by D. B. Carew
Tears flowed down Mary’s cheeks. “Your father ... your father knew Stan.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
She dabbed at her eyes. “Maurice barged into my house a few nights after your mother’s murder. He was so drunk, I couldn’t make out what he was saying at first. He blamed me for Fiona’s death, said she’d still be alive if I’d loaned him the money. And ...” She paused, then said in a rush, “And then he told me about Stan. How he owed Stan money, how Stan threatened him if he didn’t pay.”
Chris couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What happened?”
She took a few deep breaths before continuing. “I don’t know the details, but I gather Maurice was scared enough that he went to the police and told them about Stan’s illegal activities, loan sharking and the like. He couldn’t have known what was going to happen. And neither could I.”
She took a moment to collect herself. “Stan was arrested and went to jail. A week later, my sister was dead. Oh, Chris, I’m so sorry.” She started sobbing uncontrollably. Chris approached his aunt and put his arms around her. “I love you, Aunt Mary. We don’t have to talk about this anymore if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s okay. You can ask me whatever you want.”
Chris was dumbfounded. In every article he’d read, his mother’s murder had never been depicted as anything other than a tragic act of random violence. His head was thumping. He felt overcome by this new information, but it still left him with questions.
“How come this was never in the news? Why didn’t you tell me?” He looked at Mary with surprise.
Her damp tissue was in shreds. “I don’t know why it wasn’t reported. Part of me prayed all these years that it wasn’t true. I prayed that it was Maurice’s drunken rambling, that none of it happened the way he said.”
“But why didn’t you tell me what he’d said?”
She spoke without looking at him. “After Fiona’s death, Maurice went out of control. He traded one vice for another. I never saw or heard of him stepping a foot inside a casino again, but he became a horrible drunk. He cut everyone out of his life, including you. I guess he felt responsible for her death. That’s one thing we shared. I’ve lived with this guilt all these years, Chris. I’ve been afraid to tell you.”
“But why?”
“At first, I held out hope your father would reenter your life. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid that if you knew the truth, you’d never forgive him. Or me.” She looked at him now with pleading eyes.
“So why are you telling me now?”
“Last week, your father showed up at my door. It was the first time in years we’d seen each other. He knew he was dying, Chris. He said he had a few things to straighten out before ...”
She stopped herself, then started again. “He said he had to tell me the truth about Fiona’s death, about Stan. He didn’t remember telling me all those years ago when he was drunk. The story was the same. He also wanted you to know, which is why he asked for your number. You deserve to know. All these years, I’ve known you should know.”
Chris felt as though a two-by-four had whacked him on his head. Another question popped up that he felt compelled to ask. “What about Ray? Did you know that my father had another child?”
“No. I didn’t know that until you told me a few months ago. I swear.”
“Do you think my mother knew?”
She shook her head. “I’m sure if she’d known, she’d have told me.”
Chris’ head was spinning, overcome by a myriad of conflicting emotions. He’d always loved his aunt, and he knew she’d loved him ever since she took him in as a young boy. But now he felt he’d been kept in the dark about much of his mother’s life. His aunt had known for years that his mother’s death was not a random act, that it was a planned, deliberate act of revenge.
At this point, he didn’t know what difference this knowledge made, but it still hurt. He had to get out of there.
Chris said something about having to hit the road before it got too late. He thanked his aunt for the brownies and made a quick retreat.
His drive home was going to be long and lonely, and he needed to hear a familiar voice, but his call to Stephanie went straight to voicemail. Needing the sound of human voices, he switched on the radio.
Low-lying fog made visibility poor on long stretches of Highway 1, and Chris was forced to drive with his fog lights on when there were no oncoming vehicles. It wasn’t much better after he took the last exit to lead him home. As he neared his building, the vehicle behind him suddenly put on its high beams. The intense glare distracted Chris. As he adjusted his mirror to avoid the glare, he saw that the large vehicle was closing its distance on his truck. Cursing to himself, he checked his rear-view mirror a second time to get a better look at the inept driver. He wasn’t sure but it looked like a black Expedition.
