Of Past Regret and Future Fear     Disclaimer: This story is written
for the private entertainment of fans. The author makes no claims on the
characters or their portrayal by the creation of this story. Phil and TJ
McKenzie belong to SL Haas and are used in this story with her permission.
Cat Madden belongs to me. No infringement of any copyrights held by CBS,
Alliance, CTV or any other copyright holders of DUE SOUTH is intended.
This story is not published for profit, and the author does not give
permission for this story to be reproduced for profit.
 
 Rated PG for swearing and adult situations - m/f and original character
 
 Lyrics from Razor's Edge by Goanna used without permission
 
 
 Of Past Regret and Future Fear
 
 By Carol Trendall
 
 
 
 Ben stared at his reflection in the mirror, mesmerised by the slow
trickle of blood as it coursed its way down his throat. Slowly his eyes
drifted from his likeness to the cutthroat razor in his right hand. For a
moment he was caught up admiring the item the way you do when you gaze at
something you have always owned as if you were seeing it for the first
time. It was a beautifully crafted piece, he noticed, with a strong steel
blade and a hand carved bone handle. It had been a gift from his
grandfather on his sixteenth birthday and not intended, Ben knew, for the
task he now contemplated.
 
 It could be so easy. Just a flick of the wrist and it would be over.
 
 Nervous now, he took a deep, steadying breath and wondered how this had
happened. When did it happen? How had he lost control of his life in the
two days since his return from his fruitless visit to Canada? 
 
 The trickle of blood reached the hollow of his throat and it tickled.
 
 What was it Cat said to him at the airport? That he was on the edge of
something? He gave an uncharacteristically bitter laugh and looked at the
razor still clutched in his hand. He was on the edge all right. A razor's
edge. From the depths of his memory came the words to a song he couldn't
recall how he knew, 'living on a razor's edge, trying to touch the sun'.
 
 Had he tried to touch the sun? Cat had refused his marriage proposal once
before. What had made him think she would accept this time? Now she wanted
someone else – would probably marry someone else. 
 
 In some perverse way a part of him was glad. A part of him relished this
pain – this loneliness. It reminded him of things long past but still
regretted. A sob escaped his tight lips and he squeezed his eyes shut so
as not to see his reflection any more. 
 
 With eyes closed and one hand gripping the basin for support, Ben tracked
the flow of blood down his chest, feeling the wet trickle as softly as a
lover's caress. He understood, now, why people did this – understood how a
person could take their own life. 
 
 If only he had acted earlier things would be different now. If only. If
only a lot of things were different, Ben thought bitterly, his mind
suddenly filled with the smiling face of Phil McKenzie. It was easy to
admit it now. That was his biggest regret. If only, he thought once more
before opening his eyes again to gaze at his pale reflection. 
 
 The haunted eyes that stared back at him made him jump. Once more he
tilted his head to look at the cutthroat razor still held firmly in his
right hand. Slowly he uncurled his fingers from the bone handle and laid
the razor to rest on the basin. Gripping the cracked enamel basin edge
with both hands now, he leaned forward so that his image in the mirror
loomed large. He made his decision.
 
 He stepped back and reached again for the razor, then rinsed it under the
running tap and folded it closed. Reaching for a towel he wiped away the
blood from his chest and throat, then rinsed away the remnants of shaving
cream. Leaning close to the mirror again, he inspected the wound just
below his right ear. He shook his head, wondering why shaving cuts bled so
much. It was only a small nick.
 
 He left the bathroom, cutthroat razor held respectfully in his hand,
ready to be returned to the depths of his father's trunk. He would buy a
safety razor before his next shave. Ben feared that he would not be so
rational in future.
 
 
 
 Bathed in the winter sunlight streaming through the window, Cat carefully
laid photographs one by one on the floor in front of her as if she was
playing solitaire, smiling at the memories contained in each one. It was a
secret pleasure to do this, to choose new images to add to her wall of
photos and she waited until she had time to do it leisurely. Her choices
were important. 
 
 Kneeling on the sun-warmed moss green carpet of her living room she
shuffled the pictures around, eventually separating them into three piles;
yes, no and maybe. Wearing a frown of concentration she sat back and
considered her choices, staring at the piles for a minute or so,
occasionally moving a photo from one group to another. With her decision
made, she picked up the smallest pile of photos and rose to her feet, a
smile of satisfaction adorning her face. This time she would add five
pictures to her wall.
 
