The Weight of Blood

by D. B. Carew

  Recognizing that Chris was in the middle of a panic attack, Stephanie held his hand and gently sat him down on the ground. “You’re going to be okay, Chris. Just close your eyes, take a deep breath, and count to ten.”

  He followed her instructions.

  “Now take another deep breath and slowly breathe out. This time, focus on what you hear around you.” She stopped for a moment before continuing. “What do you hear?”

  “A bird ... chirping in a tree.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know, close to us.”

  “Do you hear anything else?”

  He listened more closely and was surprised as the trail seemed to come alive with birds singing all around him. Taking another deep breath, he opened his eyes and stood. Stephanie’s grounding exercise had worked. His anxiety was slowly subsiding.

  He soon felt strong enough to continue moving. “Thanks. Let’s get this over with.” They walked hand in hand into the park.

  When he’d last been in the park, the ground had been covered with snow. Today the ground was bare, and the sunlight streaming through the trees reminded him of how much he had loved running on these trails. The smell of fresh leaves and the sound of singing birds gave evidence of the abundance of life in the park, partly countering the images of death and destruction ingrained in his memory.

  After trekking for several minutes along the wooded trail, they were rewarded by reaching the entrance to a beautiful lake. They remained silent, taking in the tranquil sight of two ducks gliding across the still water, leaving a V-shaped pattern in their wake. At the far end of the lake, Chris saw a group of people gathered near a utility wagon holding a wooden park bench. Chris’ moment of introspection was shattered by the solemn reality of why they were here.

  Brandon was the first to greet them. “Glad you could make it.” The sergeant hugged Stephanie before shaking Chris’ hand.

  “You been here long?” Chris asked.

  “Twenty minutes or so.” He leaned in and spoke to Chris quietly. “You okay?” When Chris nodded, he continued. “Elizabeth looks good, doesn’t she?” He pointed out the two people standing next to her. “Her boyfriend, Robert, and Victoria, her mother.”

  Elizabeth did appear remarkably healthy and happy. Chris fought to shake away the image of the last time he’d seen her as a traumatized young woman with bloodshot eyes.

  Elizabeth caught his gaze and smiled as she approached and gave him a warm embrace. After introductions all around, she said, “I’m so glad you could make it. This means so much to me and my mother.”

  “You look great,” Chris said. “How are you feeling?”

  “It’s been hard at times, but my mom and I are seeing a therapist. And Robert’s been great.” She raised her left hand, calling his attention to a shiny ring on her finger. “I’m engaged!”

  “Congratulations!” Chris hugged her again.

  “I have you two to thank.” Elizabeth looked at Chris and Brandon, tears welling up in her eyes.

  Chris could feel his own eyes starting to tear up. “I wish I could have done more for your father.”

  Elizabeth led Chris away from the group. “Actually, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you about my father,” she said tentatively. “Do you mind?”

  “Go on,” Chris said with trepidation.

  “You said you’d seen him walking in here before. Can you tell me about that?”

  It took a moment for Chris to respond. “Well, at first, we’d pass without saying anything to each other. It was like we were both in our own little worlds. But one day, we were walking around this lake when there was a loud splashing sound. Right over there, in fact.” Chris pointed to where he’d heard the noise. “It was a black bear thrashing around in the water. We watched it go ashore on the other side of the lake. It shook itself off and then disappeared into the bushes.”

  Chris stopped and looked at Elizabeth. Tears were streaming down her face, but she was smiling. “Your father and I laughed because we knew we’d shared a special moment. And from that day on, we updated each other on whether one of us had seen any wildlife on our walk.” He stopped and briefly looked away from Elizabeth. “When I saw ... his body, I didn’t want to believe it was him.”

  Elizabeth sniffled. “I know this is going to sound weird, but in a way, I’m glad it was you who found him, and not a total stranger.”

  “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wondered what would have happened if I’d been there earlier. Would it have made a difference?”

  “My therapist calls those ‘what if ’ questions, but there’s nothing you could have done.” She looked back at the little group. Her mother and fiancé were talking with Stephanie, but Brandon was making his way toward them. “I wanted to do something positive to remember my father, and that’s how we came up with the idea of a bench to dedicate in his memory.”

  “Your mother is wondering if you wanted to start the ceremony now,” Brandon joined in the conversation.

  “Thank you,” she said, and they walked back to rejoin the rest of the group. Elizabeth glanced around the lake. “Well, this looks like as good a place as any for the bench.”

  After they had arranged the bench where they wanted it, Elizabeth began to speak. “My father shared so much of his life with my mother and me, but ... well ... he was also a very private person.” She wiped her eyes. “He kept his walks in this park for himself. He brought me here with him once, but my mother and I knew he loved to come here on his own. This park was special to him, which is why we chose it for a memorial.”

  Victoria Carrier then said a few words. The group mingled for a few minutes before Elizabeth, her mother, and Robert headed off, leaving Chris, Brandon, and Stephanie in the park.

  “You want to cash in that beer I owe you?” Chris asked Brandon. “I know a decent pub around here. We can grab a bite to eat.”