“What the hell do you want from me?” he shouted. He slammed on his brakes and came to a sudden stop in the middle of the road. The tires on the black SUV screeched wildly to avoid a collision, and the driver, hidden behind tinted windows, blasted the horn in protest before pulling a one-eighty and racing away.
Chris pulled over to the side of the road, turned off the ignition, and waited for his heart to stop pounding. He was furious and embarrassed in equal measure that his panicked actions had almost caused an accident. When he finally came to his senses, he resumed his slow drive home.
It was after ten when he arrived at his apartment. He phoned Stephanie to report that he was home and heading straight to bed. He turned in for the night, but wasn’t counting on getting much sleep.
TWENTY-FOUR
Chris felt no more rested the next morning. After being terrorized by yet another nightmare, he hadn’t been able to get back to sleep for several hours. He didn’t have the energy to record the nightmare in his dream diary and figured it didn’t matter because this was one dream he wasn’t going to forget. He’d be discussing it with Nathaniel soon enough.
A phone call interrupted his thoughts. Reaching for the phone, he realized he also had messages waiting. The caller identified himself as the warden at the West Coast Correctional Centre. Chris’ breathing quickened, his heart pulsing. Why was the warden calling him? Was Stephanie okay? Or was it Ray?
“I’m sorry to interrupt your morning, Mr. Ryder. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your father.”
“Thanks,” Chris said suspiciously. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, unfortunately, and that’s why I’m calling. Mr. Ray Owens has been granted permission from Correctional Service Canada to attend his, uh, your father’s funeral.”
It took Chris a moment to process the information before he exploded in a rage. “You’ve got to be joking!”
“I’m afraid not,” the man replied in a tone more reserved than Chris’. “I understand this is coming to you as a surprise, and an unwelcome one at that. I’m also aware of the history between yourself and Mr. Owens. If it were solely up to me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I would have rejected the request and been done with it. This is a staffing and logistical problem that I would much sooner not have to deal with.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem ...” The warden stopped as if searching for a diplomatic way to express himself. “The problem is that Mr. Owens’ lawyer, Mr. Bernum, is exerting an enormous amount of pressure on us to accommodate his client’s request on legal and compassionate grounds.”
“Compassionate grounds! Ray doesn’t have a compassionate bone in his miserable body. He doesn’t give a damn about my father’s death. He didn’t even know the man. Compassion? Get real!”
“I don’t disagree with you. However, Mr. Bernum is using part of that very rationale to force the request through the Correctional Service of Canada as a temporary absence. He’s arguing that Mr. Owens never had a chance to meet his father while he was alive and therefore deserves an opportunity to pay his respects at
the funeral service.”
“How did Ray even find out?”
“That I don’t know, Mr. Ryder. I suspect his lawyer may have had a hand in it. I trust you’re familiar with Mr. Bernum.”
Chris was speechless. He would have hoped common sense and decency would prevail in a situation like this. But Ray had Bernum as his lawyer, so common sense and decency were thrown out the window. Ray’s intention of making a mockery of the justice system had sunk to a new low.
“Let the circus begin,” he muttered.
“What was that, Mr. Ryder?”
“Nothing. Is there anything, anything at all, I can do to stop this?” he said helplessly.
“I’m afraid not. This lawyer seems to have found a sympathetic ear at a higher pay grade than mine.”
“So what happens now?”
“Well, first, I want you to know that we’ll take every precaution to ensure that Mr. Owens conducts himself in a respectful manner and that his behaviour doesn’t become a distraction for the other attendees, yourself included.”
“His very presence is going to be a distraction,” Chris responded angrily. He took a few deep breaths. “Sorry, I don’t mean to shoot the messenger. It’s just that this whole thing sounds like a gong show, and that’s exactly what Ray wants it to be.”
