EPILOGUE

Ray stacked another log on the fire, then straightened. He gripped the rough-hewn mantle in the great room with both hands. Walter Harrington had made a few changes over the years, adding a bedroom or two, a few amenities (Ray was especially grateful for the indoor plumbing), but his grandfather's cabin was essentially intact, down to the handmade furniture, crocheted afghans, and framed covers of the Saturday Evening Post. As soon as he had stepped over the threshold, Fraser knew with bedrock certainty that Tuppy Harrington had never set foot inside this refuge. There was nary a trace of pink.

Ray leaned his head on one arm. " ... then, I kissed her." He made a noise of derision in his throat. "With her husband just down the hall." He paused. "I like Victor. I really do. And, I'm happy for them. But, still ... I kissed her." His laugh was bitter. "Pretty rotten thing to do to the guy after all he'd been through, don't ya think?"

"It was just a kiss, Ray," Fraser offered from the big rocker that faced the fire.

Ray brushed his fingers across his lips. "No, Benny. It wasn't."

"Understood," he said, softly.

Ray turned and faced him. "I've known her less than three days ... and now she's gone. To Lisbon, or Mykonos or Maui or wherever the hell they went." He ran his hands through his hair. "Christ! They have the whole world!"

"You'll always have Chicago," Fraser pointed out.

"Yeah?" he retorted, angrily. "And what's that? A few dances, a couple of kisses ... " He trailed off, his hands clenched in fists at his side. He stepped over Dief who was curled on the rug in front of the fire. Ray dropped to the couch and buried his face in his hands. "It's stupid to feel like this. Like ... like ... " He trailed off. He just didn't have the words.

"Like you had known her ... forever," Fraser finished for him.

Ray's head shot up.

"Across a thousand lifetimes," he continued, his voice husky. "And now that she's gone ... a part of you is gone, too."

"Yeah," Ray admitted. After a beat, he muttered, "It hurts."

"Yes."

They lapsed into silence, though it was a companionable one. Each man stared into the fire, lost in his own thoughts. The fire gradually died down to embers. Ray thought Benny had fallen asleep. His own eyelids were getting heavy, when he heard his voice. He had to strain to hear it.

"I ... I gave Louis Renault my word, Ray," he said, tentatively.

Ray waited, but he didn't say anything more. He couldn't make out Benny's expression in the dim light of the dying fire, but he could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, in the hands knotted on top of the afghan on his lap. Ray straightened on the couch and knuckled the sleep out of his eyes.

"Tell me," he said, simply.

Sometime later, Robert Fraser stood over his son. Ben slumped in the rocking chair, eyes closed, breathing deeply. The colorful afghan had fallen from his lap. His father bent and reached for it, but it slipped through his fingers. Or rather, his fingers slipped through it. He blew out a breath of frustration. The wolf stirred, lifting his head. When he saw the ghost, Diefenbaker grinned and thumped his tail before settling again.

Bob sat in the remaining chair and stared into the dying fire for a long while. He was startled to hear himself humming a tune. He was not a sentimental man. Not anymore. But, once upon a time, it had been their song, his and Caroline's. She would sing and he would hum as they danced to the music they made. When Benton came along, she'd sing it to the boy every night before he went to sleep.

He glanced at his son's peaceful face. The night he told Ben of his mother's death, the child had pleaded, in his high, piping voice, "Sing it, Daddy. Sing 'As Time Goes By.'" To his everlasting shame, Bob had refused and when the boy began the song on his own, he had told him never to sing it again. Ben, a very proper and obedient child even then, never did.

The boy had inherited his mother's singing voice, thank heaven. But, Bob cleared his spectral throat and gave it a go, anyway. The lullaby was gruff, off-key, and missing a verse, but he was bringing it home with a flourish:

"It's still the same old story,

a fight for love and glory,

a case of do or die – "

"Who're you?" a voice said from his left.

Robert Fraser blinked at the sleepy-eyed detective staring at him from the couch. "Nobody," he blurted, then added, "You're dreaming. Go back to sleep."

"OK," Ray murmured, closing his eyes. "G'night."

"Good night." He looked at his sleeping son, then back at the man on the couch. He knew that this friendship, still at its beginning, would be as long and tumultuous and ... beautiful ... as his and Buck's had been. Like Kipling's Thousandth Man. He added, quietly, "Thanks, Yank."

Ray rolled over on his side. "No problem," he muttered, face turned away. And, with that, he was asleep again, snoring softly. The wolf chimed in, though louder. The combined sound provided a rhythmic counterpoint to the big finish.

"The fundamental things apply,

As time goes by ..."

The ghost and the song faded out on the last word.

THE END

NOTES FROM THE AUTHOR:

1. The poem The Thousandth Man by Rudyard Kipling goes on for several verses, but condensing the first two lines with the last two sums it up:

One man in a thousand, Solomon says,

Will stick more close than a brother ...

But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side

To the gallows-foot and after!

2. Casablanca is my husband's and my favorite movie, and As Time Goes By is our song.

You know, the one we danced to at our wedding, always request from the band or dj at any dance (though it's rare that they have it), get all misty-eyed over when we hear it played or performed anywhere. We're very happy to share it with Bob and Caroline Fraser and Victor and Ilsa.

3. The short story that Fraser thinks about in the Chippewa Room in Chapter Four is

The Lady Or The Tiger? by Frank Stockton. If you have never read it, I urge you to do so. It's justifiably a classic.

4. I must give a great deal of credit to Dilanne Tomas. In her story, Heaven and Hell, she

described the effects of a taser on a captured Fraser. It inspired the parts of my story where poor Fraser is subjected to taser abuse. If you haven't read her stories, I encourage you to do so. She captures Ray and Fraser's friendship wonderfully. The medical research on taser abuse is as accurate as I could make it. Amnesty International has called attention to the use of tasers as an instrument of torture in many countries.

5. If you are a Casablanca fan, I hope you have enjoyed the references to that great movie. If

you haven't seen it ... well, I'd love to be able to see it again for the first time.

Even though I do not set up the love triangle between Fraser, Ray and Ilsa, I could have easily. It seemed to me that Fraser has many of the character traits of the movie version of Victor Laszlo in many ways, while Ray is Rick. What do you think?

6. I promised this story sooner than this to those that told me they enjoyed my prior story,

The Great Northern Maple Syrup Adventure at the RCW 139 Thank You Kindly Convention back in August (2014). Sorry for the delay, guys, but real life intervened and I obsessively polish a story before letting it go. (My husband would say obsessively-compulsively).

I hoped you enjoyed this story. Please send feedback as I would love to hear from you.