CHAPTER 11
"Jermaine, Jermaine!" Ray shook his houseguest by the shoulders as he shouted his name. "Wake up, kid!"
Jermaine sat bolt upright and subconsciously lashed out. Ray ducked a punch and grabbed the young man's arms. "Hey, hey!" he yelled. "Wake up, it's me."
Jermaine blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the low light in Ray's apartment. His head was spinning and his heart was pounding. It felt like forever before his brain caught up with the rest of his body and he realised where he was and that he was safe. "Oh, Jesus, man!" he said. "That was one hell of a nightmare."
"Figured," replied Ray, releasing his grip. "You OK now?"
As Jermaine tried to catch his breath the images from his nightmare quickly started to fade. "I dreamt about Gramps, he had a gun…he kept shootin' me over and over…" he trailed off.
"It's OK," replied Ray, "it was just a bad dream. I get 'em all the time; they suck, but Fraser told me once that we get nightmares to, er, purge your mind of, er…somethin'. OK, I can't remember exactly what he said, but I think he meant it's good to have 'em occasionally."
Ray handed Jermaine a glass of water and the young man sipped it slowly. "Sorry, man," he said. "It's been days, but I can't shake it outta my head. How do you deal with stuff like that every day?"
"Y'know, we don't see people gettin' killed every day," Ray pointed out, "and I guess it gets easier over time and we, er, we have training and, um, there's therapy if we want it…not that I've ever seen a shrink."
Jermaine laughed. "I can't see you talking to a head doctor."
"No," replied Ray, "and, er, when I need to talk I go talk to Fraser. Freaks him out sometimes, but he's my buddy and, er, he's good about it."
"You're lucky," acknowledged Jermaine. "I haven't had a buddy since third grade. I guess that's why I nearly joined a gang. Being lonely sucks, but thank God I figured out it was better to be lonely than wind up like my Mom."
Ray nodded and squeezed Jermaine's shoulder supportively.
"What time is it?" asked Jermaine.
"Dunno. Early," Ray answered picking up Jermaine's empty glass and taking it back to his kitchen. "Coffee? Oh, ya don't drink coffee," he remembered.
"Maybe I should start?" suggested Jermaine, only half joking. "Gramps comes outta the hospital today so I'm gonna need some energy. Thanks for letting me stay here. I guess I should've moved back home days ago, but I kinda didn't wanna be there alone."
Ray waved his hand dismissively. "It's been good to have company while Fraser's tied up with that Italian Ambassador's thingy, er, whatever he said," he replied, "and you've more than paid your way; my bathroom hasn't been that clean since…well, since never and I still don't know how ya got that, er, that stain outta my rug. Even Fraser couldn't do it and he was usin' somethin' made outta moose pee."
"Jeez," laughed Jermaine. "Well my Grammy taught me what to use. She was so cool, she could do anything." He paused and his face fell. "I miss her."
"So does your Grandpop," Ray pointed out and Jermaine nodded.
"It's gonna be kinda weird leaving the apartment 'coz all our memories of Grammy are tied up in that place," Jermaine continued. His eyes suddenly looked a little sad.
Ray stayed quiet and allowed him a moment of reflection. "You OK?" he asked, eventually.
"Yeah, yeah sure," replied Jermaine, the smile returning to his face. "It's OK, we've gotta leave. It was never the greatest neighbourhood in town, but now it's a war zone. It ain't safe. Mort was talking to Gramps about these retirement places. If he goes for the idea then I'm gonna start applying to art colleges."
xXxXxX
"What if he hates it? He's never wanted to live in a place like this." Jermaine walked along the corridor slowly with Fraser and Diefenbaker. Ahead of them, Eugene walked with Mort supporting him by the elbow. He was leaning heavily on his walking stick too, but at least he was finally up and around. Jermaine was relieved to see that. The retirement village for ex-military personnel that Mort had found looked nice so far. Maybe Gramps will be OK here?
"Ultimately it's a joint decision between you and your Grandfather," replied Fraser, "but we've only just arrived. Give him a chance to look around before you start second guessing his opinion. Recent events do appear to have altered his outlook somewhat."
