The Weight of Blood

by D. B. Carew

  “I’m not ready for that right now. I’d rather keep things between you and me, at least for now.”

  “Do you mind my asking why?”

  Chris adjusted his position in his seat. He realized he was sweating and rubbed his fingers against his clammy palm. His mouth was dry. “Just a second.” He stood up to pour himself a glass of water from Nathaniel’s cooler. He sat back down and took a few gulps before continuing.

  “Reaching out for help is not something that comes naturally to me,” he offered. “I know how that sounds, given that I work in a helping profession. It’s something I need to work on.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  Nathaniel gave a supportive smile. “The content of our sessions is confidential. I would only breach that confidence if I had imminent concerns about your safety or that of someone else. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t point out my concern.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Nathaniel looked at his watch. “We’ve covered a fair amount today. I’d encourage you to reflect on what we talked about and to continue with your dream diary. I’d also like to leave you with a visioning exercise. Would that be okay?”

  Chris nodded, and Nathaniel began. “What do you want out of life, Chris?”

  “What do I want? What do you mean?”

  “If you had the power to make it happen, what would you want to achieve in your life?”

  Chris started to think. “I guess I’d want to be happy, to have peace of mind, to not be always looking over my shoulder. Not worrying about the safety of the people I love.”

  “You said happiness. When you think about the barriers to your happiness, who or what comes to your mind?”

  “Ray. That’s an obvious one.” Then he thought for a moment. “And I guess my mother, in the sense that she’s always on my mind. My father, too. And I guess you could say Deanna, my wife. I could have been a better husband, and it bothers me that I couldn’t make it work with her, both for the sake of our marriage and for our daughter.”

  “Then think about these questions. I don’t want you to answer them right now. I want you to leave with them on your mind, and I want you to think about them after today. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “You mentioned your father. For the sake of your happiness, can you let him go?” He waited a moment before continuing. “And your mother: for the sake of your happiness, can you let her go? Your marriage to Deanna has ended, and from what you’ve told me, you’ve both moved on in your relationships and your lives. For the sake of your happiness, can you let her go?

  “And finally Ray. Ray is in custody and has no chance of release anytime soon. For the sake of your happiness, can you let him go?”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Just how do you let someone go? Chris reflected in his truck driving home. Someone he loved, in the case of his mother and Deanna. Or in the case of Ray, someone he hated, someone he couldn’t afford to let go because it was clear that Ray wasn’t about to let him go. And he wasn’t even sure how he felt about his father anymore.

  A few glasses of rum and cola were awfully tempting, but Chris resisted the craving and instead called Stephanie. As he listened to her voice, his troubles slowly faded from his mind, replaced by thoughts of lying next to her. It was going for eight-thirty and they were making plans for a quiet evening when his phone beeped an incoming call. He told Stephanie he’d call her back and answered the other call. It was Deanna.

  “Sorry to be phoning on short notice. I’m running behind, at my mother’s. Is there any way you could pick Ann Marie up at dance?”

  “Sure,” he responded instantly.

  “I should be home in about an hour or so. Are you okay staying at the house until I get home? You’ve still got a house key, right?”

  This meant a change in plans. He wouldn’t be seeing Stephanie tonight after all, but he never passed on an opportunity to see Ann Marie. “That sounds good. Take your time. We’ll be fine. And yeah, I’ve got a key.” “Thanks, Chris. I’m sorry if this fouls anything up for you.”

  Chris called Stephanie back and apologized for cancelling their plans. He drove to the dance studio on Granville Street, hoping to arrive early enough to catch a few minutes of his daughter’s practice. The parking lot was full, but he doubled around and was rewarded for his effort when someone pulled out of a space. He parked his truck and walked quickly toward the building. If he hurried, he’d have a chance to see Ann Marie dancing.

  As he neared the studio entrance, he spotted a black Expedition with tinted windows driving down Granville Street in his direction.

  Without thinking, he charged toward the vehicle.

  “STOP FOLLOWING ME!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

  He narrowly missed getting clipped by the truck as it passed him. He didn’t care, nor did he stop. He continued racing after it and managed to pound his right fist hard on the back window before the vehicle’s speed surpassed his. “STAY THE FUCK AWAY!” He looked for a licence number but it was partially obscured with black tape. Was it to avoid detection? Chris wondered.

  The SUV sped away in the distance, and Chris’ exhausted body forced him to stop his pursuit. He was out of breath, and his hand was aching.

  His rage ebbed and his mind returned to reality as he slowly limped back to the studio parking lot. An audience of parents and children met him with shocked expressions. One mother clutched her young daughter’s hand and hurried to the safety of her minivan, giving Chris a scornful look as she passed him. A father gave him a ‘what’s your problem?’ look.

  What broke Chris’ heart, though, was the look on Ann Marie’s face. In that moment, he wasn’t sure whether she was afraid, confused, embarrassed, or some dreadful combination of all three. He felt exactly the same way.

  The drive home did little to improve the situation. Chris could tell that his daughter was shaken by the way she clutched her dance bag tight against her body and refrained from being her usual chatty self. He spent the entire time trying to come up with the right words and the right way to tell her why he’d acted the way he did.

