Pete's world turned upside down as he and his assailant rolled down the
stairs. His head struck the Kent's banister hard enough to see stars.
They landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, both winded, both momentarily unable to move. Unfortunately the other man recovered first, and wrapped both hands around Pete's windpipe.
Pete flailed with his arms, using his hands to try to push his assailant off of him, but the other man had rage and adrenaline working in his favor. Pete began to see white dots swimming in his vision as his breath was choked off and broken glass ground into his back through his t-shirt.
"I told you, I just want the baby. Tell me where she is and I'll let you go," his opponent panted.
Pete looked up into the red, contorted face above him. It was hard to talk, but he did his best.
"Go to hell."
"Wrong answer."
Pete had never thought much about dying, but suddenly that seemed like a very real possibility. The funny thing was, that what happened to him didn't seem to matter that much. What mattered to him was keeping this maniac away from the stairs, away from Rose.
With his vision fading, Pete could only guess at his aim, but he jabbed sharply at where he thought his opponents' eyes would be. The other man let out a howl and released him.
Gasping for air, Pete rolled away across the Kent's living room floor. He could see the front door tantalizingly close; the evening breeze stirring the curtains through the window Rose's father had broken to get into the house.
But, bruised and battered, Pete couldn't move fast enough. The other man tackled him, pinning him to the floor. In his hand was a long, jagged piece of broken glass.
"Stop struggling, kid," the man said, his bravado a little undermined by his own gasping breath. "You're just making it harder on yourself."
Pete could see the overhead light glint off the shard as it hovered only inches from his face.
"I don't care what you do to me. You're not getting her. You don't deserve her."
"Don't tell me what to do!" The other man shrieked, drawing back his arm to strike.
Pete felt a sudden whoosh of air across his body. A split second later he heard a crash across the room. He sat up dizzily.
Clark was standing at the bottom of the stairs staring at him. At his feet was the crimpled form of Rose's biological father. There was deep dent in the drywall next to the stairs.
"Is he still alive?" Pete croaked.
Clark was staring at him with an expression of mingled awe and relief. He glanced briefly at the still form.
"Uh, yeah. His heart's still beating."
"Good." Pete cautiously rubbed his arms and chest, but found no permanent damage. His head ached, though, and his back was beginning to burn as blood seeped from dozens of tiny cuts. "Nice timing, by the way."
Clark approached him cautiously and gave him a hand to help him up.
"You were really brave, Pete. That guy was going to stab you. If I'd been a second later."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. No big deal." Pete smiled crookedly, but his legs began to buckle slightly under him. Clark shoved him onto the couch.
The crunch of tires on gravel and the pounding of feet on the porch heralded the arrival of the Kent's.
Jonathan took the situation in at a glance, from broken window to unconscious burglar.
"I'll call the police."
As he walked by, however, he gave Pete a firm nod of approval.
Mrs. Kent was more effusive, however. She took Pete's face in her hands, studying him carefully for injuries in spite of his protests.
"Mom, Pete's fine, stop smothering him," Clark protested.
Pete actually didn't mind the attention, but as he looked past his friend's mother he saw a third person standing in the doorway. A thin, slight girl with spiky hair, she was staring at him with eyes full of tears.
Mrs. Kent followed his line of sight.
"Peter, this is Charlotte. She's Rose's mother. She saved your life by coming to get us."
The girl chewed her lip anxiously as Pete stared solemnly back at her.
"She's been hiding out for a week, Pete," Clark explained. "She was afraid he'd come back for the baby. He was the one who threw Rose in the river."
"He said he didn't want it," the girl said in a shaky whisper. "He said if I went to the cops he'd kill me, too.so I ran away.and I hid."
Martha Kent stood and put an arm around the girl. "There, there. It's all over now."
But Clark was suddenly studying the room with sharp eyes.
"Pete's where's the baby? Is she OK?"
Pete found himself suddenly unable to speak, so he just pointed up the stairs.
Clark rushed upstairs, careful to step over the moaning form at its base. He hurried up the dark staircase, scanning the two bedrooms with his x-ray vision.
He didn't see the baby anywhere, but he did find a gun lying in the hallway. Clark was careful not to touch it, knowing what Sheriff Adams would do to him if he disturbed the chain of evidence.
But he couldn't help but wish he'd hit the guy a little bit harder for what he'd done to Pete.
Clark hurriedly stepped into the bathroom, but didn't see Rose. His stomach flipped over.
Then he heard a slight sound from near the bathtub.
He moved a pile of wet towels off the laundry hamper and opened it.
Inside was Rose, still in her car seat, her small head lolling slightly to one side. Her lips worked as if she was dreaming of food.