Jermaine nodded. Ever since his Grandpop had been released from the hospital he seemed different. He was slower physically and even less able to take care of himself than before, but he also seemed more relaxed and less angry with the world.
One night, Jermaine and his Grandpop had stayed up late talking about the kids who had died in the gang shootout. Eugene knew Target's mother; not very well, but they'd spoken on occasion in the past and he felt dreadfully sorry for her. Eugene knew how it felt to lose a child of his own.
Jermaine couldn't remember a time when his Grandpop had talked so much. Eventually, Eugene had started talking about his military experiences; not in any great detail, but he'd drawn parallels between what had happened to him and his unit in Vietnam and the gang wars going on right now in their own neighbourhood.
"When it comes down to it, war is war," he'd said to his grandson. "People die for what they believe in, or for their freedom, or for power and that's the way it's always been. Nothing changes. The killing will never stop, until people start to learn from the past."
Jermaine had been shocked to hear about some of the experiences Eugene had been through and he now had a new understanding and even greater respect for his Grandpop.
Fraser was impressed by the facilities at the retirement village. Mort had explained that the residents were veterans of various campaigns and that Eugene would hopefully feel at home here amongst people with whom he had so much in common. The staff all appeared very friendly, noted Fraser and seemed to genuinely care about all of the residents.
Eugene had been reluctant to come here, but Mort had given him a stern talking to about the need to look after himself. "You were almost killed recently, but you survived just like you survived in Vietnam. Don't waste this opportunity."
"Well this is very nice."
Fraser jumped at the sound of his father's voice.
"Mmmhmm," replied Fraser, hoping Jermaine wouldn't hear him. He turned to see the ghost of Bob Fraser standing behind a group of elderly residents who were engrossed in a card game.
"Good lord, she's cheating," exclaimed Bob, pointing to the five cards in the trembling hand of an innocent looking, grey haired woman. "Did you see that, Son?"
"Jermaine, why don't you walk with your Grandfather now," suggested Fraser. "Talk to him. Try to gauge his feelings."
Jermaine nodded and jogged a few paces to catch up with Eugene and Mort.
"I could definitely have lived in a place like this, had I not died," said Bob.
"You would have driven the other residents to distraction," replied Fraser. "I would not have inflicted you on other people trying to enjoy their twilight years in peace."
"But that woman is cheating at cards!" replied Bob. "The elderly think they can get away with murder…sometimes literally. I could have kept an eye on things."
Fraser was speechless and he rolled his eyes.
One of the care staff found a spare wheelchair for Eugene as she could see that the man was struggling to walk such a long distance. Eugene objected at first, but Mort and Jermaine persuaded him by pointing out that the visit would be over sooner if he wasn't walking everywhere.
Eugene started to find a few positive things about the complex. He liked the amount of privacy and independence offered to the residents and he liked the communal aspect of the day room. Jermaine was cautiously hopeful.
As they continued exploring, an elderly gentleman walked over to them. He was smartly dressed and used two walking sticks to get around.
"Hey, there, I'm Clive," he said to Eugene. "Are you moving in?"
Eugene shrugged. "Haven't quite made up my mind yet," he replied.
"How long have you lived here?" Mort asked Clive.
"Three years now," the old man replied. "It's not a bad place to live. You just have to learn to ignore all the old people," he added with a wink.
Eugene laughed. "That can't be easy," he said, looking around at the other residents.
"Oh you get used to them after a while," replied Clive. "But if they start boring you with war stories…" he trailed off and winked again. "I usually just switch this off," he continued and he pulled back his wild grey hair to reveal a hearing aid.
"I've got one of those too," chuckled Eugene, turning his head slightly so that his ear was visible. He liked Clive, he seemed like someone he could get along with if he decided to give this place a chance. He really had a lot to think about, he realised. "Good to meet you, Clive," he said. "Maybe I'll see you again soon?"
"I hope so," replied Clive. "Maybe we could exchange our own boring war stories?"
