Fic: Jabberwocky, Part 11a/?
It was midnight when Ray pulled up in front of Chris’ house, driving him home as he usually did, trying to take Chris’ mind, as well as his own, off of the situation by describing the rear ends of several of the nurses at the hospital. Occasionally, Chris glanced over at the bruises forming on the backs of Ray’s hands, mostly concentrated over his knuckles, but he spent most of his time staring out of the window, trying to think of proper questions for the studio employees. He was still lost in thought when the car stopped, and Ray had to shake him to pull him out of his reverie.
“Chris. Snap to, Chris. You’re home,” Ray said as he gripped Chris’ shoulder. Chris stared for a moment, and then started to open the door.
“Thanks for the ride, mate,” he said, just as he had hundreds of times before, but instead of mentioning trolling for birds or going out for drinks, Ray just stared at him for a moment.
“Not going to ask your best mate in for a beer, then?” Ray said, a mischievous grin playing over his features. Chris considered this, a confused look on his face, and then nodded.
“You want to come in for a beer, mate?” Chris asked. Ray pulled the keys from the ignition and hopped out onto the curb, waiting for Chris to come around the car and join him.
“Thanks, mate, don’t mind if I do,” Ray said with a chuckle, clapping Chris on the back.
As Chris unlocked and opened the door, Ray took in the site of the house, staring at the small front garden, which included a small patch of weeds that might once have been a flower bed. “Your mum used to have flowers? Mine did, too, used go on about them for hours on end,” Ray gestured towards the patch of weeds, and Chris winced, slightly, as he walked into the house and motioned for Ray to follow him.
“Yeah. Her pride and joy, they were,” Chris said softly as he hung up his jacket, then offered to take Ray’s. The spindly old coat rack by the door quaked a bit under the weight, but eventually balanced out.
Chris disappeared for a moment, heading back into the kitchen, and then returned with two cold beers. He handed one to Ray, and then sat down next to him on the sofa in the living room, noticing that Ray was once again eyeing every corner of the room. “Mate, I cannot believe you’ve been bloody holding out on me like this,” Ray said, his eyes gleaming. “This could be a regular love palace, you know! Seriously, just some flowery wallpaper or sommat other shite, maybe a few candles, you could have them eating out of your hand, you could, or maybe, maybe licking away at some other bit, eh?”
Chris stared down at the beer in his hands, and then up at the photograph on the mantel. “I don’t think so, Ray. Maybe - maybe later.” Ray took a long pull from his bottle, then looked over at Chris again.
“Okay, maybe not now, but after the case blows over - bloody marvelous little fanny magnet, I’m tellin’ you!” He gazed around the room. “You’ve got no telly?”
Chris paused, then allowed himself a small gulp of his beer, feeling the mild sliding coldly down his throat. “Upstairs. Small one in me bedroom.”
“Ah, the love pad of a future master, perfect place for the telly. Why don’t you give me the guided tour? Take your mind off of things for a bit before I go back to mine.” Ray took another large swig, then aimed a very soft, mock-punch at Chris’ shoulder, noticing Chris’ eyes go wide as he saw the fist coming at him. “Mate? What do you say?”
Chris nodded, knowing that he should be grateful for Ray’s efforts, but also upset that he wanted his mind to be taken off of the case, when it should be all that he was thinking about. He tried to keep from staring at Ray’s hands, and then looked down at his own, noticing the bruising and scraping that had occurred when he had beaten Myers. He sighed as he stood, setting his beer down atop an old cork coaster, several of which were scattered over the top of the small coffee table, and then started to lead Ray through the house.
“Living room you’ve seen - record player and some books. Haven’t read ‘em, were me mum’s.” He gestured towards the phonograph, and the small shelf filled with books and records. Most of the books were incredibly old, having been his grandfather’s; the entire works of Dickens, he knew, and a few others. An old, fading set of Oz books from when he was a child, too - his mother had used to read them to him. Ray surveyed the shelf, nodding at the collection.
