“Hello, Shane.”
Shane’s eyes opened slowly. Damn! Austin. “Hello.”
And Shu-li. She swept around Austin and up the side of the bed, arms wide. She hugged his head. “Oh Shane, Shane.” She relaxed her hold. “Are you in pain?”
“It’s controlled.”
On the other side of the bed, Austin’s hand clamped Shane’s shoulder. “We got the ferry soon as your dad called. We have to start working on that leg right away.”
“It’s not just the leg, it’s—”
“We’ll deal with it. Like last time.”
“Hello, Austin,” said Linda.
He turned, made noises about healing Shane. He introduced Shu-li. They’d met once before. They should get better acquainted, go for tea and croissants. Austin and Shane would begin working right away.
Shane wanted to be healed, but when Austin got like this it could be scary. Shane knew how good Austin was at hypnotherapy, maybe he could bring on a miracle— It wasn’t possible. He might be able to skate by the Olympics, but he wouldn’t be ready to qualify in the fall.
He said nothing. His mother and Shu-li were leaving. He wanted to call, keep his mother here, but she was gone.
Austin pulled up the chair. “Tell me what happened.”
Shane did, the van tailing them, forcing them into the ditch. “Dad says it might be the same van that knocked Timmy off his bike.”
“Timmy?”
“Yeah. Smashed the bike. Smashed Timmy too, a lot of bruises.”
“That’s terrible, Shane.”
Shane examined Austin. He saw no emotion, no awareness. Austin, already preparing for hypnotherapy.
“Yeah.” He drooped lower into the bed. No choice, it would happen.
“Close your eyes. Take a deep breath . . . good. Another breath . . . good . . . another . . . and again . . . breath in the relaxation . . . breath out the tension . . . very good . . . now continue . . . relaxation in . . . tension out. Feel the relaxation in your feet . . . legs . . . hips
. . . stomach . . . chest . . . neck . . . face . . . scalp . . . Good. Relaxation in . . . tension out . . .”
Shane could feel it working. Austin excelled at this. Shane breathed tension and hurt out, ease and relaxation in, tension and hurt out . . . He rode on Austin’s voice.
“See your leg through the cast . . . Let your mind penetrate the skin . . . See the bone . . . See the fracture . . . Good . . . See the tiny spaces between pieces of bone . . . Bring the pieces together . . . Tight together . . . Breath deeply . . . Hold the bones together with your mind . . . hold them tight together . . . breath deeply . . . deeper . . . deeper . . .”
• • •
Noel agreed to have his poor Honda towed to the Quadra RCMP station. An insurance assessor would come over from Campbell River. No need, he thought, it was totaled, but the insurance people needed to play the charade. “The rental’s being delivered here about now,” Noel told Kyra. “Honda Civic. I said to the guy it had to be that. Get back on the horse. I want to check around before we leave.”
“Check what?”
“Go to the rink. Talk to the Zamboni driver. Shorty something.”
“Why?”
“He seemed to know more about the Coopers. A talk with Jason’s Mountie. Back by 10:30. Alana should be here then.”
Kyra swung to her feet. “Why are we rushing off?”
“Not rushing, just—”
“You think the family’s still in danger?”
Noel clenched his teeth. “There’s—something off about this case. But no, I sense whoever attacked those kids won’t try again soon.”
“Why?”
“A feeling.”
“My rational friend Noel the computer whiz responds to his feelings?”
“Yeah, until I can grasp what the feeling’s about. When we get back maybe bits and pieces will have gotten rearranged in some pattern.”
“When will we come back?”
“Soon. I don’t think we should spend the whole weekend in Qualicum. Seth and Jan get in this afternoon, we’ll see them today and tomorrow. They’ll be here a week.”
“I could stay, talk with whoever—”
“No. We should work together.”
“Noel, are you worried about me?”
“Always.” He smiled. “I’ll get a doctor organized to check on you and release you. How do you feel?”
“Okay. A bit stiff.”
He glanced at his watch. “Car should be here by now. See you in a couple of hours.” He squeezed her hand and walked out the door.