 With her selection in hand, Cat mounted the stairs and sat down halfway
up. This next step in the process was as equally important as the pictures
themselves – deciding where best to place the new additions. Leaning back,
she ran her eyes over the pictures on the wall. She realised some of them
had been there so long that she barely noticed them any more. 
 
 Immediately her eyes went to the trio of pictures that had prompted the
picture wall almost twenty years earlier, and now made up the centre of
the collection. The photos were faded now, but she focussed on them, as if
seeing them for the first time. Sadly, they were the only surviving
pictures of her parents. How she regretted not taking more photos of them.

 
 When her parents died, Cat promised herself she would never again feel
that regret, never again miss an opportunity, and the wall she now
contemplated was testimony to the fact that she had honoured that promise.
She returned her attention to the pictures in her hand. These five
pictures were the only ones from her Christmas vacation that she would add
to the wall. 
 
 The top picture on the pile was one of Phil and the rest of the McKenzie
clan, taken at Rob and Beth's house on Christmas day. Cat wasn't sure why
she chose that particular, somewhat unremarkable shot, but there it was
and she wasn't about to change her mind now. It was almost as if it was
predestined – as though it had leapt out of the pack and demanded to be
included. She followed her instincts; she had never regretted it in the
past. She looked at the next photo.
 
 Cat knew exactly why she chose the next picture. It was of Ray eating
breakfast, taken two days after they became lovers. In the photo he looked
happy and relaxed, a contented smile lighting his face. It was a smile
that spoke of friendship, respect, and all the things he and Cat had
learned about each other during the days they were stuck in the Vecchio
house. Its presence on her wall would remind her never again to take
people at face value. Did she regret her time with Ray? Not for one
minute. Cat smiled, her mind full of happy recollections as she shuffled
the picture to the back of the pile and revealed the next.
 
 She took the next picture in the park as she and Ben had walked on New
Years Day. It was the pain in his eyes that made her single it out – pain
she had not noticed at the time. 'How long has the pain been there?' she
wondered as she contemplated the eyes she knew so very well. Although Ben
smiled dutifully for the camera, it didn't make it to his eyes and Cat
knew as she gazed at the picture in her hand that he hadn't even tried to
fake it, as he must have in the past. Guilt gripped her heart. Have I
caused this hurt? she wondered. 
 
 Did she regret turning down his proposal? No. She hadn't regretted it the
first time he asked and she didn't regret it this time. They were not
destined to be together. She knew it then and she knew it now. They would
have made a happy enough life together had they married but she knew, now
even more so, that neither of them would ever have really reached their
full potential. Now she had tasted true love there would be no other for
her, as she knew there could be no other for Ben than Phil. She glanced
once more at Ben's sad eyes and worried for his future. She knew the pain
would not leave his eyes any time soon.
 
 Strangely or maybe not, Cat thought, the next picture in the pile was of
Lloyd. She knew it to be the first of many on her wall. She had taken this
shot as Lloyd put his boots on one morning. Something about the way he
smiled at her as he performed this every day task made Cat feel more
cherished than she ever thought possible. Smiling indulgently, she
wondered how this man had captured her heart in so short a space of time
when so many others had been unable to do so. And there were many others.
 
 She raised her eyes to once again take in the photos on her wall – so
many of them of men from her past. Did she regret her past lovers? No. Not
Ben, nor Ray, nor TJ McKenzie nor Jimmy Sunsinger. Not even Nick Benton,
the brash Australian who burst into her life and refused to take no for an
answer. All of them were important in their own way. All of them taught
her what she needed to know to recognise true love when it arrived. No,
she did not regret her past lovers. 
 
 She did have regrets, of course, but they were simple things, like the
regrets everyone had. Things like not being a better daughter, or not
telling the truth about how her mother's favourite vase got broken, or not
studying harder at school – regrets that made her what she now was. Like
Ben's regrets made him what he now was, Cat realised, somewhat sadly. The
thought made her worry for him even more.
 
 Cat sighed and looked down at the final picture in her hand. It was of
her. It would be the first picture of Cat alone. There were others on the
wall, of course, but always taken with someone else. There were many with
Ben, with her parents, with colleagues and friends, but no other in which
she was alone. Why was this one different? 
 
 This photo showed the new Cat Madden. The difference was subtle, Cat
herself hadn't been aware of it until Ben pointed it out. But she could
see it now – the softness in her smile, the contentment in her eyes and
the peace in the way she held herself. Not for the first time, she
marvelled at the happiness Lloyd brought her. She only wished she could
talk to Ben about it.
 