“Some literature and stuff, though, mate - make you look a right smart bloke to any bird that reads through the titles. Ought to keep them up, make yourself look to be a bit of an intellectual, like,” Ray said, and then his eyes flicked to the photograph on the mantel. He picked it up, and Chris felt himself start to shake slightly, willing Ray not to ask about his family. “Your mum and dad, then? Dad was a…” Ray squinted at the photo. “Bloody hell, dad was a Lieutenant-Colonel! You never told me that,” Ray turned and beamed at Chris, trying to bring up something that would cheer him.
“Yeah, served throughout the war, he did. When he came back, he wanted to move me and mum to another house, bigger one in the country, but she wouldn’t leave me grandad’s place. Said no other place would ever feel like home, so we stayed here,” Chris toed the edge of the old, threadbare rug with his toe as he said it.
“Nice wages for that rank, though, eh, mate? You got it all sacked away here, sommat for a rainy day?” Ray’s thoughts were twisting around the idea of Chris having a sack of cash somewhere in the house, but Chris shook his head in response.
“Me mum remarried, after me dad died. All went to him, all but the house, that stayed in my name, at me granddad’s request,” Chris said, moving to leave the room. “Me uncle Mike. Michael. Skelton,” Chris stammered over the phrase, feeling his heart pound as he chastised himself for even saying the name. Don’t ask about him, don’t ask, don’t ask… Chris chanted softly inside of his head, motioning for Ray to follow him out of the living room.
“Married ‘is sister-in-law, did your uncle? Kept it in the family, then… Then again, hope you won’t punch me one for saying so, but your mum was a nice looking bird,” Ray said, appraising the dark haired woman in the photograph.
“She was… She was beautiful,” Chris said, then nodded towards the hallway. “Come on, give you the tour, like,” he said, and Ray thankfully put the photograph down without asking any other questions. Chris led him through the hall, pointing at the dining room, where a thick layer of dust had settled over the top of a pre-war table, and a set of china, service for ten, it looked like, was displayed on a very large, old-fashioned sideboard. Ray leaned forward and stared at the blue patterning on the dishes, then turned back to Chris.
“Your mum’s and her mum’s before her, I’d reckon?” Ray smiled when Chris nodded. “Same with my mum. Had to keep a hold of the family china, and all,” Ray shook his head, “Old birds. Granted, young ones still have a taste for the heirlooms, if they’ve been raised to it. Lot of pretty young ones, nice big tits and all,” Ray let his eyes twinkle with his latest attempt to drag Chris back to normalcy.
“You’ve seen the kitchen,” Chris muttered as he gestured towards the back of the house, and then he moved to lead Ray back into the hallway and up the stairs. Ray paused by a door under the stairs, noting that it was much bigger than the normal cupboard doors under stairs, and remembering how old the house was.
“This lead to a basement? Chris, have you got a basement and all in this place?” Ray asked, wondering what sort of things Chris would keep in a basement.
“Yeah. Come on, mate. I’ll show you the rest,” Chris’ eyes were wide, and he could feel sweat start to drip down his back as Ray lingered by the basement door for a moment. He exhaled as Ray walked away from the basement door and followed him up the stairs. There were marks on the walls, were photographs had once hung, and Ray nodded towards them as they passed the wall and headed to the top floor.
“Why’ve you taken down all the old photos?” Ray asked, then added, “Birds love a man with family photos. Makes ‘em think a bloke’s good for a family, see,” Ray pointed at the fading squares on the wall.
“Just took ‘em down,” Chris said as he continued to trudge up the staircase. Ray allowed himself to assess Chris’ own rear as they climbed the steps, adding another mental snapshot of it to the long list of pictures of Chris’ behind in his mind, part of the same internal filing system that logged many, many women and men’s rears in his memory. For some reason, Ray never forgot a backside. He prided himself on it, especially when describing his exploits with dozens of women to the other officers in CID.
“Well, you ought to put some back up, or cover the marks with some paintings an’ shite, like, maybe some fruit in a bowl or some trees or sommat, birds really like that,” Ray said eagerly, as they reached the top of the stairs.