At the hospital entrance, his rented Honda, metallic grey. The driver opened the door. At the rental office he signed papers and asked for a breakfast suggestion.
What did he and Kyra know about this case? The Cooper sons had been attacked. Derek dealt marijuana. Shane was perhaps a great skater, but so self-centered. Osborne was Shane’s patron. Jason worked a couple of woodlots, Linda worked shifts at the hospital. Dedicated, middle class. Did these pieces fit together? They knew damn little.
Eggs, bacon, toast and coffee, and he was re-fueled. Arena first, see Shorty.
He parked in the lot, glanced at the police station. Later. Into the foyer, out to the first rink. A Zamboni, pulling a conditioner. Noel leaned against the glass wall. The Zamboni glided along the ice, almost floating, nearly silent. It curved around the end and drifted toward him. He saw the driver now. Noel waved. The Zamboni slid to a halt. “Hey there.”
“Morning,” came from behind the huge walrus mustache. The man climbed down.
“Noel Franklin. We met a couple of days ago, I was with Jason Cooper.”
“Yeah.”
“I’d like a few minutes of your time, Mr. Barlow, ask you about—”
“Everyone calls me Shorty, Noel.”
“Shorty.” Noel did not ask this tall thin man why. “Shane Cooper. You know him pretty well, do you?”
“Better’n some, not so good’s others.”
“That’ll do. I can’t get to know him at all.”
“That’s not him.”
“Mmh?”
“What you see is a kid transformed.”
“From?”
“Gentle and gritty, generous, hardworking. Dose of footwork genius on the side.”
“That’s impressive.”
“He is impressive. Was.” He tilted his head. “Ever see him skate?”
“We were going to watch him yesterday, but we got held up.”
“Should see him on the rink. Fills it up by himself.”
“Wish I had. Hope it’s not too late.”
“No, you can’t squeeze talent back in the bottle.”
Should Noel mention Shane’s accident? Shorty would hear about it soon enough. “What happened, to make him so—so—”
“Cantankerous? Don’t know, but he’s been crabby his whole time back and the only thing I know about is that fall he took in the spring.”
“If he’s as good as you say, he should’ve just bounced back.”
“Not as good as I say, as good as he is.”
“I’ll take your word for—”
“Don’t have to take my word. I can show you.”
“How?” Noel’s brow furrowed. “You going to demonstrate?”
“Don’t have to. I got tapes every time Shane was on television. First time at Juniors’, when he got his first bronze, other events, here, Germany, Istanbul, Skate America, gold at the Juniors’ four months ago, that slide and fall, I got them on tape. I get off at five. Come by the house, I’ll show you.”
“Hey, thanks, Shorty. Can’t today, I’m gone for a couple of days.”
“Give me a call.”
“Thanks.” Definitely better to tell Shorty now. “There’s some other news about Shane. He was in a car accident. My partner Kyra was driving. A van forced them off the road. They’re both okay, sort of, but Shane’s right leg is broken.”
Shorty squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh shit.”
“He’s in a cast.”
“Double shit. Forced off the road?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh man . . .”
“He’s at the hospital.”
“Don’t have to keep a guy in the hospital for a broken bone. What else?”
“That’s all I know.”
Shorty turned to the Zamboni. “I’ll go see him. My lunch break.” He bashed his fist against its side. “Shit!” He turned back to Noel. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”
“I should’ve.”
“Yeah.” He climbed into machine. “You should’ve. And call me.”
“I will,” said Noel.
The Zamboni floated across the ice.
Noel left the sports complex and crossed to the RCMP headquarters. He asked for Dorothy Bryan. Out of the office.
• • •
Noel had said Alana would bring Kyra’s case with clean clothes. Kyra shuffled down the hall to Shane’s room.
She didn’t go in, but became a fascinated audience. She’d not watched a hypnosis session before, didn’t know whether she thought it was hogwash, valuable for its entertainment value—would Austin have Shane oinking like a pig?—or was this doing some good? She’d read hypnosis worked for back pain and recurrent headaches.