 Cat realised she did have one regret – that she could not share her love
with her oldest friend as he had shared with her his love for Phil
McKenzie all those years ago. How she regretted that Ben could not be part
of what was happening to her. As that thought formed in her head, deeper
inside something else formed. 
 
 Fear. 
 
 Slowly it uncurled in the pit of her stomach and reached out to clutch at
her heart, causing her to gasp out loud and lift her hand to her throat.
With shaking hands, Cat shuffled through the photos until she found the
two she wanted. Discarding the rest, she held the picture of Ben in one
hand and the picture of Lloyd in the other. Glancing between them, Cat
realised her fear was two fold. 
 
 Fixing her gaze on Ben's cold, hurt eyes Cat realised that for the first
time she could not help him. For the first time since they had met, he had
shut her out. She feared for his future. 
 
 But what about her own future? Her gaze slipped to Lloyd's warm smile and
she was comforted. This was her future and she looked forward to it - but
not without fear.
 
 
 
 The box was heavy in Phil's hands as she carried it towards the living
room. Or was it only the weight of her memories assailing her as she held
Ben's memorabilia box for the last time? She could not say. All she knew
for sure was that now, at last, was her chance to be rid of it for good.
TJ was coming over and she would ask him to take it when he left - take it
out of her life for good. That was her only choice now.
 
 Had the box always been so heavy? She couldn't say for certain. It had
been a long time since she had held it like this; it's slick steel
coldness burning her fingers like a white-hot brand. When she had last
opened it, only a few days earlier, she had simply lifted the lid and
slipped the envelope Cat had given her inside. 
 
 Perhaps it had always weighed this much. Her memories alone were enough
to fill a room - a building - her life - so why should she expect these
physical reminders of Ben Fraser's presence in her life to be lightweight?
She would be glad to be rid of it.
 
 So why didn't she just toss it into the trash? Why must she ask her
brother to take it away for her? Was she afraid of relegating Ben's memory
to a waste pile somewhere? Phil had no answer. She only knew that the time
had come to let go of her past and embrace a new future – a future that
would include Martin Stevenson.
 
 Feeling a mixture of sadness and relief, Phil set the box on top of her
newly bare piano, taking care to set it on a woven Navajo rug, then turned
her attention to her hands. It felt as though the box was still pressing
its weight into her fingers and for a moment she wondered if the feeling
would ever leave her. Just like the love I feel for Ben, she mused sadly. 
 
 Slowly she returned her gaze to the piano and the box resting atop it.
Since Martin had helped her move her collection of photos to the dining
room wall, the top of the piano had been unused. Now it looked like an
altar bearing some special item of worship, Phil realised with something
approaching fear. Faintly unsettled by her thoughts, she turned her back,
anxiously scanning the room for some task as a distraction. 
 
 But Phil was unable to completely ignore the box. As if afraid, she
sneaked a glance over her shoulder at the offending item, almost expecting
it to spring to life like something out of a William S Burroughs novel.
She giggled nervously and spared a brief thought for her sanity, before
turning away once more. 
 
 Two steps were all she managed before turning around again. It was as
though the wretched box called to her, taunting her, daring her to inspect
its contents. Without knowing how she got there, she found herself
standing in front of the piano reaching for the box and digging in her
pocket for the key she had carried from her jewel box.
 
 Why torture herself with a final look? Without even trying to conjure up
an answer, Phil gripped the blanket and dragged the box toward her,
unlocked it, then lifted the lid. As she reached inside, she found it
suddenly easy to justify her actions. After all, she was just checking to
make sure there were no valuables - wasn't she?
 
 She pulled out the first item, a pen and ink sketch that Ben had given
her so long ago, and put it aside quickly, not wanting to read the
inscription she knew by heart, 'Thunder Basin - you saved my life, I lost
my heart'. Some bitter part of Phil's mind wondered if Ben had said
something similar to Victoria up on the mountain that fateful day. Shaking
her head, she pulled more things from the box.
 
 The next item was a stuffed wolf, more poignant now that she knew Ben had
a lupine companion. She set it aside and soon the Mountie doll and
Canadian flag she couldn't bring herself to look at too closely joined it.
These icons of Canadian culture were forever burned into her psyche as
connections to Ben and they still made her uncomfortable.
 