“Think I’ve had enough for art, the past few days,” Chris said, looking down at the floor, and Ray chided himself. He was supposed to be cheering Chris up, turning him back into the scatter-brained div of his best friend, letting him revel in the thought of hundreds of women flocking to his place, all eager for sex. Ray looked around at the doors, and pointed to the first one, the one directly in front of them.
“That your room, then?” Ray asked, and Chris shook his head.
“That’s the master bedroom. I stay in me old room,” Chris said, and Ray allowed himself a confused look.
“Why the hell you gonna do that, you div? You’re the master of the house now, aren’t you?”
“S’pose so,” Chris said as he opened the next door, showing Ray his own bedroom. He turned quickly when he heard a door open, and felt his breath catch again as Ray surveyed the master bedroom.
“Now, look at this, will you? Nice big bed, bet you’d love to get some hot little tart set up in here, eh?” Ray said, and then turned in surprise as Chris roughly grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him out of the room.
“Still got me mum’s things in it, don’t it. Don’t touch ‘em,” Chris’ voice was cold and stern, and Ray’s own features twisted in puzzlement.
“Steady on, mate - I was just havin’ a looksie. No need to get all rough and tumble, like,” Ray said, then asked, “When did she pass? Your mum, I mean?” Chris had never mentioned anything, had never been anything other than silly, simple, smiling Chris, for all the years that Ray had known him, but if his mother had died recently…
“When I was 18. Same year I joined the force,” Chris said, and Ray shook his head.
“What, ten years ago? Chris, you ought to take her things down, you know. Move into that room an’ all. It’s not good, just letting it sit there. He looked at the pained expression on Chris’ face, not sure what to say. “Come on, you div, show me your room. I’ll bet it could be a nice place to bang a bird, too,” Ray was glad when Chris’ expression softened and he continued into the next room.
The bed was still larger than a single, like Ray had had as a child - not a king, like the huge old four-poster in the forbidden master bedroom, but a double, at least. “Well, this’ll do nicely - more than enough room to squeeze your skinny arse in, plus any bird of any size; two of ‘em, if you get the Twiggy-types. Me, I’m more of Celia Hammond man, meself,” Ray smiled at Chris, who shrugged, and then Ray surveyed the rest of the room. The walls were bare, a few piles of dirty clothes were strewn about the floor, and there was a television on an old desk in one corner. A plain bureau filled another corner. Aside from that, the room was empty. “Need to jazz the place up a bit, you know. Get a nice lamp or something, you know, mood lighting. Birds go nutty for that.”
Chris continued to nod, and then Ray pointed at the other two doors. Chris looked up again, and the shut the door on his way out of his room, opening the door across the hallway for Ray. “The bath,” he said, and Ray looked inside - it was fairly large, as baths in old townhomes went, post-war tiling covering every surface, a robe and a towel lying on the floor. There was a plain sink, white, and a white tub with a shower curtain drawn around it, with a toilet in the far corner. No cabinets, and no mirrors.
“Bloody hell, mate you’ve got nought for anything on the walls at all - didn’t your mum leave you anything to put up?” Ray asked, and Chris flinched.
“Took it all down,” Chris said, shrugging.
“Well, a few girly touches is just what the place needs. Mind, you don’t want too girly, or you’ll get accused of being a poofter an’ all, but a few bits here and there, maybe put in a cabinet, or a table with a radio, maybe some pictures - dress it up a bit for the ladies, you know,” Ray was beginning to give up on the idea that he could cheer Chris up with the thought of turning his house into a love palace, and decided to try another tactic. “You know, you could throw a bit of do, in this place, invite the Gov, bunch of the lads from CID - hell, you could even invite the boss. Maybe hold a bit of a party for ‘im, when he gets better. Granted, he’d probably be happier if you set ‘im to a pile of paperwork, the wanker,” Ray said with a sly grin.