“I understand, Mr. Ryder. What I can assure you is that he’ll be shackled and cuffed the whole time. And I will personally ensure the two guards escorting him are fully briefed about the situation.”
“Thanks,” Chris said unenthusiastically. He confirmed the details of the service with the warden and hung up.
It occurred to him that his entire life was becoming one big nightmare, one that he fervently hoped would soon end.
He needed a run. He put on his gear, grabbed his iPod, and stepped outside into the brisk air. U2 blasted through his headphones as he took to the street. He was running in his neighbourhood out of necessity rather than preference. His favourite running spot had been Woodland Park and he’d yet to find a suitable substitute.
There had been a time when running had provided clarity of thought and helped Chris deal with life’s challenges. But the events at Woodland Park had now made the very act of running a challenge, just as they had affected so many other aspects of his life. Still, he gritted his teeth in silent fury and pushed through his initial anxiety. He was rewarded with the massive physical release he’d been desperately looking for.
Back at his apartment, he started checking his voicemail. Various friends and colleagues from IFP had called to express their condolences, and most offered to attend the funeral service for support. Chris wasn’t ready to return their calls just yet. He also had a message from Lucy Chen at the Tribune. He didn’t bother listening to that one. Instead, he phoned Stephanie, briefed her on his call from the warden, and made plans to meet for coffee at a Starbucks near his place after she got off work. Then he left a message with Nathaniel, letting him know they’d have to reschedule their appointment.
In the meantime, he could make the final preparations for his father’s funeral. That part of the afternoon felt surreal to him, especially as he tried to reflect on his father’s life, only to realize how little he knew about the man. His sadness was matched by the confused feelings he felt for his aunt as well as by his anger toward Ray. He wasn’t sure how he was going to react when he saw either of them at the service.
Upon spotting Stephanie at the coffee shop, he gave her an extended kiss and a warm hug. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
After ordering a latte for her and a strong dark roast for him, he updated her on his eventful past few days. Stephanie provided a supportive ear and a comforting shoulder for him to lean on. “We’ll get through this, Chris.”
As he listened to Stephanie and watched as her eyes crinkled when she smiled, Chris started to feel desire for her simmering inside him. And from the way Stephanie’s leg casually caressed his, he realized she had similar feelings. Leaving most of their drinks behind, they raced to Chris’ apartment and made love. Afterwards, they lay silently in each other’s arms.
“You need a plant in here,” Stephanie finally said with a smile as she looked around the lifeless apartment.
“That’s the first thing that comes to your mind?” he responded, pretending to be hurt.
“It’s such a guy’s place. Futon, TV, fridge,” she continued, playfully ignoring him. “I’ll bet there’s nothing in your fridge except leftover pizza and beer.”
“I’d be lucky if I had pizza. I admit, though, your place is nicer.”
“It’s tidier, too.” She looked around. “Your futon doesn’t even sleep two, at least not comfortably.”
“You weren’t complaining a few minutes ago.”
“We weren’t sleeping,” she said with a grin. “Guess I’ll be sleeping in my own bed tonight.”
“Is that a hint?” He suspected she was talking about them getting a place together.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“And?”
“And ... I’m still thinking. I agree, though, I don’t want to rush things.”
Chris pulled her closer. “We can take however long we need.”
They dressed, ordered Chinese food, and spent the remainder of the evening binge-watching a new series on Netflix, huddled in each other’s arms.
Stephanie broke their reverie. “When do you want to meet up tomorrow?”
Thinking about the funeral opened a pit in Chris’ stomach. “Noon. I’ll call before heading over,” he said solemnly.
Stephanie picked up on his changed mood. “Are you going to be okay tonight? I can stay and keep you company.”
“I’ll be fine. You’re welcome to stay. Even though my futon doesn’t compare to your bed.”
“I do like my bed,” she said, kissing his forehead. “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll get through it together.”
He nodded and walked Stephanie to her car.