 Pushing her thoughts aside she continued, this time bringing out a pair
of crystal hummingbirds wrapped in an old Irish linen tea towel. She
smiled as she unwrapped the figurines, recalling Ben's reaction to the
tattoo on her left hip. He had been startled, even shocked at first, but
later was unable to keep from touching or kissing it. 
 
 Before the memories overwhelmed her she set the figurines down and
reached for another, equally fragile parcel – a pair of porcelain
columbines wrapped in a worn black RCMP t-shirt that had faded to a dark
grey. She could still recall unwrapping them the day Ben gave them to her.
But they weren't the only columbines he gave her. 
 
 Phil peered into the box for the other set, these a watercolour Ben had
bought her at a flea market one sunny spring afternoon. One sunny spring
afternoon when he still loved her. A lump rose in Phil's throat and she
lifted a hand to her mouth, stifling a small sob, pausing momentarily
before continuing.
 
 The next item, too, was painful and Phil almost did not look at it. It
was the plaque she and Ben had won in a talent contest, the plaque they
had won for singing a love song. Slowly she ran her fingers over the
lettering on the front, remembering that night and, for the briefest
moment, she was almost happy.
 
 The remaining items were the things that Phil knew would cause the most
pain. There was nothing other than these items in the box – she could see
that. Why then was she compelled to pull each of them out and take that
final peek? Why subject herself to the agony? Why did she feel the need to
expose herself to her past? Was it to reassure herself she had no regrets?

 
 Did she regret her relationship with Ben Fraser? A part of her screamed
yes, she wished she had never laid eyes on him. But one part of her said
no, for he had given her a beautiful daughter – even if it was for such a
short time. No, she had no regrets about that. 
 
 That thought gave her the courage to look at the final items - a
collection of pictures of Ben, the many letters he had sent her during
their engagement and, of course, the letters penned by her own hand that
Ben had returned unopened. These were the very letters in which she had
told him of her pregnancy, the letter that told Ben that he was to become
a father. Letters that he never read containing news he never received.
 
 Did she regret bringing her child into the world without a father? No.
Lindy's short life had brought immense joy to Phil and she would do it all
again if she could hold her baby in her arms. Her only regret about that
part of her life was that Ben had not been there to share it with her -
that he had never seen the light of Lindy's smile. As she reached for the
miniature stetson that Lindy had held in the photo she now carried in her
wallet, Phil felt a stab of pain for all that Ben had missed. Yes, she did
regret something - not going after Ben and telling him of the child she
carried.
 
 The final two items were recent additions to the box and both of them
brought to her by Cat Madden. The black notebook that had been passed from
Bob to Cat and now to Phil weighed heavy in her hands as she laid it on
the piano, remembering the night Cat had given it to her. Phil smiled as
she visualised the petite dynamo who seemed to have forged a place in her
life. There was a brief time when that friendship seemed too close for
comfort, but Cat had stopped bringing Ben up every time they spoke.
Probably a good thing, Phil mused to herself as she reached for the
envelope that could possibly change her life - the envelope containing
Ben's address.
 
 Not too long ago she would have considered opening it, considered going
to the man who had once held her heart in his hand. But now she had
someone else and she only wanted to think about what was to come. A bitter
laugh left Phil's throat. At one time she had looked forward to a future
with Ben and Lindy. Then it was taken from her. Now she looked forward to
a new future with Martin Stevenson.
 
 So why did that frighten her so? Wasn't her future neatly mapped out? She
knew it would not be long before Martin would ask her to marry him - and
she would accept despite her fear.
 
 Fear? The realisation that she was terrified hit her suddenly and Phil
found herself stumbling backwards to the sofa, her hand pressed against
her racing heart. Some small part of her mind that could still find humour
imagined a light bulb going on over her head as she realised there were
three sides to her fear. 
 
 A small, unspoken thought in the back of her mind made her wonder if
Martin would leave, as Ben had all those years ago. Another, equally
hidden part of her mind worried that this was her last chance at love. But
the most frightening part was at the forefront of her thoughts - that she
was considering marrying the wrong man. But there was no reason to fear
for her future - was there?
 
 
 
 Ray tapped nervously on the steering wheel, willing the traffic to move
more quickly. He checked his watch; he would only be a few minutes late
getting to Fraser's apartment. Ever since Fraser had returned from Canada
two days earlier he had worried about leaving him alone for too long. He
had no way of knowing how much Cat's refusal of the Mountie's proposal had
affected him. As in control as the man seemed to be, Ray knew that still
waters ran deep and he had been a cop too long to believe in the facade
his friend presented him. 
 
