Franklin 3 Holly C June 99
Disclaimer. These wonderful, characters which I have borrowed, are Alliance's . I am making no profit from them.
The Breath of the Night Wind
Night time.
I stand by my open window and feel the wind breathe on me. Its whisper is the sound of his voice. A voice I long to hear again even if he only says to me, "understood, sir." Is it a wind from the north? It feels cold enough.
It's been a month now since that letter.
A month of restless nights spent standing by a window, watching, waiting. Yearning.
I am still working here in Ottawa, running a small group of RCMP undercover wannabes. The work is not stretching, not particularly exciting after my adventures last year. But it serves me well in that for the most part it keeps my mind off those thoughts which I don't wish to confront. However, like ants determined to find the shortest route to their nest, those thoughts persist.
Four weeks and still no news.
Soon the powers that be will talk of memorial services. I can't accept that. A memorial service will mean we have given up hope. It would mean killing him for sure. At least as things stand I can hope just a little bit that he survived out there in that wilderness. Maybe Ray, too. Fraser would do all he could to make sure Ray survived, sacrifice himself even. Selflessness they call it. I call it selfishness. Does he realise what effect he has on me? That losing him means part of me dies too? If he considered that he would not be so self sacrificing. Would he? No, he would know he had to keep himself safe for me, for my sake. But of course, I forget, I never told him. So he would not know that to risk his life would injure me too. Isn't that what I admired about him? His ability to give his all to as task and to always put others first? His needs were always secondary. That's why he never could admit what he felt for me , after that train incident. He obeyed orders before he obeyed his heart.
Sometimes I loathe this uniform.
Without it I would never have met him. If I had never met him, I would not be grieving now. Grieving can last a long time when there is no body.
I've considered going out there and finding it, him, but they would not release me from my duties. They probably know I would not return. The winter is drawing on and the climate too harsh for a greenhorn. And I'm a city girl.
If Fraser could not survive out there, what chance would I have of rushing to his rescue like a knight on a skiddoo? His survival skills are unequalled except by a few Inuit trackers.
Ray's parents left last week: they needed proof that he was gone. That he would not be back. I tried not to give them false hope, tried to be realistic. I put on my official face and told them that after so long with no radio contact the official report was that they were missing and presumed dead. There were search parties now, still, combing the area around the Beaufort sea. But that was a huge distance and would take weeks. They would have to stop looking soon because of the weather.
I told them I was sorry for their loss. The Kowalskis left, resigned and sad.
When I am feeling strong and hopeful, I imagine that they found food and shelter, and that even now, they are on their way back. That the pnone will ring and he will speak to me as if no time and no distance separates us. As if we were back in Chicago and he was asking me out for coffee. Or inviting me to his place for an omelette.
A sound interrupts my thoughts and it is a while before I realise it is, indeed, the telephone. I cross the room and my hand hovers like a dragonfly over the handset. I take a breath and lift it.
Disclaimer. These wonderful, characters which I have borrowed, are Alliance's . I am making no profit from them.
The Breath of the Night Wind
Night time.
I stand by my open window and feel the wind breathe on me. Its whisper is the sound of his voice. A voice I long to hear again even if he only says to me, "understood, sir." Is it a wind from the north? It feels cold enough.
It's been a month now since that letter.
A month of restless nights spent standing by a window, watching, waiting. Yearning.
I am still working here in Ottawa, running a small group of RCMP undercover wannabes. The work is not stretching, not particularly exciting after my adventures last year. But it serves me well in that for the most part it keeps my mind off those thoughts which I don't wish to confront. However, like ants determined to find the shortest route to their nest, those thoughts persist.
Four weeks and still no news.
Soon the powers that be will talk of memorial services. I can't accept that. A memorial service will mean we have given up hope. It would mean killing him for sure. At least as things stand I can hope just a little bit that he survived out there in that wilderness. Maybe Ray, too. Fraser would do all he could to make sure Ray survived, sacrifice himself even. Selflessness they call it. I call it selfishness. Does he realise what effect he has on me? That losing him means part of me dies too? If he considered that he would not be so self sacrificing. Would he? No, he would know he had to keep himself safe for me, for my sake. But of course, I forget, I never told him. So he would not know that to risk his life would injure me too. Isn't that what I admired about him? His ability to give his all to as task and to always put others first? His needs were always secondary. That's why he never could admit what he felt for me , after that train incident. He obeyed orders before he obeyed his heart.
Sometimes I loathe this uniform.
Without it I would never have met him. If I had never met him, I would not be grieving now. Grieving can last a long time when there is no body.
I've considered going out there and finding it, him, but they would not release me from my duties. They probably know I would not return. The winter is drawing on and the climate too harsh for a greenhorn. And I'm a city girl.
If Fraser could not survive out there, what chance would I have of rushing to his rescue like a knight on a skiddoo? His survival skills are unequalled except by a few Inuit trackers.
Ray's parents left last week: they needed proof that he was gone. That he would not be back. I tried not to give them false hope, tried to be realistic. I put on my official face and told them that after so long with no radio contact the official report was that they were missing and presumed dead. There were search parties now, still, combing the area around the Beaufort sea. But that was a huge distance and would take weeks. They would have to stop looking soon because of the weather.
I told them I was sorry for their loss. The Kowalskis left, resigned and sad.
When I am feeling strong and hopeful, I imagine that they found food and shelter, and that even now, they are on their way back. That the pnone will ring and he will speak to me as if no time and no distance separates us. As if we were back in Chicago and he was asking me out for coffee. Or inviting me to his place for an omelette.
A sound interrupts my thoughts and it is a while before I realise it is, indeed, the telephone. I cross the room and my hand hovers like a dragonfly over the handset. I take a breath and lift it.