pa·thos noun
Definition of PATHOS
1: an element in experience or in artistic representation evoking pity or compassion
2: an emotion of sympathetic pity
Yoh-Lin Tee, CSIS Senior Analyst was first introduced in the story "Weapons of Mass Destruction". Also, please read "Sealed, Never to be Opened" to make sense of Spike's CSIS connection. It's a short one, it will take less than a minute to read.
It would be necessary to read "Apartment 7" to enjoy Spike's quirky apartment. If you haven't read it already, please do, it will only take two minutes of your time.
Drowning
Spike practically crawled home at the end of one extremely hard going day. He was dogged tired, and all he wanted was a good night sleep. He reached his apartment, and followed the same old routine. First, check mailbox. Residents in the apartment building had gotten used to seeing Spike read his unwanted mails. One elderly man even commented he should "just toss them out," pointing to the rubbish bin, "unless you're too hard up you can't afford to buy newspapers."
The computer expert just acknowledged all sticky beaks with a smile. No one in the building knew this unassuming man was a serving police officer with the City's Top Police unit; and sure as hell didn't know that he was a serving Consultant with the country's intelligence agency.
Spooks tended to leave messages in the most obscure places and in the weirdest possible way. And, there it was, a message from Yoh-Lin Tee, who at this very moment maybe out of country and needed assistance alleviating his boredom.
He didn't envy Yoh-Lin, international man of mystery. It's only in Hollywood that Jason Bourne existed. Most spooks were engaged in endless waiting games 90% of the time; only 10% of the time would they be required to use their martial arts training and weaponry skills and if they were not dead in two seconds; or being exfiltrated out.
There was a message was from Yoh-Lin, a challenge to solve a puzzle. Spike smiled, This is going to be fun.
He entered his keycode and let himself in his apartment, the lights automatically turned on and simultaneously the music played, Robbie Williams' Angels. He went to the hidden wall panel and turned off the music manually. He wasn't in the mood. A lot of the songs in his Ipod were love songs and that's the last thing he wanted to listen to right now.
The espresso machine went to work, the smell of coffee invigorated him somewhat. His living room had three two-seat couches arranged in a U shape. He sat down in the middle couch, put his feet up on the coffee table, he was really exhausted. The television screen came down, turned itself on. He took out the remote control from under his seat and surf the channel and concluded there was nothing worthwhile to watch.
He got up after two minutes to have his coffee and reheated some pasta. He took his bowl of pasta to his bedroom. The second he stepped inside, the lights and the computer system turned on while the lights and the television in the living room turned off. He created a wireless, motion sensitive apartment. Green and energy efficient.
He was greeted by a lethargic Liley on his computer screen. She was laying on the floor of Bridget's rustic cabin, not moving a muscle. Her eyes were hidden beneath her paws. Oh darling. He dialled a number, Jeremy answered, "How bad is it?"
"It's not good. Liley's depressed. You've got to do something for her soon. Soon is good. Bridg sleeping now. If you call tomorrow you might be able to speak to her. To be honest, Mike she can't be alone much longer."
Spike knew who he meant but he had to ask anyway, "Bridg or Liley?"
Jeremy sensed the gloom in Spike's voice, "Bridg. Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma…. What can I say man?"
"Is the speaker on? Can Liley hear me?"
"Yeah," was the brief reply but the Canadian Eskimo dog was deliberately not looking up at the camera. She was ignoring him. "I love you, Liley," he reached out to touch the dog's form on his computer screen. His heart broke.
He talked to Jeremy for a bit more about Bridget's on-going care.
Next, he split the computer screen to check up on Leslie McCoy. He made a promise to her father, his first Training Officer and who was like a father to him that he would look after her. Spike was not one to give empty promises. Tired as he was, he logged on to Facebook to check on Leslie's entries and the friends who were following her.
He initially wanted a camera in her apartment but she put her foot down, "No way. No, I will friend you on FB but that's it."
"I'll be following you on Twitter and tumblr."
"Ok. You will still come see me at work?"
"Of course, you'd have to erect a demilitarized zone in front of your coffee shop before you don't see me there once a week."
He thanked his lucky star that she worked in a coffee shop so he could visit her without having to make special arrangements. As far as everyone knew, he was just a loyal coffee drinking customer. The waitresses had all secretly fallen in love with him, the guy with the dimples and nice manners.
He thanked his lucky star that he had the best IP tracking software from CSIS. When he didn't like someone "friending" Leslie he discreetly investigated. He had made two anonymous reports to the RCMP about two suspected rapists in the two years he's been keeping an eye on her, his little sister. Those two incidences scared him. There's far too many perverts out there in the big, bad world.
That done, he watched Liley again, she's clearly forlorn and traumatised. I've got to do something ASAP. He didn't touch his pasta. He's lost his appetite. But he couldn't think clearly either.
He thought back, how did I miss it? When he's viewing Liley, Bridget would often come up to the camera to monkey around. Waving. Smiling. And then, he hadn't seen her at all. He thought she's at work or away on a conference. Why didn't he pick up on it? Why? You stupid, stupid bastard.
He wouldn't be Michaelangelo Scarlatti, Catholic raised altar boy, if he wasn't feeling guilty. Heck, if the world ended today, he'd blame himself for it; or at least attribute part of it to what he may or may not have done.
He was too exhausted to even care for himself. I'm drowning.
First, he thought it was just his imagination, but, no, it's not. His mobile phone's ringing, he checked his time piece, midnight. Who the hell would be calling at this time? He was instantly alarmed and adrenaline rushed to his brain. No one calls at midnight unless there's an emergency.
He went to the kitchen where he left his phone, it was Natalie. He audibly groaned. She is such a high need child.
"Natalie, is everything ok?"
"Yeah but I can't sleep. I'm having flashbacks of David and Alvin." Two years on and she's still having flashbacks.
"Nat, honestly, you need to see a therapist. There's only so much I can do."
The conversation went on for an hour, an hour he could barely spare to keep himself sane. The call only ended when he sort of lost it at one point and was "short" with Natalie, who cried which made him feel bad. He promised to see her "one day" for coffee.
Spike rested his head on the kitchen bench. His thought briefly touched on Winnie. It brought a smile on his face but not enough to produce craters on his cheeks.
He dragged himself to bed and didn't bother to remove his clothes. He laid down for a bit, whispered, "Che Dio mi aiuti". His last thought before exhaustion took him away to snoozeland was God, kill me now.