 But the thing that gave Ray most cause to be concerned for his friend
was, in fact, his own state of mind, for he understood Fraser's pain. He
knew what it was like to have dreams shattered and he knew that if the
Mountie was suffering as he had suffered – still suffered – then there was
due cause to be worried for his well being. Ray wondered if Fraser would
be able to live with the pain, as he did, or would it always be a constant
reminder of actions past and now regretted? Ray's mind went rushing to his
own past, but still regretted, actions. Actions he rarely let himself
think about these days.
 
 He sighed as he found his thoughts drift to Casey Sinclair. As always, he
justified to himself his reasons for walking away from Casey's hospital
bed that day. As always, he felt the frustration and anger well up from
the depths of his soul. He slapped an open palm against the steering
wheel. Why do I keep doing this? he demanded. 
 
 His eyes filled with tears and he was glad for the heavy traffic, glad
not to have to be in control of a moving vehicle. A wave of grief him hit
him like a blow and he leaned his head forward onto the steering wheel,
suddenly made breathless by his pain and regret.
 
 A short, angry horn blast from the car behind made Ray's head jerk up.
His vision cleared enough to see that the traffic was once again moving.
He took the opportunity to manoeuvre the Riviera into the first available
space before resting his head on the steering wheel again and letting his
grief take over. The tears that had previously only filled his eyes now
ran freely down his cheeks and dripped unceremoniously onto his knees. He
cried for long minutes, gulping air into his lungs and letting it out
again in harsh, guttural sobs.
 
 Somewhere in the midst of his emotional release, Ray had an epiphany. For
many months he had told himself he had done the right thing in leaving
Casey and he had almost believed it. But now, sitting in his car in the
worst suburb in Chicago, he knew he had lied. He knew it to be the biggest
mistake he had ever made and, at that moment, he regretted it to the
depths of his being.
 
 Head filled with this new knowledge, Ray raised red-rimmed eyes and
stared at his surroundings. On the sidewalk not ten yards away a hooker
turned tricks and immediately in front of him a drug deal was going down,
but for now Ray had no regrets about foregoing his duty. His mind was
elsewhere, thinking about the many things he did regret; fighting with his
sisters, fibbing to his mother when he was a teenager, not being a better
husband to Angie, shooting Fraser – but at the top of the list was walking
away from Casey Sinclair.
 
 For the first time he allowed himself to think about the consequences of
his actions. For the first time he thought beyond his own feelings. For
the first time he thought about how Casey must feel. Now there was another
regret topping his list.
 
 It scared him. For long minutes Ray sat open-mouthed staring at yet not
seeing the world outside the Riv as a ball of dread unfurled in his belly.
The longer he sat, the more his terror grew. He wasn't sure what he was
afraid of, all he knew was that the fear had been dormant in him for a
long, long time and now it was beginning to awaken. Slowly, the cold
tendrils of panic worked their way through him until they clutched at his
heart, gripping it firmly and causing him to gasp aloud in pain.
 
 Was this to be his life? Was this his destiny? Was this what he could
look forward to? And it wasn't just his own life he was frightened for, he
feared for Fraser's future as well. With his heart pounding from
adrenalin, Ray turned the ignition key and the Riv roared into life. 
 
 He needed to get to Fraser and tell him about this, tell him about the
things in his past that he regretted. He needed to make the Mountie talk
about his past – make him talk about the things he, too, regretted. Ray
feared that if he didn't, neither of them would have much of a future.
 
 
 All comments welcome at mullum@tig.com.au
 
 Nothing Lasts Forever (Book 2 of the Ben and Phil Saga)
 
 1.Nothing Lasts Forever 
 2.Of Second Chances by Carol Trendall 
 3.Winter in America is Cold by Carol Trendall 
 4.Lavender Memories 
 5.Distractions by Carol Trendall 
 6.No Aphrodisiac by Carol Trendall 
 7.Life's Insanity by Carol Trendall 
 8.Standing on the Edge by Carol Trendall 
 9.Of Past Regret and Future Fear by Carol Trendall 
 10.A Summoning of Things Past 
 11.Three Parts Dead 
 12.A Job Well Done 
 13.Touchstones of Character 
 14.But For the Night 
 15.Tangled Webs 
 16.Suspicions 
 17.Chasms of the Mind (with Carol Trendall) 
 18.Outskirts by Carol Trendall