  But there were no magical words, nothing he could say or do that would justify his behaviour. The best thing he could do, he realized, was discuss his actions honestly with his daughter.

  When they finally got home, Chris sat Ann Marie next to him on the living room couch.

  “Sometimes, Sweetie, adults make mistakes,” he started. “I made a big one today. I thought the person in that truck was following me, and that made me mad. But I shouldn’t have acted that way. I’m really sorry.” He looked at his daughter to gauge her reaction. She kept staring at the floor.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you, Sweetie. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

  “Was ... Was it the bad man from Grandpa’s funeral in the truck? I heard Mommy talk about him with Grandma.”

  “No, Sweetie, it wasn’t. The bad man’s in jail and can’t hurt anybody. But that’s not important now,” he said, gently kissing her forehead. “You’re what’s important, and I’m so sorry I missed seeing you dance.”

  Ann Marie said nothing and retreated to her room.

  Chris berated himself, worried that his reckless behaviour would be permanently engraved in Ann Marie’s memory. Great, a new low.

  A few minutes passed and Chris was still struggling to figure out what he should do next to remedy the situation, when Ann Marie emerged from her room and tentatively stood in front of him.

  “Do you want to see my dance?”

  “I’d love to,” he said, his eyes misting.

  Chris revelled in watching his daughter perform her moves. When Deanna arrived home, she joined him, even cozying up next to him while Ann Marie gleefully danced for the two of them. And when it was time for her to go to bed, they took turns reading to Ann Marie from Ivy and Bean before turning out her light.

  Back in the living room, they talked briefly about the funeral before discussing their daughter’s
upcoming week of activities, including her dance recital. Chris finally got the nerve to tell Deanna about the incident at the dance studio. He thought her silence spoke volumes.

  “I apologized to Ann.”

  “That’s not the point, Chris. You can’t have outbursts like that in front of her. It scares her.”

  “I know. I messed up. Believe me, I know.”

  “Oh, Chris,” Deanna sighed. “I know it’s been rough. Your father, and that whole thing with Ray at the funeral. Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yeah, I just need to get some rest.”

  Chris got up to leave. Deanna stopped him with a gentle touch on his shoulder. “It’s late and you look tired. You’re welcome to stay here tonight.”

  He felt something stir inside him, a sexual spark he thought had long since been extinguished in their relationship. Was Deanna coming on to him? Or was he misinterpreting this just as badly as he’d misinterpreted the intentions of the SUV driver? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about a lot of things anymore.

  “Uh, I should be going. Got stuff at my apartment I’ll need tomorrow.”

  He could tell his face was flushed, and he resisted the urge to look Deanna in the eye. He quickly said goodbye and left her house, the house that had once been theirs.

  The day’s confusing events were taking a toll on him now, and his head was hurting. When he got home, Chris considered having a drink or five. Instead, he popped a couple of ibuprofen and crumpled into bed.

  THIRTY

  When Chris awoke the next morning, he checked his smartphone to get caught up. He was startled to see a story in the Tribune reporting on the review of unescorted patient access to the community. The piece included a statement from IFP director Florence Threader, emphasizing that “public safety is of paramount concern and is never compromised for the sake of patient community reintegration.”

  He was grateful it was Saturday and not a workday, but he had no intention of staying home to rest his weary body. He had plenty of work of another kind to do.

  He texted Stephanie to suggest plans for the evening. No answer.

  On his drive to the West Coast Correctional Centre, he vacillated on whether to abandon his plan or go through with it. He knew that what he was doing was risky, but he had questions that only Ray could answer, and he was going to do his best to get those answers.

  At the front desk, he presented his identification to the security guard, fully expecting to be turned away when he told the guard whom he was intending to visit. But to his surprise, Chris was taken through a security screening procedure to ensure he had no weapons or contraband and then was ushered to a secure visiting area where he was told to wait. He used the time to work on controlling the anxiety he was experiencing in anticipation of seeing Ray. Finally, the door opened and two guards escorted Ray into the large room.

  “Well, well, what a pleasant surprise,” Ray said mockingly. “I thought we weren’t supposed to have direct or indirect contact. I won’t tell, though, if you won’t,” he added slyly. “I’ve always considered it more of a guideline than a rule. So, brother dear, what brings you all the way out here? You miss me?”

  “Cut the crap,” Chris countered, glaring at Ray. “We both know why I’m here. Why did you send someone to spy on me and my daughter?”

  Ray leaned back in his chair and stroked the stubble on his chin as though he was giving the question serious consideration. “What, no condolences on my loss?” He gave a look of feigned pain.

  “Why’ve you got people following me?” Chris repeated, the anger clear in his voice.

  “Listen to you, brother dear, all paranoid and shit. And look at those bags under your eyes. I sleep like a baby, a baby girl, maybe.”

  “Stop messing around and answer the question!”

  “Why? It’s more fun watching you squirm,” Ray laughed. He leaned in closer and spoke in a lower voice. “Guess what? I got me a lawyer. A good one.”

