The Kidnap

Chapter 21: A Little Faith

Baboo supported Mark into the truck he always drove. He let him sob in the front seat. He stood, staring at Mark for a few seconds. Mark, the once desperately strong kid who tried very hard to fit in, and stay himself, was reduced the tears as Randy's lifeless body lay in the back. The one thing Baboo could do was drive him to the hospital. Randy had to get to the emergency room as soon as possible. Randy was shot in a critical area, and there was a very low chance of him pulling through. Baboo left for a bit to a point behind the truck, but Mark did not, could not, look.

Mark could not get the sight of Randy's body from his mind. Habbleman… Randy… and death. The red snow around his body was unbearable to look at. As it entered Mark's mind again, he let out a greater wail.

As the wail filled the truck, it fueled more will power into Randy's lifeless body, and Randy clung on still. Clung on to the last thread of will and emotion he had. But clinging was costing him a lot of energy and he could not hold it much longer. The pain was still too great.

The driver's door opened, and Baboo got back in. A back door opened as well, to sit beside where Randy's body must've been laying. Still, Mark did not look back. He couldn't. The tears streaming down his face, like Niagara, were unbearable. He was starting to shake, as kids sometimes do when misery is too intense.

As a greater wail filled the truck, Baboo looked aside as it was rolling through the road. "Calm down."

Mark spoke with such misery. Every word cost him great effort to say. Every few words were separated by a gasp. "M-my bro- heh- brother is- heh- d-dead."

"Don't believe it yet," a familiar voice said from the back. "We're going to the hospital."

Mark found the voice familiar, but his brain could not register where it came from. His world seemed shattered, broken in two. One half had Randy in it. The other half didn't. The one half in which Randy lived no longer mattered to Mark, and he could not spare his thoughts to where he knew the man in the back.

The ride was otherwise quiet, save for the frequent wails, some loud, some quiet, and some silent, of Mark Taylor. He too was bearing pain so intense he wished more than anything for it to end.

After half an hour, the truck came to an abrupt halt. Mark had dried most of his tears. Only once a minute did he raise his hand to dry a tear off. He was still shaking and gasping, showing recent signs of tears, but he was otherwise quiet as the three walked in. Miraculously, even as he walked in, he still did not care to look at the third man, as he was the one carrying Randy's body, and Mark still could not bear to look. He felt as though looking at Randy's body would confirm what had happened and he could not bring himself to that.

Mark was barely paying attention as Baboo and the third man took the register, and hurried Randy to the emergency room. When Mark finally looked up from his silent sobs, he found himself running with a team of doctors to the emergency room.

After ten minutes, Mark found himself sitting by Randy's bed. For the first time since the shooting, Mark finally looked over at Randy's bed. Randy's eyes were half open. His face was screwed up in intense pain. Mark's eyes widened, "Randy?"

Randy didn't answer. Then, he must be…

"Finally spoke, huh?" the third man said unexpectedly from behind. Mark, finally willing, turned around, and looked into the man's strikingly familiar face. "P-Professor- heh- Easton?"

"Don't speak much," Easton said concernedly. "The shock is still affecting you. I'll answer your question for you." He said as if he knew what Mark was thinking. Perhaps, within his long life, he too suffered a loss. "Did you think I'd let two young boys go out alone. I knew you wouldn't accept my company, and I could tell you two had things to work out. I followed at a safe distance. When your brother was shot, I stayed hidden, shocked at what had happened. Baboo here, I hardly know him, but appreciate his kindness. He helped you out of that sticky situation as you know, and he went to fetch me. I'm paying for your brother's medical treatment.

"Is there- heh- any- heh- hope?" Mark gulped down more tears threatening to spill out again.

Mark didn't know what to expect. He thought Easton was going to provide some hope. He forgot Easton was human like everyone else. And so to Mark's bitter disappointment, Easton merely shrugged.

Easton left long before Mark had the courage to speak again. Sometime late at night. No doctor or nurse bothered him. They worked on Randy best they could, leaving Mark to sit on the chair at the end, near the door, crying silently.

"I know what you must be going through," a skinny, spectacled doctor said kindly on his way out. "It's your brother, and you love him to bits. We're working best we can. All I can say now is he's in a coma, and is suffering internal bleeding. We're still trying to confirm damage to his kidneys. Stay calm, say your prayers, and hope for the best." Mark stayed quiet, screwing his face against the tears threatening to spill over his face again. The doctor reached into his bag, and pulled a sucker out. He handed it to Mark and said, "Here."

When the doctors left too, Mark got up, and moved back beside Randy's bed. He felt he belonged there.

"Hey, Randy," Mark said quietly. He felt as though if he spoke any louder, he'd start gasping again, and tears would once again assault his face. Yet, he could not confirm that. "I dunno if you can hear me. I love you, ok? Mom and dad don't know about this yet. I'm thinking to leave it till you- get better- I guess." He stopped as he found that his voice was getting louder, and though the gasping was absent, a river of tears seemed to be desperate for another assault down his face. He held Randy's dead hand, and said quietly, "Please, live."

Randy's felt Mark's hand touching his, and he clasped his own around Mark's, still weakly. He was too weak to speak, but he had to. His thread of life was running very thin. As Mark fell asleep, Randy, though unconscious, grimaced in intense pain. He gasped again, and grimaced again. The pain was growing. Emotion wasn't enough. Randy had strong willpower, but even that was being tested to too much of an extreme. He exhaled a last breath, and fell into darkness once more.

A/N: Lo and behold. I realize some of you have been asking me to kill Randy. Some even PMed me, appealing to me to do it. After reading this chapter, and realizing how much pain both are in, are you absolutely sure this is what you want? It's a question I must also ask myself. Can I do it? btw, I named my chapters.