say, but all the words she had
thought of before seemed to vanish before they reached her lips.
"So....does it hurt?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
Ray nodded. "Yeah."
"Can I get you anything?" she asked him. He was pretty drowsy. What he
wanted was a nice warm bed. But he shook his head. "Ok," she whispered. She
smiled at him again. "I'll be in the waiting room if you want me." He looked at her
warmly as she closed the door behind her.
"How you doing, Ma?" he asked. She looked up at his face, not smiling. He
knew that she knew. His stomach turned. His leg killed, his head pained him....but it
didn't hurt as much as seeing his own mother so sad.
"Oh Ray," she said. Neither of them spoke, only sort of looking at one
another. The room became silent.
"I'm sorry, Ma."
Fraser knocked lightly on the door, and then allowed himself into Ray's
room. He was surprised to see Ray had the entire room to himself, as small as it was.
Just like Francesca and Mrs. Vecchio, he approached Ray's bed and placed his hands on
the bedrail. Ray smiled when he saw him, though he was still pretty drowsy.
"Hey, Benny," he murmured, speaking in a very slow, quiet tone. Fraser
only stood, pleased to see Ray in his, well...aliveliness.
"Hi, Ray." For some reason, whenever Ray spoke softly, the people around
him spoke softly too. Ray looked away. He was thankful to still have his life. He
felt slightly embarrassed, to have experienced such a horrible self-inflicted injury. Ray
wanted to say something, but the precise words wouldn't come out. Fraser looked at
him expectantly.
"It was my fault, Fraser." Ray was still staring in the opposite direction of
Fraser, avoiding eye contact with him.
"Ray, don't say that," Fraser said comfortingly. Technically it was a lie, but
he didn't know what else to say.
"It was, Benny. That was a dumbass thing to do." Ray looked up at Fraser's
face. His eyes were semi-bloodshot, and he needed a shave. Fraser looked like he
hadn't slept all night......because he hadn't. "And you know what's worse," Ray
continued on.
"What?"
"It's not the first time that's happened to me," Ray said, chuckling. The two
of them laughed.
"I don't think there was alcohol involved, the last time a car smashed into
you," Fraser added. Ray sighed, and stared down at his feet.
"So," Fraser started, "can I get you anything?"
"A new leg."
"Anything else?"
"More painkillers. Lots more painkillers." Fraser grinned. He knew that Ray
would be fine. They glanced at each other once more, then Fraser opened the door to
leave.
"And Benny?" Fraser stopped in his tracks.
"Yes, Ray?"
"Thanks," Ray stated.
"For what, Ray?" One of Fraser's eyebrows raised itself in muddlement.
"For everything." Fraser nodded and closed the door behind him.
Ray returned home from the hospital a week later. His mother forgave him
and his sister pampered him with chicken soup and painkillers, which he was more
than thankful for.
A month and a half later he returned back to work, on metal crutches and
with a large brace on his leg, but otherwise content. The Asher case had concluded
itself, and because of his handicap Ray was forced behind his desk for another month.
He was still glad to be back at work, though.
Ray was ashamed to have been so blindly stupid. He swore to himself he'd
never do it again.
It wasn't worth it.
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"It Only Happens To Those Other People"
Ashley Calvert
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Part One
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Part Two
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Part Three
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Part Four
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Part Five
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Part Six
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Part Seven
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Part Eight
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Backward
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The End