“Sure, mate,” Chris muttered, and then led the way out of the bathroom. He paused, then said, “Spare room,” and opened the last of the doors, which led into a completely empty room. “Me granddad stayed here, when he was alive, but he died when I was four. Mum always said she was gonna fix it up as a guest room, but she never got round to it.” Ray nodded, then allowed Chris to shut the door and followed him back down the stairs.
“You know, you save up some cash, you might be able to turn that into a gaming room - maybe even buy a billiards table. A lot of the lads’d come down for that, I’ll wager. Have a nice do, Mr. Center of the Party, all that,” Ray continued to try the party angle, hoping that it would succeed where the ladies angle had failed.
“Already is one…” Chris started, and then kicked himself mentally.
“Already what? You got a billiards table? What, in the basement? Why don’t you show me down there, then?” Ray said, a mild look of awe overtaking his features. “You seriously got a billiards table?”
Chris shook his head, “I don’t go down there,” he muttered, as they reached the floor of the staircase, and his eyes went wide as Ray moved to open the door under the stairs. “Ray….” Chris began, but Ray was already descending the thin, wooden stairs that led into the basement.
“Blimey! Why the hell haven’t you mentioned this?” Ray gasped as he looked around him. The floor was plain stone tiles, covered by an old rug, and atop the rug sat a pre-war billiards table. The felt was worn and moth-eaten in some places, and the white parts of the balls were starting to yellow, but there, in the center of the basement, was a billiards table. Ray surveyed the room, and noticed that there was a small bar set up in one corner, and another sofa and set of chairs in the corner, looking very much like they were from the late 50’s. “This what your uncle spent your dad’s money on, then?” Ray’s eyes continued to drink in the sights, and he noticed that there was a dartboard set up on the wall next to the bar. “This is bloody brilliant! Bit of spit an’ polish, get the table redone, and you’ve got a right party pad! Chris, why’ve you never had me over before, mate? This is grand!” Ray turned, and noticed that Chris was still making his way down the steps, slowly.
“I, I don’t come down here,” Chris said, and Ray chuckled.
“Why the hell not? This place is bloody fantastic! Wait until the guys at the station hear about this! You’ll be the center of the party for ages, mate, once you get a few of us over… Oh, you have got to be shittin’ me… Is the bar stocked?” Ray made his way over, then saw that there were several bottles, all from the late 1950’s, including… “Single malt, 1957! Chris, take a looksie at what you’ve got! Gov himself’d be pleased to have a collection like this… Wine… Holy hell, you’ve really been holding out on me, mate!” Ray’s glee faded slightly as he noticed that Chris was still standing at the foot of the stairs, his arms wrapped tightly about him.
“Can we go back upstairs, Ray?” Chris asked, and further confusion crushed Ray’s happy mood out.
“What the hell for? Why not survey your kingdom, you div? Look at all this…” Ray tried to lighten the mood and to regain his cheer, and he reached out and grabbed Chris by the wrist. “Come on!” Chris shook away from him, anger burning in his eyes.
“I don’t come down here,” Chris said, more resolutely, and he pointed back at the old staircase. “Let’s go.”
“Come on, mate. You’ve got to have the lads round for this! Just one night! You’ll be the talk of the station! First you grow a pair and kill that damned bastard, and now, look, you throw this big do, and suddenly, you’re - “ Chris cut Ray off, something that Ray was least expecting.
“Oh, it’s just bloody brilliant, I killed a man. I killed someone, Ray! That’s two now! And it’s so bloody brilliant that I set in on Myers like that, wasn’t it? So bloody fucking wonderful! That’s what it means to be a man, right? That’s what it means to be a good copper? Like when you killed Kemble, yeah, stuffed him so full of cocaine it was coming out of his eyes? That’s good, is it? That’s bloody fucking wonderful? That’s what I’m supposed to be, is it? Exactly what I’m supposed to be?” Without thinking, Chris raised his arm and slammed a fist into Ray’s jaw, sending Ray twisting back, onto the top of the billiards table.