She had slept through the whole thing.
They landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, both winded, both momentarily unable to move. Unfortunately the other man recovered first, and wrapped both hands around Pete's windpipe.
Pete flailed with his arms, using his hands to try to push his assailant off of him, but the other man had rage and adrenaline working in his favor. Pete began to see white dots swimming in his vision as his breath was choked off and broken glass ground into his back through his t-shirt.
"I told you, I just want the baby. Tell me where she is and I'll let you go," his opponent panted.
Pete looked up into the red, contorted face above him. It was hard to talk, but he did his best.
"Go to hell."
"Wrong answer."
Pete had never thought much about dying, but suddenly that seemed like a very real possibility. The funny thing was, that what happened to him didn't seem to matter that much. What mattered to him was keeping this maniac away from the stairs, away from Rose.
With his vision fading, Pete could only guess at his aim, but he jabbed sharply at where he thought his opponents' eyes would be. The other man let out a howl and released him.
Gasping for air, Pete rolled away across the Kent's living room floor. He could see the front door tantalizingly close; the evening breeze stirring the curtains through the window Rose's father had broken to get into the house.
But, bruised and battered, Pete couldn't move fast enough. The other man tackled him, pinning him to the floor. In his hand was a long, jagged piece of broken glass.
"Stop struggling, kid," the man said, his bravado a little undermined by his own gasping breath. "You're just making it harder on yourself."
Pete could see the overhead light glint off the shard as it hovered only inches from his face.
"I don't care what you do to me. You're not getting her. You don't deserve her."
"Don't tell me what to do!" The other man shrieked, drawing back his arm to strike.
Pete felt a sudden whoosh of air across his body. A split second later he heard a crash across the room. He sat up dizzily.
Clark was standing at the bottom of the stairs staring at him. At his feet was the crimpled form of Rose's biological father. There was deep dent in the drywall next to the stairs.
"Is he still alive?" Pete croaked.
Clark was staring at him with an expression of mingled awe and relief. He glanced briefly at the still form.
"Uh, yeah. His heart's still beating."
"Good." Pete cautiously rubbed his arms and chest, but found no permanent damage. His head ached, though, and his back was beginning to burn as blood seeped from dozens of tiny cuts. "Nice timing, by the way."
Clark approached him cautiously and gave him a hand to help him up.
"You were really brave, Pete. That guy was going to stab you. If I'd been a second later."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. No big deal." Pete smiled crookedly, but his legs began to buckle slightly under him. Clark shoved him onto the couch.
The crunch of tires on gravel and the pounding of feet on the porch heralded the arrival of the Kent's.
Jonathan took the situation in at a glance, from broken window to unconscious burglar.
"I'll call the police."
As he walked by, however, he gave Pete a firm nod of approval.
Mrs. Kent was more effusive, however. She took Pete's face in her hands, studying him carefully for injuries in spite of his protests.
"Mom, Pete's fine, stop smothering him," Clark protested.
Pete actually didn't mind the attention, but as he looked past his friend's mother he saw a third person standing in the doorway. A thin, slight girl with spiky hair, she was staring at him with eyes full of tears.
Mrs. Kent followed his line of sight.
"Peter, this is Charlotte. She's Rose's mother. She saved your life by coming to get us."
The girl chewed her lip anxiously as Pete stared solemnly back at her.
"She's been hiding out for a week, Pete," Clark explained. "She was afraid he'd come back for the baby. He was the one who threw Rose in the river."
"He said he didn't want it," the girl said in a shaky whisper. "He said if I went to the cops he'd kill me, too.so I ran away.and I hid."
Martha Kent stood and put an arm around the girl. "There, there. It's all over now."
But Clark was suddenly studying the room with sharp eyes.
"Pete's where's the baby? Is she OK?"
Pete found himself suddenly unable to speak, so he just pointed up the stairs.
Clark rushed upstairs, careful to step over the moaning form at its base. He hurried up the dark staircase, scanning the two bedrooms with his x-ray vision.
He didn't see the baby anywhere, but he did find a gun lying in the hallway. Clark was careful not to touch it, knowing what Sheriff Adams would do to him if he disturbed the chain of evidence.
But he couldn't help but wish he'd hit the guy a little bit harder for what he'd done to Pete.
Clark hurriedly stepped into the bathroom, but didn't see Rose. His stomach flipped over.
Then he heard a slight sound from near the bathtub.
He moved a pile of wet towels off the laundry hamper and opened it.
Inside was Rose, still in her car seat, her small head lolling slightly to one side. Her lips worked as if she was dreaming of food.
She had slept through the whole thing.