Thanks for veryone's words of encouragement. This chapter is logner, the next one is too... Then it's the end and the posting of my next book!

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Frank sighed as he sat on the cold, hard bench, that overlooked the park. It was shaded so that nobody could see him, but that he could easily see out. Relaxing, he looked out. Fenton still wasn't there… but he would be soon.

He had to be there soon. He knew his father could see practically everything, so he was terrified. He was counting on being able to take off running if he saw his father. He told Fenton that he'd meet him at the nearby park he saw.

Fenton had replied that he'd meet him there as soon as possible. Then he'd asked Frank if he'd want the police to pick him up. He'd declined the offer after hearing nearly a minute of silence.

Oh, Frank knew there were trustworthy police, and he knew his father didn't have as many police affiliates as he said, but that did not mean he had trusted the police. Not at all…

Swallowing hard, he looked at the road again. Startled, he saw a person fast-approaching.

"Hey! Easy, kid," the voice said, holding out his hands. "I don't mean you no harm—didn't mean to disturb you. But I left something here earlier that I need to pick up."

This man is not connected to my father. This man is not connected to my father. This man is not connected to my father. This man is not connected to my father. This man is not connected to my father. "Uh—okay," Frank whispered, looking at the man skeptically.

"Was panicked when I realized I'd lost it—half my work is on the thing," the man replied as he picked up the brief case. "Hey, I'll bet you saved it for me. Thanks, kid."

"Uh—no problem," Frank said, running towards the car that he saw pull up. He hated compliments. They were usually followed by insults—or, worse, beatings.

Frank had mixed emotions as he climbed into the passenger side. He was overjoyed about getting to see Fenton, but incredibly nervous about it. What if Fenton decided he didn't want him after all?

"Frank." All it took was one word from Fenton. "Oh, God, Frank, I'm so sorry…" the words were out of Fenton's mouth before Frank even had a chance to open them."

It was the first time in almost nine years that Frank had been addressed by Fenton, and Frank had to choke back tears – again. Not that it mattered, Fenton was openly crying.

"Oh, Frank, I'm so sorry…" any hard feelings he might have had, Frank dropped them at that exact second; he knew his father had suffered for eight years because of his words, and even though there were thousands of insults Frank cold say, Frank chose not to say them.

With a gentle hand, Frank hugged his father, and the two just hugged, crying.

--Joe was leaning down on the bed, hugging his knees. He was terrified of what was to come. He hadn't had much time to talk to Frank, but he knew that Frank was terrified of his father. He didn't want to know what was going to happen to him, someone not related, and someone who had seen the man's face.

He couldn't even comprehend how the last few years of Frank's life had been. The last few years of Frank's life must have been utterly and completely terrifying. He couldn't imagine living with this fear for a day, let alone for nine years.

Swallowing, he glanced up as he saw a shadowy figure lurk along the hallway. He drew in a breath as he realized it was Martin, his least favorite of the two thugs. While he could tell the other man had common since, he did not see that Martin had anything of value.

"Hello, Joey," the man said, and Joe froze at the nickname. He tried to force himself to stay calm, but he couldn't. Again he asked himself how Frank tolerated this for nine years—with beatings involved!

"You're going to have to come with me," Martin said, waving his pistol at him. "You have utterly no choice… No choice, no choice at all." He chuckled. "Guess where we're going?"

Joe couldn't talk, so he opted for shrugging instead. "What are you doing, not talking to me?" Martin asked, pushing him into the wall. "Now, I asked where do you think we're going?"

"I-I don't k-now," Joe stuttered.

"Ah, ah. Then you're in for a surprise." Martin grinned widely and pulled a passport out of his pocket. "We're going to Mexico."

"Mexico?" Joe questioned, then whished he hadn't when the man slapped him in the face.

"Yes, Mexico! What do you think I said?" Martin asked in a voice that caused Joe to wince. "Let's go—right now."

Swallowing hard, Joe pulled himself off the cot and forced himself to prepare for an emotionally hard journey.

Before anything happened, a voice called out, "This is the FBI and we have a warrant to for your arrest…"