The Saga of Richard and Camille

A Christmas Story; A Visit from ... Me?

Chapter 4:

Ricky! ... You got some 'splaining to do!

Part 4 of 5

The Croydon years. Is good work enough? Is it possible to be too smart? If you can't fit in, where do you go?

The show gave us little about Richard's history in London. So, we shall speculate and create!

'Well, nothing new, the same old white, white, white.'

It has now gotten to the point where Richard isn't sure if he is talking or just thinking.

'Silence. … Not a sound. … Not even that infernal 'ssssssh' machine.'

"Hey! Hey! What's going on? Where is everybody, everything, am I dead?"

With no one responding and no sense of the equipment, the room, even himself, Richard feels a sense of vertigo, he feels as though he's floating. But he has no sense of up or down, just a small knot of panic building somewhere inside him. He's not even sure that he's breathing. The white is everywhere, and he can't even be sure if his eyes are open or closed.

'Maybe I no longer have a body. ... When does this end?'

A grey figure is approaching. It is slumped and somewhat fuzzy. It walks in a determined but unenthusiastic manner. The white becomes more intense. ... The sounds return. Richard regains a sense of place and self.

"What the bloody hell was that all about?" Richard blurts in anger and frustration.

"What do you care? You're used to abuse. I sometimes think you like it. Masochist? ... Or ... just plain old loser! Come on Richard … that is your name? You ate bitter swill, served up to you daily at Croydon. Then you went back to your/our little closet of an apartment and buried our existence in reading, learning, enriching our mind and losing our soul!"

As the figure delivers his rant, he comes slowly into focus. The ubiquitous grey suit, the starched dress shirt and, of course, the neatly tied tie. But the posture, … a picture of weariness and defeat. For Richard, it is like looking at a funhouse mirror, a twisted and distorted self-image. The grey man stops, and they stare warily at one another. The pause draws out in an uncomfortable silence.

"You can only be Ricky. Quite acerbic when were alone. Where were you when I needed you?"

"Yeah, I'm Rickey, Dickie, Dick. Take your pick. I'm but a small part of you. I could have been more assertive if we had all banned together against Doug Anderson and his ilk."

"All of us?"

"Yes, you, me, Richie, and rick. We could have stood up to him."

"Well, ... just one bleeding minute! I stood up to him, I brought him to justice, and when he was off to the cells, I reminded him of my proper name."

"Yes, you did Richard. But it was as a Police Officer, not as a man. Watch Richard. Watch the years of Croydon roll by."

**********
The white once again spins in a series of scenes all so similar and familiar. Richard solving impossible cases, winning citations and the accolades of the 'brass, and the mockery and derision of his workaday colleagues.

"I had forgotten how constant the gibes were. "Richard leans back and stares into the whiteness. "I really thought I was handling it well. … All I had to do was a good job, that's all that counted. And someday, someday … I … would find a way to be… … happy."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. How'd that work out for you Richard? Hey man! No good deed goes unpunished, as the saying goes. Come on Richard, you were an arrogant showoff. You didn't have to hurl insults or 'bon mot' at them. Your revenge was so simple. You just made them look stupid. But they had the last word. They shunned you, and you were alone with your brilliance. What about your superiors, Richard?"

"Ah … they were most supportive."

"Yes, they were. You got citations, rewards, even your own driver and a constable to do your typing and take dictation, so you could be free for more of your prodigious brain work. You were a one-man team. And so, you drew further apart from all the other detectives. And then what happened, Richard?"

"One day the Chief Inspector called me in and told me that he was sending me on a special assignment. One of our own, a DI Hulme had been killed in a 'saferoom'. He indicated that this was a case that could make my career. So, I was seconded to Saint Marie. Later, I was to find out that they had a 'going away' party after I left. I had been sent to purgatory, literally and figuratively. And now I'm in some sort of limbo. Whether it's between life and death or between success or failure. I'm not sure I belong anywhere."

"Good point Richard. Or is it? Oi! You always see the grim. Never the joy in life"

"What joy Ricky, tell me, what joy?"

"Okay mister big brain, genius type fellow. You have always taken the greatest pride in your work, right? What about the team you have right here? How would you rate them? … Well? … Speak up man!"

"Well, well, top drawer, …ah …ah …er. well to be honest, the best I've ever worked with. "

"Alright! Now we're getting somewhere. Now, how do they treat you, socially?"

"Ricky, you should know by now that I do not mix business and pleasure! But they have extended an invitation a time or two. …"

"Yes Richard 'stuffed shirt' Poole. They have extended many invites! Catherine went out of her way to make you real British tea and a special roast beef dinner. The team has invited you for drinks dozens of times. Camille has shown infinite patience with you. How many times has she tried to get you to dance with her? They even threw a birthday party for you, and you wouldn't attend. What did Camille do?"

Richard whispers, "She brought me a piece of cake."

"Who do you consider a friend?"

"Well, there is Harry!" Richard looks wide eyed as though he has made a great discovery.

"Harry's a blinkin' lizard!" R icky shrieks. "I give up! … Richie, Rick, I ... give ... up. Richard is an immature, insecure, selfish prat! I did my best. It's up to him now."
Ricky sags, turns and slouches into the whiteness.

The white slowly becomes less glaring and more mist like as it changes further into a light grey.

"I'm sorry guys. ... You taught me a great deal. I guess I'm just too far gone. Irretrievable. These are good people here. I guess I don't know how to relate to normal people. All I'm good at is feeling hurt and guilty."

The mist grows darker and takes on a bone penetrating chill. 'It is like the fog moving inland from the Atlantic when Richard was a lad in England'.

'A nice ... last ... thought.' he muses.

**********
The mist envelops Detective Inspector Richard Arthur Poole in a blanket of gently, fading memories.

END

Part 4 of 5

Notes:

With a clearer understanding of his past, the question remains: Will that knowledge change Richard and provide him with the motivation to live ... or will he just fade away?