Part 5 – Who's Voice?

"So tell me Doyle why I shouldn't call off the search for 3:7"

Doyle had been anticipating the question but it still came as a blow. What could he tell Cowley? That he just knew that Bodie was alive and in trouble? That he could not give up on him? That it was all based on a feeling, because that was all he had to go on?

He had his speech all ready, and he sat up ready to deliver it.

"As it says in my report – "

"I've read your report Doyle. You have managed to make a great deal out of no evidence whatsoever. Don't take me for a fool, you should know better than that. You have found nothing that even comes close to a theory as to why Bodie has disappeared. You have looked through your past case files and any leads have come to nothing. All you have to go on is a crank call to Bodie's home made some weeks ago. A home which will now have to be reassigned to another agent, unless you give me good reason to keep it for him."

He looked over his glasses at the younger man and waited for a reply. Doyle for his part stared back at him clearly mulling over his response. The Controller could almost sense the wheels turning in the quick brain, as he dismissed one possible argument after another. Cowley sensed that in all likelihood, Bodie's future depended greatly on whatever Ray Doyle said to him right now.

Eventually the internal argument was settled and his features took on a look of determination.

"I know Bodie. He lived and breathed this place more than anyone. It doesn't make sense. It just doesn't make sense. I can't believe that he left without a trace."

"Look I don't claim to understand it either. Don't you think I haven't sat up and wondered how a man such as Bodie could just go absent without leave? But it happens. Maybe we just have to accept it and move on. Oh we would never truly stop searching. But unless evidence to the contrary turns up we are going to have to declare him as a missing person and move on." Cowley could not help but feel the disappointment well up within him as he realised that even Ray Doyle could not come up with the answers. He would just have to accept that Bodie had disappeared of his own volition, however hard that may be to swallow.

It was a bitter pill. But no more so than for the young man standing before him who stood shaking his head at him.

"Face it Doyle" he continued. "He made a decision and left!"

"No!" Doyle shouted. "Never! He would never leave like that unless – " he looked up at Cowley suddenly.

"What?"

"IDIOT!!" Doyle jumped up and started pacing back and forth. "I should have seen it before now. Damnit!"

"What are you onto man?"

"We were looking at all the past cases where Bodie had been threatened right?" Doyle passed his hands through his hair clearly agitated as he continued his pacing.

"Yes, standard procedure." Cowley nodded, wondering where he was going with this. "And as we all know any leads led to dead ends."

"Bodie doesn't scare easily. He would have left some kind of trail for us to follow, even if it meant risking his life. One thing is for sure he would not have left quietly!"

"Agreed, which is why – "

Doyle cut him off.

"But what if it's not him that was threatened? What if it was someone else?"

Cowley saw where he was going with this now.

"So you are suggesting that Bodie left because he was protecting someone, someone he cares about."

"That's exactly what I am suggesting. I need to look over those cases again." He stopped his pacing and looked eagerly over at his commanding officer.

"And he perceived that the threat was real." Cowley continued softly looking meaningfully at Doyle. "Right! You have convinced me. Go and look at the case files again and come back to me with some leads."

Doyle was half way out of the door before he had finished speaking.

"Doyle!" he regarded the animated features of the man as he reappeared. "If you are right about this, then you know that you are the most likely person that he was trying to protect."

"I know. But I am going to get him back if it's the last thing I do!" he declared firmly and then left for Records. He knew just where he wanted to start. The Owen's case had been filed but there had been a loose end, one that had been the cause of the friction between the two of them, one that had threatened to separate them forever.

His heart felt a flutter of hope that maybe he was making progress at last, even while his conscience pricked at him that he had not realised this sooner. He sent an apology out to his absent friend as he started to peruse the record of the events that had led to the tragic death of Harry Owen. And as he did so, his mind drifted back to the last time he had spoken with Bodie.

"They are paying you too much.......have a good time....you earned it....."

And suddenly it struck him that all those weeks ago when he had tried to apologise for being a prized prat, Bodie had not been alone.

-o0o-

His is a world of whispers too quiet to hear when he is awake yet roaring to a crescendo while he sleeps.

Is he awake?

He cannot tell as there is no light. He cannot move. He cannot hear – except for the whispers. What are they saying? He strains to hear the words. He can sense that his face is scrunched in concentration; he tries to reach up to feel the lines in his forehead, but his hands do not move. He craves silence. But the voices are relentless and they do not stop. They penetrate everything so that he cannot remember.

Remember what? What should he remember? He concentrates harder, his mind desperately searching. A name; a face; a voice. Something that will allow him to believe that he is living and breathing and that the world is real, not a figment of his imagination. An image flickers in his consciousness and his mind reaches for it. A broken smile flashing beneath a mass of curly hair. Glimpses of a person that can hold him to ground if he can just get to him. He stretches towards the image but it fades and in its place he senses thick rimmed spectacles, a glass of amber liquid, a lingering spice of alcohol. The feeling of trust remains and he grabs for it but feels only thin air. Too quickly the images blend into the darkness and are gone and his mind searches in vain.

He has forgotten. He feels forgotten. He succumbs once again to the voices. He strains to hear what they are saying. He thinks he can make out the words at last.

"Hear my voice. Only my voice. Only I can tell you. Hear my voice. Only my voice."

Yes only this voice.

Is he asleep?

"Hear my voice"

Maybe he should answer.

"I hear you" he says. "Only you."

The voices stop at last and he is left in silence. He embraces it with relief.