Now in the doorway she felt chilled, only a hospital johnny under a thin dressing gown pulled tight, legs bare and feet in paper hospital slippers. She turned to go just as a large man in a white polo shirt, tartan Bermuda shorts, and sandals, elbowed into Shane’s room. Hair too black for a man in his mid-sixties. Florid face, painted by beer and whisky.
“Shane!” the man grunted. “What’s happened to you, son?”
Shane’s head snapped up as if yanked forward by some invisible cord. He was suddenly breathing hard, his hand on his chest. He pulled his eyes open. He blinked.
Austin turned. “Harold, we’re busy.”
“What’re you doing here?”
“Helping Shane relax.”
“Relax? He’s lying down. He is relaxing.”
“Harold. Please go away.”
“Hey, I came up from Victoria to see my favorite skater and at the rink they tell me about a car accident and he’s in the hospital. I’m here to help.”
“You can be most helpful by going out that door.”
The ruddy face smiled at Shane. “Nope. I’m going to talk to every bone doc in this place and if they can’t fix him I’ll fly him to Vancouver. We’re going to get him healed.”
“Shane, keep breathing,” said Austin. “I’ll be back when Mr. Arensen leaves.”
“Shane doesn’t want me to go away. Do you, son?”
“I guess,” said Shane.
“What happened?”
Austin stood, turned, headed out. He noted Kyra, didn’t recognize her, then did. “You okay?”
Kyra nodded. “I’m leaving. Today.”
He checked her up and down, clutching at a dressing gown. “You look cold.”
“I’m okay.”
“Take care.”
She nodded, and he walked away. She glanced into the room.
Shane was out of his trance. “Kyra! Hi!”
She shuffled in. “How’re you doing?”
“I’m okay. You?”
“Okay to be leaving.”
“Leaving?”
“Down to Qualicum, Alana’s parents are arriving.”
“You coming back?”
She glanced at Harold Arensen. “Yes. We are.”
“That’s good.” Shane actually smiled at her.
“Who’s this, Shane?”
“Kyra. She’s a friend of my parent’s.”
“Harold Arensen. Great fan of Shane’s.”
Shane said, “Kyra was driving when we went off the road.”
Arensen’s face flushed. “You caused Shane’s accident?!”
“No, no! We were forced off. Kyra controlled the car so it wasn’t lots worse.”
Arensen scowled dubiously.
Kyra glanced back at Shane. “Get better, Shane. Noel and I’ll be back.” She shuffled out.
• • •
It had been years since Shu-li had seen Austin so angry. Not a fiery surface anger, more abdominal fury. She knew this way of reaction, had felt much the same. When the rumors about her had first surfaced, she turned the anger onto herself. Something was happening, a major change in how people saw her. Due to her own actions? More important, how could she bring herself back on track? Not able to figure it out, she’d blamed herself. Only after, when the terrible insinuations surfaced, did she search for their source. And directed her anger to where it belonged: Arensen. It had remained with her. Yes, she had held it in. In the room when Arensen tried to take Shane over, only Austin had felt the brunt of Arensen’s malevolence. He’d said he was okay. He was lying to himself. Driving to the airport he began to lose control. She’d been actively frightened, had to concentrate safe thoughts at him to keep the car from dumping them. “I could drive.”
Austin glared at his watch. “How can a plane be late without a cloud in the sky?”
Steve Struthers’s flight from Vancouver was twenty-five minutes overdue and counting. The delay had not improved Austin’s mood. Something specific that Arensen said that got to Austin, or had just seeing him again been enough? He’d ruined Austin, had done the same to Steve. And to herself, of course. Austin believed Arensen would ruin Shane as well. For the time being Arensen was treating Shane as his private star, but that would inevitably change.
Arensen had been least direct with Steve. Rumors of doping was how it started. Then the discovery of androstenedione in Steve’s suitcase. Some joker had smuggled it into the luggage. He requested a medical exam: clean. But Skate Canada put him on a list. A week before the Junior Grand Prix in Obersdorf, Steve tested positive. Impossible! He’d never taken dehydroepiandrosterone. Had it been slipped into his food? He’d never take any steroid, but a heavy dose showed up.