  “Bernum doesn’t come cheap. Must be costing you a pretty penny.”

  “Nope. Not paying a cent,” Ray boasted. “Turns out I’ve got friends in low places. Just like the song. He even helped me get a cellphone. Technically, it’s against the rules but ...” He shrugged. “A guy’s gotta survive. It’s not as good as my old phone. You remember that one, right?”

  “Oh, I remember it, all right. And the cops remember it, too. They’re using it right now to collect evidence against you. And there’s nothing you or your lawyer will be able to do about it. What the hell were you thinking, anyway? Ever hear of a burner?”

  Ray snickered at the defiance in Chris’ voice. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see. Of course, a lot could happen between now and then. In the meantime, I’m making the most of my time in here. Got a decent TV, three square meals, and no bills to pay. No one bugs me. Not like the mindfuckers at your shithole IFP.”

  “It’s good you like it here, Ray, ’cause it’s going to be your home for a long, long time.”

  “Bullshit, Ryder, you haven’t won.”

  “It’s not about winning or losing, Ray. Why can’t you get your head around that?”

  “You better believe it’s about winning. And I’ll let you in on something, Ryder. Between detention centres, halfway homes, and jails, I’ve spent more time on the inside than outside.” He gestured to the room they were in. “This is like home to me. So your little threat about spending time here doesn’t mean squat to me. Just gives me more time to think about the important things in life. Like family, your family.”

  “I swear to God, you go near —”

  “You’ll do what? Send me to jail?” Ray broke into wild laughter. “Fuck you, Ryder. You had your chance with family, and I had shit. But I’ll swear something to you. I’ll have you looking over your shoulder, worrying about your precious little Ann Marie and your fuck-buddy, Stephanie. I’m gonna be so far in your head, you’ll think I’m your shadow! And it ain’t gonna stop till it’s just you and me.”

  Chris realized he’d made a mistake in coming and got up to leave.

  “Take good care of yourself, brother dear,” Ray taunted. “Don’t go dying on me. You’re the only family I’ve got left.”

  The dig triggered something for Chris, something he thought was worth exploring. “But that’s not true, is it, Ray?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about your foster sister. You have one, don’t you? That’s what I read in your report.”

  Ray gave him a look that Chris couldn’t quite read. “She wasn’t related to me. She was nothing to me but a pain in the ass,” he sneered. “Besides, she’s not my problem anymore.”

  “What happened, Ray? You became her shadow, too?” Chris countered, looking for a reaction.

  “Something like that.” Ray looked Chris straight in the eye.

  Chris felt a shiver run down his spine. He spun on his heel and continued walking toward the exit, suddenly sick to his stomach. What had Ray done to his foster sister?

  “It’s been a nice visit, Ryder,” Ray called after him. “Next time, bring your daughter. Oh, and say hi to Stephanie for me. I keep looking for her in here, but I guess she must be avoiding me.” Ray’s mocking laughter followed Chris out of the room.

  As he drove away from the centre, Chris looked in his rear-view mirror, his gaze fixing on the barbed wire on top of the perimeter fence, designed to keep the inmates inside. He thought back to Ray’s boast about living a carefree life within the correctional centre. Then he thought about Ray’s continued ability to wreak havoc on his life. Who is the real prisoner?

  THIRTY-ONE

  Chris returned home disillusioned. There was still so much he didn’t know about Ray, particularly Ray’s time in care as a youth and with his foster sister.

  He dug through his closet until he found a binder containing documents on Ray he’d received from a colleague from Adult Community Corrections. He searched through the pile of pre-sentence and other court repo
rts until he found the social history on Ray as a youth from the Ministry of Child and Family Development. He’d previously combed through this document trying to locate the social worker who had written the report, eager to know how the information had been obtained. He’d struck out then, but today he was looking for another detail: the name of the foster mother who’d taken Ray in when all his other placements had ended miserably and all other options had been exhausted.

  His diligence paid off. And an online search for a Wanda Hill in the Vancouver area yielded four possibilities.

  He wrote down the information and started making phone calls. The first number he called was no longer in service, and he left a general message at the home of the second. He was in the middle of leaving a similar message with his third call when someone picked up.

  “Hello?” It was a woman’s voice. “Who did you say you were looking for?”

  “Wanda Hill.”

  “And what is this in regards to?”

  “A person named Raymond. Or Ray.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Ray Owens.” He was met with silence but his gut told him he’d reached the right person.

  “My name is Chris Ryder. I totally understand why you’d be reluctant to talk about Ray with someone you don’t know. I —”

  “I know who you are. I’ve read about you in the news.” There was an audible sigh. “I’ve been wondering when this call would come.”

  Chris clarified that he was calling personally, not professionally, and Wanda said she understood. She declined Chris’ offer of meeting in person. She’d moved three times over the past several years, mostly out of fear that Ray would track her down. However, she agreed to talk with Chris with the understanding that their conversation wouldn’t get back to Ray. It unnerved Chris that even after all these years, she still lived in fear of Ray.

  “Ask me what you want to know, Mr. Ryder, and I’ll see if I can help.” Wanda’s voice was tired.