“You little…” Ray advanced on Chris, punching him once in the stomach, and then once in the nose, watching blood spurt out of one of Chris’ nostrils as he did so. Chris retaliated by slamming one fist into Ray’s shoulder, and then drawing his knee up and into the larger man’s gut, doubling him over. He pulled back to take another swing at Ray’s jaw, but Ray caught his fist in his hand, and then punched him, hard, at the temple. Chris saw stars and let himself fall to the floor, and then, anger and fear and pain all burning within him, he rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Ray and slamming him into the far wall, the dartboard and the bottles in the bar rattling as he did so.
Chris had put his entire weight into the shove, leaving himself off-balance, and Ray grabbed him by his shirt collar with one hand, then drove his other fist directly into Chris’ eye socket, watching as he head snapped round and he fell to the ground. Ray quickly bent and grabbed the waist of Chris’ pants, and the back of his collar, and then threw him, hard, into the billiards table. Chris fell to the floor, gasping, and Ray stood above him. “What the hell is this about, then? Kemble? You want to go raking that shite up again? You think I don’t know what happened there? You think I really wanted the daft little bugger to die? You still mad at me for that, not man enough to do nought but watch when it happened, not man enough to say nought about it, to say you didn’t like it, even after it had happened, even after all this time? You damned, little, soft, girly, nonce pile of dog shite! Useless little…” Ray was cut off as Chris came flying up off of the floor, landing blow after blow over Ray’s face and torso, Ray barely having time to block a third of the punches.
“That’s it then, isn’t it? Is this what makes a good copper? Is it? Well it’s not me! It’s not! I am just some useless little pile of dog shite, just another soft nonce wanker moron looney’s son, and that is it! That is it! I can’t…” Chris dropped to his knees, and Ray took the opportunity to throw his fists downwards, once to Chris’ cheekbone, and again to his eye, once more to his nose… The power drained out of Ray’s blows as he noticed that Chris had stopped fighting, and that he was just sitting on the floor, sobbing, taking the blows. “I can’t be that. I can’t. And I don’t want to… I’m just… I’m just me, and that’s all I’ll ever be. Never be a good copper. Never be anything… Never… I can’t. I’m just me… Why is that not good enough? Why is that never good enough?” Chris was crying hysterically now, his shoulders hitching, blood and snot and tears racing down his face.
“Come on, get up,” Ray said, angrily, and Chris continued to sob on the floor. The urge to kick Chris in the ribs rose up in Ray, but he buried it away, bending down next to Chris. “Come on, get up. We’ll go back upstairs, have another beer…” Chris wrapped his arms around Ray, tightly, pulling him to the floor, pressing his body into Ray’s. Ray flopped onto his bottom on the floor, not sure of what to do, and then slowly wrapped his arms around Chris, feeling Chris’ body tremble and shake with each sob.
“I just… I’m just me, Ray, and I don’t want to have to do it. I can’t. I can’t be like him. I… I was so scared, when I saw what I did to that bastard… I just… I want to be me, but that’ll never be good enough. I’ll never be good enough,” Chris choked the words out between sobs, still clutching at Ray, burying his head in Ray’s chest. His sobs continued for a long time, then gradually subsided, his grip on Ray easing up, and Ray soon found himself holding Chris, feeling Chris’ body shake, his limbs gone slack, his legs curled under him. Ray pulled him up, slightly, hauling him onto his lap, letting his head rest on his shoulder.
As Chris continued to shake, Ray moved his arms, still holding Chris’ quaking form, running one hand through Chris’ hair, feeling slow tears start to fall again, mixing with the grime of blood, tears, and mucus that stained his shoulder as Chris wept. He slowly rubbed his other hand along Chris’ back, waiting for it to end. It seemed an eternity, sitting on the cold stones of the basement floor, waiting for Chris to stop shaking and crying in his arms. Ray bent his head and rested it against Chris,’ trying to think of something to say.