Months later he found someone had alerted Skate Canada he was on an illegal substance. The informant’s name seeped out. Steve confronted Arensen, tried to punch him out. It was then that Austin suggested another plan—more long term, but more thorough.
“It’s coming in now.” Austin and Shu-li leaned against the hood of the Porsche and watched the plane taxi toward the terminal. They went inside and greeted him, Austin with a handshake and an arm around Steve’s back, Shu-li with a hug and a kiss. Steve, carrying his camera case, was tall with a longish nose and a blond crew cut. Shu-li noticed his abdomen newly bulging over his belt. Small talk while they waited for his luggage. Steve dragged a large suitcase off the carousel. How much does he need for three days, Shu-li wondered.
To the Porsche, the two men in front, Shu-li squeezed behind the seats. Hard to talk with the wind blowing by the speeding open car, though Austin and Steve shouted at each other. She heard only an occasional word. Austin seemed in greater control now, the car tracking a straight line as it hurtled forward.
Harold Arensen and Austin Osborne: a long bitter story. Mid-nineties, Austin a teenager in Kanata near Ottawa, Harold head of the Ottawa Skating Association. Harold had heard talk about the young skater, had driven to watch him, was impressed. The next week he returned to offer Austin membership in the OSA. This would give Austin desirable ice time—mid-afternoons and weekends—and coaching time with Ralphie Belliveau who had trained half a dozen medalists. Within a year the lithe fifteen-year-old Austin had become a smooth and muscled skater. A body with enough power to support a partner. Harold and Ralphie would transform Austin into half of a pairs champion.
The Porsche turned onto Jubilee Parkway, a wooded stretch of road. Austin, Shu-li had heard, tried to resist—he’d been trained to work routines himself since he was eleven, had earned a reputation. No, they had argued, nothing on ice lovelier than a striking young man and a stunning young woman. Still Austin resisted; anyway, who would want to skate with him? Harold’s instant response: T
illy Danforth, his niece. Austin had met Tilly, had watched her skate. She was self-possessed and pretty.
Onto South Dogwood, past the Beaver Lodge Forest Lands, North Island College on the right.
Tilly Danforth and Austin Osborne, Austin had told Shu-li, not only skated well together, they dated. They “lost” their virginity with each other.
Harold Arensen worried: dangerous if young skaters who on the ice depend on each other one hundred percent get involved emotionally. Emotion distracts. This thing between them had to end. But Tilly and Austin, now eighteen and legal, refused. The only distraction was Harold’s ravings. They worried Harold, a powerful figure in Skate Canada, might do them harm. But why would he? They were good. They would be great.
Under Ralphie Belliveau they rose in the pairs rankings. Bronze in the Nationals, silver at Lake Placid. On their way to the top, anyone could see it. Spectators adored the striking duo as Austin and Tilly swept down the arena, loved their pleasure as they met the other’s eyes, radiated joy, a glorious young couple utterly in love.
The Porsche slowed as they entered urban Campbell River. Shu-li hoped Shane’s fate would not parallel Austin’s. In Nagano in the final round he’d raised Tilly high, threw her higher, she fell back into his arms—and he dropped her. A gasp from the overflow crowd. Nothing broken, he swung about, helped her up, and they completed their routine. They lost points for the fall, gained points for the recovery. Not enough. Didn’t get to the podium. Fourth.
The Porsche entered the ferry parking. Steve and Austin discussed lunch. “No no,” said Steve, “let’s get to Quadra. I’m tired of traveling.”
Shu-li agreed. Austin parked. Next ferry in twenty minutes. Time to stretch their legs. Shu-li said she’d walk on to the ferry. Austin and Steve walked toward the terminal building.
With Tilly’s fall the last hint of respect between Harold and Austin ended, he had told Shu-li. Emotion! Harold had thundered. You weren’t concentrating, you were dreaming! Austin owned it was his mistake—Tilly’s extra lift had been marginally off. No, the fault was hers, Tilly insisted—she knew her balance was off and she hadn’t compensated. Whichever! was Harold’s relentless response. Whichever is true, you were both in error!
Never Hug a Mugger on Quadra Island Page 18