Mort and Eugene exchanged a knowing glance and Eugene felt a sudden wave of emotion. He realised that Clive and most of the other residents here probably had been through comparable experiences to his own.
As Clive shuffled off with a friendly wave, Eugene started to think that perhaps he could live here after all. He looked across at his grandson.
"You OK, Gramps?" asked Jermaine.
"Sure," replied Eugene. He began to see how unfair he'd been on his grandson. The kid needs to live his own life, not waste it looking after me, he thought to himself. "I was just thinking…" he began, but the words caught in his throat and he had to stop as a realisation suddenly hit him.
"Gramps?" Jermaine was suddenly worried and he looked at Mort for reassurance.
"I was just thinking…" Eugene's voice was softer now and filled with emotion, "…how much you look like your mother."
xXxXx
"Ah there you are," Mort had been distracted by a flirtatious elderly lady by the name of Maud, but he'd finally managed to get away from her questions about her digestive conditions and had been looking for Eugene for a short while. "I was beginning to think you'd run away," added Mort with just a hint of irony.
Eugene was sitting in a comfortable chair staring out of the window. He turned to look at Mort. "You all think I should live here, don't you," he said. "You, Jermaine and Constable Fraser. I do understand, but…people come here to die. I'm not ready to die yet."
"No," replied Mort, sternly. "People come here to live."
Eugene's mouth twitched into a smile. "I don't think I've thanked you properly for saving my life," he said, humbly.
Mort waved his hand dismissively. "No need," he replied. "If anything, your actions saved my life."
Eugene shrugged. He didn't really remember much about what had happened. "How are your injuries?" he enquired.
Mort looked at his bandaged arms. "Honestly? They're almost healed, but I'm keeping the dressings on a little longer. It's rather convenient."
"You can't keep them hidden forever," Eugene pointed out.
"I know," acknowledged Mort. "I think I'm almost ready, actually. I'm ready to tell people."
Just then Jermaine appeared with Dief at his heels. "Hey Gramps," he smiled, "Fraser's talking to one of the nurses. She's got eyes all over him, man!"
Mort and Eugene laughed.
"I'm not sure if…" began Eugene, but Jermaine interrupted him.
"I was talking to that old guy, Clive," he said excitedly, "he's so cool."
Eugene forced a smile. "I really don't want to live in a home," he said.
Jermaine's face fell.
"This is not a home," snapped Mort. He was starting to get really frustrated with Eugene now. "You don't need round the clock nursing care. You'll still have your independence, but there are people here to help you if you need them. You'll have company if you want it and there are activities to occupy you."
"I saw a poster for a painting group," added Jermaine.
"And they organise excursions," added Mort.
"I don't want to visit stately homes with a bunch of old fogies," snapped Eugene.
"Actually, last month we went to the water park." The voice came from behind Jermaine. "Who wants to go to stately homes anyway?" It was Clive.
Eugene looked away, embarrassed. "I didn't mean…" began Eugene.
"You know, I did not want to come here when my daughter suggested it," continued Clive, "I'm not ready to sit in a chair for the rest of my days, watching the grass grow and being spoon fed. I was wrong though. This place isn't like that at all. We're a community here."
"You should listen to him," said Mort.
Eugene sighed. "OK, I'll think about it some more," he said.
"Let's go back to the living quarters and have another look around," suggested Mort. "And this time, open your eyes."
Mort helped Eugene back into the wheelchair and manoeuvred him back through the communal area.
Jermaine let out a slow breath and started after them. He almost bumped into Fraser coming around the corner. Fraser had broken into a run in an attempt to escape from his new admirer. He wished he hadn't worn the red serge for this visit. He felt sure that it attracted unnecessary attention from the opposite sex.
"Hey, man," said Jermaine, "I didn't think this was gonna take so long. I was kinda hoping Gramps would love it here."
"It's not an easy decision," Fraser pointed out.
"I guess I should go catch them up," said Jermaine.
"I'll wait outside for you," replied Fraser. "Ray will be here soon to drive us home."
"Thanks," nodded Jermaine and he ran off.