“The hell was all that about, then?” Once Chris had finally stilled, Ray pushed him back slightly, trying to ease him into a sitting position, pushing him off of his lap so that the two men were sitting, side by side, on the floor. Ray reached an arm around Chris, pulling him against him, supporting his shoulders with his arm and letting Chris’ head fall into his own shoulder. He patted Chris’ knee with his far hand, then tried to crane his neck to look into Chris’ eyes. “The hell was that? Bloody Nora, you threw some good ones,” Ray said, and then Chris’ eyes started to fill with tears again. “I didn’t mean… Chris, Chris, come on…”
“I just… I can’t do it, Ray. I can’t be like you and the Gov. I can’t. The times I’ve seen you dole it out, and I think, ‘I can’t do that,’ and then the boss comes along, and I think, ‘I can be a good copper his way,’ but I’m too bloody stupid for that, aren’t I?” Chris drew up his hand to wipe a long smear of blood and snot onto the back of his wrist, and Ray sighed.
“You aren’t stupid, you div. And you don’t have to be the hardest bloke on the street to be a good copper. It’s different for me, and for the Gov, is all. You’re a right good copper, Chris. Look at what you did today, yeah? Gov was right pleased with you. And if you don’t want to go beating on the arseholes, you don’t, all right? Though lord knows, you’re good at it. Sorry… I didn’t mean… Come on, Chris, let’s go upstairs. Have a wash up. Right bloody mess, you are,” Ray said, and he stood, dragging Chris up next to him, letting Chris’ weight fall against him.
“Steady on, mate, up the stairs. Come on,” Ray said, and Chris shakily started towards the staircase. As Ray followed Chris, hands on his shoulders, trying to steer him towards the stairs, he turned, and saw something. There, under the rug that the billiards table rested on, was a dark stain on the floor. Dark… Red-brown-black, a deep stain set into the stones. “Chris, what…” Ray paused, and Chris turned around, his eyes falling on the mark on the floor.
“God, don’t make me look…” Chris’ eyes were glued to the spot now, and he suddenly twisted around and doubled forward, vomiting just to the side of the steps, catching himself on the staircase. Ray moved away from him, then went to inspect the stain, pulling up the rug further. The stain was wide, and looked as if it had been scrubbed away, but not completely, the stain darkest in the cracks between the flagstones of the floor. Ray bent closer to it, then let his eyes widen in shock. It was a blood stain, a very old blood stain, by the looks of it.
“Chris… Chris?” Ray turned to see Chris still bent double over the edge of the stairs, his back still heaving, and he moved forward, grabbing Chris by the shoulders once again and pulling him upright. “Come on, come on mate. We’re going back upstairs. Get cleaned up. Come on,” He said softly, and he pushed Chris back towards the stairs, leaving his hands on Chris’ shoulders, afraid that Chris might fall. The two of them slowly climbed to the top of the stairs, and then Ray continued to push Chris forwards, along the hall and to the base of the main staircase, where he pushed Chris up the steps, eventually leading him into the bathroom.
Ray set Chris down, heavily, on the toilet, then searched for something to clean him up with. He eventually pulled the towel off of the floor wet a corner of it in the sink, and then went back to Chris, finding him staring, vacantly, at the wall. He wiped at the smears of blood and other fluid covering Chris’ face, noticing Chris wince as he did so, and when he was finally satisfied that he’d cleaned up his friend, he moved back to the sink, wet another corner of the towel, and then started cleaning his own face. He jerked around quickly as he felt Chris come up next to him, still wearing a dazed expression, and then watched as Chris slowly went through the motions of picking up the toothbrush and toothpaste that sat on the ledge of the sink, cleaning his mouth out and then returning them to their place.
When Chris looked up, he saw Ray smiling at him, just slightly, from one corner of his mouth. “Come on, mate, let’s go back down to the living room, finish your beer,” Ray said, and he wrapped his arm around Chris’ shoulders again, leading him back down. Once Ray had settled Chris on the sofa, he went to the fridge and pulled out two more of the bottles there, and then headed back to the living room. Chris was still sitting, the same hollow, vacant expression on his face, staring into the distance. Ray sat down next to him and handed him one of the beers, then took a long, slow drink from his.
“I’m sorry, mate…” Chris said softly, then took a drink of his own beer. Ray shook his head, then slid next to Chris, wrapping his arm around him again.