TWENTY-FIVE
Chris awoke the next morning to a text from Gerald alerting him to a piece in the day’s Tribune. He scrolled through the site on his smartphone until he saw the headline: Accused Killer to Attend Father’s Funeral. His shock soon gave way to anger as he read the article by Lucy Chen.
The Vancouver Tribune has learned that Ray Owens has received Temporary Absence permission from the Correctional Service of Canada to attend the funeral of his father.
The Tribune was contacted by Mr. Owens himself, who indicated that he will be in attendance at today’s ceremony at Evergreen Funeral Home in Vancouver as Maurice Ryder is laid to rest.
Ray Owens is currently in custody awaiting trial on several charges including two counts of murder and one count of attempted murder, stemming from an incident at Woodland Park earlier this year.
Maurice Ryder leaves behind another son, Chris Ryder.
Neither Chris Ryder nor Correctional Service Canada could be reached for comment.
Ray Owens’ lawyer, Phillip Bernum, provided the following statement: “This great country of ours presumes that its citizens are innocent until proven guilty. Through that lens, my client, Mr. Owens, is innocent, and as such, he has every right to attend the service for his recently departed father. Mr. Owens has asked for privacy during his time of mourning and will not be commenting further at this time.”
Chris closed the site in disgust.
He wasn’t surprised by Ray’s antics, but he was irked at the man’s brazen and insensitive act of calling the paper to inform them about the funeral and its location, and then having the audacity to ask for privacy. He now knew why Chen had left him a message the day before.
The morning had started with a light mist, but soon rain was falling, accentuating the gloominess of the day. Just before noon, Chris picked up Stephanie, who kept the conversation light as they made their way to Evergreen Funeral Home.
After parking the truck, Chris
and Stephanie walked hand in hand toward the people congregated outside the building. He solemnly acknowledged Brandon and other friends, as well as Dr. Stevenson, Gerald, and Horace from IFP.
Chris walked over to Deanna, who gave him a light hug. They’d decided earlier that Ann Marie wouldn’t attend the service; instead, she was spending the day with Deanna’s mother. Deanna and Stephanie exchanged awkward pleasantries while Chris looked around for Aunt Mary. She was standing next to the minister, and she waved when she spotted Chris.
Chris was about to go over to greet her when he was distracted by the appearance of Ray escorted by two guards. An intense feeling of terror immediately overcame him. Stephanie took his hand firmly in hers and whispered in his ear. “It’s going to be okay. You’re with family and friends who love you. Ray is nobody. Forget about him.” His panic gradually subsided.
Ray’s hands were cuffed and his feet shackled. Wearing an orange correctional jumpsuit, he stood out among the somber blacks and greys of the other mourners. Chris recalled the warden saying that Ray would be given the opportunity to wear more appropriate clothing given the circumstances; he figured that wearing correctional apparel was another example of Ray choosing to make a spectacle.
The minister commenced the ceremony with a prayer. She said a few things about Maurice and the biblical view of death before introducing Chris’ aunt. Mary approached the podium and gave a touching eulogy, highlighting the charming characteristics of the younger Maurice her sister had loved so many years before. She then announced that Maurice’s son, Chris, had a few things to say.
Chris approached the podium, aware that his hands were trembling, making the paper holding his prepared speech appear to vibrate. He cleared his throat and began.
“The truth is, I never really knew my father. He, along with my mother, has always been a mystery to me. I’ve learned a few things in the brief time since his passing. I think, in his own way, he loved me. I wish I’d known that. And I wish I’d had a chance to get to know him —” Chris struggled to get the last word out. Tears filled his eyes, and a large lump in his throat prevented him from saying anything else. He stared blankly at his prepared speech, paralyzed. Stephanie approached the podium and stood beside Chris, taking his hand in hers. Touched by her loving act of support, Chris summoned the resolve to finish his speech. They walked back to their seats together. People wiped tears from their eyes, and the sound of sniffling filled the room.