  “Yeah, a beer would go down nice about now.”

  Conversation was light and pleasant as they enjoyed their time together. When Brandon left, Stephanie and Chris stayed behind to finish their discussion. Chris had already briefed Stephanie on his day at work and now asked about hers.

  “I had a good one. I’m really excited about the group I’m running.” She proceeded to tell Chris about her group at the West Coast Correctional Centre, which focussed on inmates accepting personal responsibility for the actions that led to their incarceration. “The great majority of these guys have experienced adverse childhood events ranging from physical and sexual abuse to suffering other forms of trauma at a young age, such as the death of a family member. This isn’t an excuse for their actions; it’s actually the opposite. It’s about helping them understand their abuse so they can learn skills to stop their cycle from repeating.” Stephanie’s passion about her work was one of the many things Chris loved about her. As he listened intently, he also became aware of a bubbling anxiety.

  “Are you okay, Chris?”

  “I’m sorry, Stephanie. I couldn’t help but think about Ray’s threats against you. I know you’re safe there, but it doesn’t stop me from worrying about you.”

  “I know. But like I’ve said, he’s on a locked unit, in a completely different building from mine. I never enter his building and there’s no way he’d enter mine. He’d never be a candidate for my group, either, because he never accepts personal responsibility for his actions, just blames everyone else. Like that interview he did, blaming the Children’s Ministry, or blaming a mental illness we both know he doesn’t have. You have to trust me, Chris. I’m safe, and I know what I’m doing.”

  Chris exhaled slowly. “I do, Stephanie. I trust you completely. It’s my issue, I know. I’m really glad you like your work. I can see how good you are at it.”

  “Now you’re sucking up,” she said playfully. “Enough talk about work. Let’s meet back at my place and do something fun.”

  THIRTEEN

  Ray shuffled into the large guard-supervised visiting room
at the West Coast Correctional Centre. Located in Abbotsford, the facility housed male inmates still before the court and awaiting trial as well as sentenced inmates. Ray was mildly curious to know who’d come to see him because he didn’t get many visitors. He didn’t recognize the portly balding man, but the perfectly tailored suit and crocodile-skin Oxfords told Ray the guy hadn’t stumbled here on a whim.

  The man stood up from his seat and extended his hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Owens.”

  Ray didn’t bother shaking his hand, choosing instead to grunt a greeting in response. They both sat.

  “Mr. Owens, I read the piece you did with the Tribune. I must say, my friend, it was entertaining. I—”

  “Quit the bullshit. You ain’t my friend. Who are you?” Ray growled impatiently.

  “Well, that depends on you. I could be your lawyer.” The man looked across the table at Ray, waiting for a response. He didn’t get one, so he continued. “Two counts of murder, one count of attempted murder.” He raised an eyebrow. “That could set you back quite a while. You’d come out with less hair than I have.”

  “I don’t need no stupid lawyer. I’m representing myself.”

  “And how’s that working out for you?” The man looked pointedly at the high-security room they were sitting in.

  “How would you do any better?” Ray shot back.

  “Oh, I hear there are certain creature comforts a man comes to appreciate in settings like this. And you’ve got a court date coming up. From what I understand, the Crown is keen to get your case to trial as soon as possible. I don’t mind telling you I know my way around the court, and I’ve learned a few tricks along the way.”

  He leaned forward and spoke in a quiet voice to avoid being overheard by the guard. “I could delay your trial for months. Would that interest you?” He looked Ray squarely in the eye. “Or would you prefer to take your chances on finding your own way out of this mess you’ve gotten yourself into?”

  “It’s Ryder’s fault I’m in this shithole!” Ray exploded in a rage. He collected himself before the guard intervened. “But don’t worry about me. I’ll get by fine without your help.”

  The man continued to speak softly, unmoved by Ray’s tirade. “What if I told you the client I represent shares a common interest when it comes to Mr. Ryder?”

  Ray sat up ramrod straight. “Who’re you talking about?”

  “That’s a detail we don’t need to go into right now. All you need to know is that this client would be prepared to retain my services to represent you. All I need to know is whether you’re interested.”

  “I’ll tell you what I need: a psych assessment to say that I’m criminally nuts. Can you manage that?”

  “Well, Mr. Owens, I can certainly look into it.”

  Ray sat back in his chair and stroked the grey stubble on his chin. “Those mindfuckers at IFP called me opportunistic, like it was a bad thing. I call it survival. If your client is willing to pay my legal fees while I get to make Ryder’s life a living hell, who am I to say no?”

  “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Good, we have the makings of a deal.” The man stood up, reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card with the name Phillip Bernum printed in bold. “We’ll talk soon.” The lawyer motioned to the guard to escort him from the room.

  FOURTEEN

  Sitting alone in his worn-out chair in his worn-down house, Maurice Ryder stared listlessly at the television. He wasn’t concentrating on the show; he never did. It simply served to pass the time. He gulped back one mouthful of rum, then another.