“Nothing to be sorry for. Just a little punch up between friends. Happens sometimes,” Ray said. “You all right now?”
Chris slowly nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay. Think you broke me nose?” He looked up at Ray, who peered down at him with concern.
“Nah, mate, just banged it up a bit. Be bleedin’ still, if I’d’ve broke it. You’ll be okay. Me, too,” he said, as he noticed Chris’ eyes going to the deep gash and bruise covering his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Chris said again, and Ray shook his head.
“Nothing to it, mate. Nothing at all. And you aren’t useless. And you’re a good copper. You remember that, especially if someone tells you any different. Especially if the bastard is me. All right?” Ray pulled Chris in against him, rubbing his far shoulder, then brought his other hand up and downed the rest of the beer in his bottle. “You gonna finish yours?” He asked, and Chris shook his head, handing the bottle to Ray, who started drinking it.
They sat in silence, Chris letting his head rest on Ray’s shoulder, Ray slowly finishing the rest of Chris’ beer. After a long while, Ray leaned forward and set the bottle down, lightly, on the table, and then turned towards Chris, positioning the two of them so that they were sitting face to face, both sideways on the edge of the sofa. “Chris…”
“Don’t. Please. Don’t,” Chris said, and Ray shook his head. What could have possibly made that stain? He had to know…
“Chris - on the floor in the basement…” Ray started, and Chris tried to turn his head away. Ray reached up and caught Chris’ face between his palms, moving it back to meet him, eye to eye. “Chris, what the hell was that?”
Chris swallowed, hard, his eyes locked on Ray’s. “He shot himself. Not in the head, in the chest. Mum and me, we were out doing the shopping. And he shot himself. With his army pistol. Bled to death before we came home. And then Uncle Mike came, and he was nothin’ like dad, nothin’ at all, and then he married mum, and that was that…” Chris’ eyes were bright again, and Ray noticed that he was starting to shake again. He pulled Chris closer, hugging him against his chest again, but the sobs didn’t come. Instead, Chris pulled away slightly, lifting his head… And kissed him, on the mouth.
Ray was shocked, for a moment, and then leaned in, crushing his lips against Chris’ and sliding his tongue slowly and forcefully into Chris’ mouth. Chris gasped as Ray then moved his head to the side, forcefully sucking at his earlobe, and then sliding his mouth along Chris’ neck. Chris pulled away, his eyes wide.
“Ray… I’m sorry… I… What…” Ray leaned forward and kissed him again, hard, on the mouth, and they sat, lips locked and slowly gliding over one another, tongues exploring each other’s mouths, for several minutes. This time, it was Ray that pulled away; he leaned back, and then reached forward, grasping Chris’ face between in his hands and drawing him closer.
“You’re not a poofter if you’re not some sissy fairy boy, and if you do it with girls, too. And you don’t talk about it. Those are the rules. Everyone knows ‘em, you div,” Ray said, and he reached forward to smooth back a lock of Chris’ hair, pushing it behind his ear. “Your eyes don’t match.”
“Yeah…” Chris started to look away, turning his eyes from Ray, but Ray pulled his face around again, still holding it between his palms.
“It’s a good thing. It suits you,” Ray said, and then he pulled away. “You just think about stuff, about what you want. And remember, you’re a good copper,” Ray started to move towards the door, and Chris started around on the sofa.
“Stay?” Chris asked, and Ray shook his head.
“We’ve got an early start tomorrow. I’ve got more butcher boys, you’ve got your art shite. And we’re all meeting at hospital in the morning. I’ll be ‘round to collect you in…” Ray looked around for a clock, but couldn’t find one. “I’ll be here in the morning. You think about what you want,” he repeated, and then left, the door slamming slightly behind him. Chris listened to the sound of Ray’s car starting, hesitantly, with great lurches of the engine, and then curled up on the sofa, his arms under his head, blood still staining his shirt. He smiled slightly to himself as he fell asleep.
All comments, criticism, etc. are highly encouraged and greatly appreciated! Comments = love.