Fraser made his way outside to find Ray already there. He was leaning against the side of his car, enjoying the warmth of the sun.
"Sorry, Fraser, am I late?" asked Ray as his buddy approached. "I, er, I forgot what time we agreed."
Fraser glanced at his watch. "No you're not late," he replied. "In fact you're seventeen minutes early."
"Greatness!" grinned Ray. "So, has Eugene signed the papers yet?"
"He is still considering his options," explained Fraser.
"I can't imagine my folks wanting to live in a place like this," said Ray. "It would finish 'em off." He thought of his parents and their slightly nomadic lifestyle. He couldn't envisage them getting too old to live in their trailer, but one day he would have to think about it. Not yet, though.
"If and when the situation arises, you and they may feel differently," Fraser pointed out.
Fraser and Ray stood in contemplative silence, watching people come and go. Two grey haired ladies clad in brightly coloured Lycra jogged past and smiled at them.
"So, er, Dewey wants us all to go out again next week," said Ray, breaking the silence. "Are ya comin'?"
"Of course," replied Fraser. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Greatness," smiled Ray and they fell silent again.
A man headed across the car park dragging a golf bag behind him, laden with clubs. Fraser ran over to help him with his bag and he loaded it into the boot of the man's car before assisting the man as he slowly lowered himself into the driver's seat.
While this was going on, Ray noticed another car pull up and an elderly man got out, quickly followed by two young girls and a woman who was presumably their mother. The children excitedly did handstands and cartwheels on the lawn as the woman took the man by the arm and led him towards the building. They hugged tightly and the girls ran over to them for their own hugs with their smiling granddad before he went inside.
Fraser waved the other man off to enjoy his game of golf and Ray watched the woman struggle to persuade her children to get back into the car before she drove away too. He turned back to see Mort walking back with Fraser.
"Hey, Mort," said Ray, "how are things goin' in there with Eugene?"
"Good, actually," replied Mort, "a second look around has been helpful, he has more of an open mind. He and young Jermaine are talking now; I thought I should leave them to it."
"This place ain't at all how I imagined it," admitted Ray. "I was expectin' old ladies sittin' in chairs eatin' soup."
Mort laughed. "The residents can sit in chairs if they so wish, Detective, or they may choose to do something else," he said. "The emphasis here is on independence. Eugene is capable of looking after himself, but he needs to be aware of his limitations. I believe that he will have the right level of help here."
"May I take this opportunity to thank you for your assistance with Eugene," said Fraser. "I know Jermaine appreciates all that you've done for him."
"It has been a challenge," replied Mort, "but it has been very rewarding. Eugene is a good man; he has lived through a lot and he deserves our support. However, I can't pretend I'm not looking forward to getting back to the morgue for a little rest and relaxation."
Mort smiled broadly. He had enjoyed getting to know Eugene Brown and now considered him a friend. He glanced at his arms. Talking to the military veteran had made him think hard about his past and he had concluded that keeping it a secret was no longer the right thing to do. "Fraser," he began, "I recently purchased a videotape of the English National Opera's performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream, perhaps you would care to watch it with me one evening next week? "
Ray's eyes glazed over at the mention of opera. Fortunately, at that moment, his phone rang and he walked a few paces away to take the call.
"I would be delighted," beamed Fraser. "The London Coliseum is such a spectacular venue."
"I was lucky enough to attend a performance of Carmen there several years ago," replied Mort and he began to hum the Toreador Song.
"Well it appears that I have a rather busy social calendar next week," observed Fraser. "Perhaps Wednesday evening would be acceptable to you?"
Mort nodded. "There is something I would like to discuss with you," he began. "You see, when my arms were injured in the attack…" but he did not get the chance to finish his sentence as Ray came rushing back.
"Sorry, buddy, we've gotta go," said Ray. He was suddenly a ball of pent up energy and he slapped the roof of the GTO to emphasise the urgency. "Mall shooting." He hung his head briefly before looking up at Fraser with refreshingly optimistic eyes. "This one's gonna be different, though. We got this. C'mon, pitter patter."
THE END