  A solitary tear trickled down his cheek. What the heck? He patted at the wetness on his face, then looked at his wet finger with surprise. It had been years since the one time he’d allowed himself to cry: the day his wife had died, to be precise. The day he lost Fiona was the day he exiled himself to his own hell, cutting out everything and everyone that had once mattered to him, including his son. But recent developments had made him realize his opportunities to see Chris again were limited, and the realization affected him in a way that surprised him now.

  A lucid thought entered his alcohol-soaked brain, and he considered the implications of actually talking with his son and telling him the truth about his mother. I owe Chris that much.

  FIFTEEN

  Chris drove to work the next morning with pleasant thoughts on his mind from his previous evening with Stephanie. His workday started with a team meeting on Alpha at nine a.m. These meetings were attended by psychiatrists, nurses, healthcare workers, a family practitioner, and a pharmacist as well as social workers. Today’s meeting included an in-service from Dr. Becky Thomson, a family practitioner, on how to administer Naloxone, a medication used to block the effects of opioids, especially in cases of overdose such as fentanyl. A plan was developed to identify patients at risk on Alpha so that they too could be given the education as well as a Naloxone kit prior to their discharge.

  The remainder of Chris’ day was fairly routine: team meetings with his patients and follow-up telephone calls with patients’ families, particularly those impacted by the moratorium on day leaves. He talked diplomatically about the merits of the review, but as the day wore on, he found himself becoming increasingly preoccupied with thoughts about his evening session with his counsellor. Before leaving the hospital, he texted Stephanie. “Seeing Nathaniel. Love you.”

  Chris initially thought today’s session would focus on his recent return to Woodland Park for Elizabeth’s ceremony. He’d already briefed Nathaniel when he’d called to confirm their appointment.

  But something happened on the way to the counsellor’s office in downtown Vancouver that was an even bigger worry for him now, and he wasted no time in expressing his concern. “I think I was followed here.”

  “Followed? What makes you think that?”

  “I saw a black Expedition behind me at a stoplight on Burrard Street. It stood out because it had tinted windows, the ones that prevent you from seeing inside. I saw it again about five minutes later on Granville Street. It looked like it was keeping a distance but not losing me, almost like he wanted me to know he was following me.”

  “You think the driver wanted you to know he was following you?”

  “I’m not sure.” Chris gave the counsellor a surprised look. “You think I’m making a big deal over this, don’t you? You think I’m paranoid?”

  “I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say paranoid. But I think it might be good to keep an open mind to other alternatives. For example, is it possible the vehicle was simply heading in a similar direction and had nothing at all to do with you?”

  Chris nodded somewhat grudgingly.

  “But,” Nathaniel continued, “the bigger question is why you think someone would be following you.”

  Chris reflected for a moment. “I guess I’ve been questioning people and things going on around me lately.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  Chris sighed but otherwise remained silent.

  “Chris, it’s common, when people experience trauma, to feel less secure than they normally would, as they adjust to their new normal.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t feel like I’m in control these days.” He looked away from Nathaniel.

  “When you say ‘control,’ what exactly are you referring to?”

  “Control of my emotions, for starters. My sleep is also shot to hell. And ever since Ray, I’ve been worried about the people around me, especially Ann Marie, Deanna, and Stephanie.”

  “But Ray’s in jail, and you’ve had no contact with him for over three months. Correct?”

  “I know, but I can’t shake the feeling that we’re not done, that he’s not done. And if anything ever happened to my family, it’d be my fault.”

  Nathaniel looked confused. “How would it be your fault?”

  Chris paused, unsure if he wanted to be dragged any further into this conversation because of where it might lead him. But he also believed this question was at the root of hi
s present problems. “Because I didn’t kill Ray when I had the chance.” He exhaled deeply. “Wow, I can’t believe I said that.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “You have no idea how much time I spend reliving those moments in Woodland Park: Ray with the rifle on me, me with the rifle on him. It goes on and on like a continuous loop in my head. But I could have ended it all when I held the rifle on him. A simple pull of the trigger and, boom, it’s all over. No more Ray, no more problems.”

  “You wanted to shoot Ray?”

  “I did. And it would have been justifiable self-defence. He shot me.” Chris pointed to his right shoulder and winced at the remembered pain. “And I know he was going to kill me as soon as I led him to his cellphone.” His mind drifted back to the memory of Ray’s contorted face, and he winced again.

  “But you didn’t shoot him.” Nathaniel brought Chris back into the moment.

  “No. And it’s my biggest regret, my biggest mistake.”

  “I don’t see it as a mistake, Chris. I see it as confirmation of all your good qualities as a compassionate human being. That even after you were injured and had the chance to do the same to the person who injured you, you chose not to.”

  “That all sounds well and good. But the reality is, he’s not going to stop until he’s broken me. Until he’s killed everyone I love. He said it, and it’s the one thing he’s said that I believe.”

  “How often would you estimate you relive those moments in the park?”

  “There’s not a day goes by that I don’t think about it at some point. And that’s when I’m awake. It’s even worse when I’m trying to sleep. It’s like I can’t turn my brain off. I wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare.” He suddenly remembered something he had wanted to tell Nathaniel. “I had one last night that was pretty messed up.”