Frannie's Lament

by Tanya Reed

Well, here it is. The last of my Due South stories (though, who knows, I may wander back into the realm again some day.) I wrote it in 2003. It's one of my favorites, though I don't know what you guys will think. One thing to keep in mind when you read this is that sometimes things aren't always as they seem, and I hope the death in the beginning doesn't throw you off of the whole story. Oh, and this whole thing takes place after COTW.

Death fic warning.

Here are my original story notes:

The idea for this came to me in a dream. Can you believe that? Yup, I dreamed a whole scene from this thing about a year and a half ago. No matter how hard I tried to dismiss it, it would just not let me go. Anyway, this is the result. But before I get to the good stuff, I have to offer thank yous to a number of people. First of all has got to be Melissa and Jo, my wonderful betas. I also have to thank Shirley, because without her this story would never have been finished. I told her about my idea, and that I was thinking about putting it on a shelf and she challenged me to finish it. Being one never to turn down a challenge, here it is. Thank you also to Jim and Amanda for thoughts and helpful suggestions.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Due South and no money is being made from my fiction. Everything is owned by Alliance.

Now, on to the story...

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Prologue

It was like moving from one cave to another as the dark haired woman left the building and joined the other formless things scattered throughout the narrow passage. The alley was dark and damp after the evening's rain. Shadows deepened in the corners, and a stale, aged smell came from things that she didn't want to see. Fear tingled up her spine and she shivered slightly, clutching her purse in white knuckled fingers. The shiver was partly from chill, she should have known better than to wear this short, form fitting skirt, but mostly it was from the knowledge that they wanted her dead.

Her steps quickened and she huddled in her small jacket, trying to make herself invisible. Inner senses searched for signs of danger. She had been on edge now for so long that it was hard to remember what it was like to relax. It was all right, though. She trusted anxiety; anxiety would keep her safe.

Light glinted from a nearby, cracked window. It illuminated a pretty face framed by brown hair, a face that normally had a healthy tan but was now the color of bleached parchment. She turned her face towards the light for a moment, letting that one dim shaft give her a moment of hope. In that moment, as her footsteps stilled, she heard the footsteps of another. Hope and light forgotten, she began to hurry again. She could hear her high heeled shoes clicking on the broken pavement as they moved faster, and she heard the person behind her pick up his pace. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she saw a cloaked figure stepping through the small ray of light as she had moments before. The figure was hurrying, its cloak held tightly to its side. Panic gripped her, and all thoughts of caution were forgotten. She began to run. Faster and faster she flew, trying to close the gap between her and freedom. She didn't look back again, all of her attention was on running.

The heels of her shoes made her stumble as they caught in the pitted surface. Several times she came close to falling. The only thing that kept her upright was knowing that if she fell, she would die. Relief rippled through her as she came to the end of the alley. She burst from it into the cold glow of the street lights that shone off of her method of escape.

Quickly, she covered the last few feet to her car, opening her purse and frantically searching for her keys. Stuff flew out as she pulled and discarded it in impatience. An animilistic sound of triumph escaped her when her fingers finally found the keys. Unlocking the car door, she whispered a prayer in Italian. Her thank you to God was her last thought as the world exploded into a wall of fire and a twisted mass of burning metal.

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Ray groaned when the phone by his bed rang. Grumpily, he pulled his pillow over his head and rolled away, trying to ignore it. The noise was persistant, however, the shrill tone seeming to stab into his skull. At about the tenth ring, Ray gave in and reached one long arm across the bed to the bedstand.

"Do y'know what time 'tis?" he mumbled.

"Vecchio, it's Welsh."

This jolted Ray the rest of the way awake. He dug the heel of his hand into his eyes, trying to drive their bleeriness away.

"Sir? What is it?"

"We have a problem."

Ray could hear the reluctance in his voice, and it caused a shiver to dance down his spine.

"A problem?"

"Yes. I need you at the station right away."

The shiver turned into a chill, and Ray's stomach clenched. Was it Fraser? It had to be Fraser. What if Fraser was hurt?

"Be right there."

Ray slammed down the phone and hurried to find some clothes. His mind and his heart were both racing, and he prayed that circumstances weren't as bad as the tone in Welsh's voice had indicated.

As he rushed to the station, awful things filled his mind. Fed on the tone of Lt. Welsh's voice, the pictures were particularly gruesome, and most revolved around Fraser. The streets seemed to fly by as Ray drove even faster than usual to get to the station. He rushed into the bullpen, unconsciously noting the dimmed lights that characterized the night shift. Huey and Dewey were working quietly, but the rest of the station was devoid of life--except for the light shining from Lt. Welsh's office.

Hearing the door, both Huey and Dewey looked up, their faces paling.

"Ray...Ray, I'm sorry," Jack whispered.

Tom couldn't even look him in the eye. That was all Ray needed to confirm that the news was all bad.

He hurried past them without acknowledgement, not even pausing to knock on the lieutenant's door. As he entered, Welsh and another man turned. A man with spikey blond hair and red rimmed blue eyes. Shit! Kowalski was crying.

"What is it?" Ray demanded. "What happened?"

"There's no easy way to say this. There's been an accident..."Welsh started. Kowalski butt in, "Frannie's dead."

All sensation fled Ray's body as he felt his breath leave him. It was as if someone else were speaking as he gasped, "Frannie?"

Of all the things he had been prepared for, this was not one of them. His sister was supposed to be at her friend Janice's, all safe and asleep. Frannie could not be dead.

A million images tumbled through his mind. He saw Frannie in all the stages of her life--as a baby, as a precocious child, as a wild teenager, as a scatterbrained adult, as the competent civilian aide she'd learned to be when she found out she could depend on herself.

The jumble of thoughts were interupted by Welsh's scratchy voice. Ray realized that he too had been crying. "About two hours ago, your sister's car exploded. Apparently, someone rigged it to explode when the door was opened. The Feds found enough to identify her and her car."

"They're sure..."

Welsh nodded. "It was her, Vecchio."

Suddenly, Ray's legs refused to hold him up. He stumbled to the couch and sat heavily before he fell over. Wide eyed, he looked from Welsh to Kowalski. The two of them looked sad, defeated.

"Are there any leads?"

"No, not yet. The FBI are working on this with the 29th..."

"The 29th?"

"She was found on their turf, and I was told that we had to stay out of it...officially."

"But...But, she's my sister."

Lt. Welsh held up a finger. "I said officially. That doesn't prevent anyone from, say, walking along John's Street to look at the accident site, or from going through his sister's personal effects. That's about the best I can do."

Ray nodded numbly. Another knife stabbed into his gut as he thought of his next chore.

Oh, God! How am I going to tell Ma?