Bobby entered his brother's apartment feeling tired and depressed. It had taken him a long time to get here, since he didn't want to be seen at the bus station, so he had walked a fair distance out of town and then hitchhiked the rest of the way. His first act on arriving at the building where Jake had lived had been to search the hiding place in the basement where his brother had often hidden some extra cash that he didn't want his associates to know he had. Unfortunately, there had been nothing there this time. Between fatigue, concern for his future – especially now that the extra money he had been counting on to support him while he looked for a job in Sacramento had failed to materialize – and the heightened sense of guilt he felt since he had seen Mark in jail, his spirits were at a definite ebb point. He let himself into the apartment with the key Jake had given him, and tossed his backpack on the cheap sofa in the single room that served as living and dining space. Jake had paid the rent through the end of the month, and nobody had yet come to empty the apartment and turn it back over to the landlord, so Bobby figured he could at least stay here until morning, and face the problems of his situation after a decent night's sleep.
As he wandered around the small kitchen, poking aimlessly through the cabinets, he was startled to hear the sound of someone unlocking the front door. He peered cautiously out from the kitchen to see Nick entering the apartment. Surprised, and somewhat alarmed, he stepped out into the living room.
"Nick! What are you doing here?"
Nick looked up, obviously equally startled to find Bobby in situ, but quickly attempting to cover up his surprise.
"Bobby! I hoped I'd find you here," he said. "I wanted to warn you."
"Warn me of what?"
"That the cops are looking for you."
"For what?" asked Bobby in astonishment. Frantically, he reviewed his visit with Mark; had the doctor sent the police after him to confirm that he had, in fact, been drugged?
"Somebody killed Tommy Caymen," Nick told him, breaking into his mental replay of that earlier scene. "The cops think you did it."
"But I didn't! You know I didn't!" exclaimed Bobby, horrified.
"Sure, I know that," replied Nick, moving closer to the younger boy. "But the cops don't. And you could have a hard time proving it. The best thing you can do is get as far away from here as possible."
"But why are they looking for me?" Bobby asked in bewilderment. "I've been staying away from Tommy."
"It doesn't really matter, does it?" responded Nick. "How are you going to prove that you didn't do it? The only thing you can do is try to get away before they find you."
"You seem awfully anxious to have Bobby leave the area," observed a voice from the doorway. The boys whirled to see Mark entering the apartment, closely followed by Steve and Jesse.
"And by the way," added Steve as he entered, "how did you find out so quickly that the police are looking for Bobby? I don't think that's common knowledge yet."
"Hey, it's a small town," Nick said quickly. "Word gets around pretty fast."
"I didn't do it!" Bobby cried, turning desperately to Mark. "I told you – I couldn't go through with it; I just wanted to get away from all this. What makes them think it was me?"
"Maybe you'd like to answer that, Nick," suggested Steve.
"How should I know what maggot the cops have in their brains?" Nick protested truculently. "I just heard that they were looking for Bobby and I wanted to warn him."
"Oh, you didn't hear where the body was found? I'd think in a small town like you mentioned that piece of information would be one of the first things passed around," said Mark.
Nick just glared at them, and didn't say anything. Bobby looked at them in bewilderment.
"Where was the body found?" he asked.
"Somebody planted Tommy's body in your house, Bobby," Mark told him. "Somebody who wanted to make it look like you had killed him. Somebody who had his own reasons for wanting Tommy dead."
"But who else would want to kill Tommy?" asked Bobby. "He was the main connection for the drug guys in Clear Valley. They had no reason to kill him."
"That's right," confirmed Mark. "But there was one person besides you who wanted to see Tommy dead, wasn't there?"
Wide-eyed with astonishment, Bobby turned to look at his erstwhile friend. "Nick?"
"Hey, you can't pin this on me," said Nick. "I just came out here to warn Bobby."
"You've been an awfully involved 'friend' all along, haven't you Nick?" observed Mark. "It was you who urged Bobby to kill Tommy from the beginning, you who warned him not to go to the police, and now you who want him to run away from a crime he didn't commit, ensuring that everyone will think he's guilty. Kind of makes one wonder if your motives are as altruistic as they seem."
"Especially since, with Tommy gone, you seem to be the main connection between these drug manufacturers and Clear Valley," interjected Steve. "Was that why you did it, Nick? So you could take over Tommy's position with the drug ring?"
"Don't listen to them, Bobby," Nick blustered. "They're just trying to confuse you. You know I've been looking out for you all along. Jake was my friend, and I'm just trying to take care of you."
"You know, that raises another interesting point," said Mark thoughtfully. "What kind of 'friend' frames his friend's brother for murder? Maybe you weren't the close friend to Jake that you wanted Bobby to think. In fact, maybe you weren't a friend at all."
"That's a very interesting idea," added Steve, picking up on his father's train of thought. "I'll bet if we look into it, we just might find that you were the one with Jake the night he overdosed, not Tommy. That would make a nice little power play for you, wouldn't it? You were the one who agreed to take out Jake when he looked like he wanted out, and you figured you could clear the whole field for yourself by telling Bobby that Tommy did it and then talking him into killing Tommy. Leaving you as the main drug connection in Clear Valley and Bobby taking the rap for murder."
"Nick?" Bobby's voice rose in incredulity as he advanced toward the teen he had thought was his friend. "You killed Jake? You??"
Nick glanced wildly around the room, then whipped out a gun from his pocket, grabbing Bobby by the arm, and pressing the weapon against the side of his head.
"Okay, just back off," he threatened, as the three men froze. "I'm getting out of here, and if any of you try to stop me, I'll blow a hole in his head." He shuffled sideways toward the door, his eyes flicking back and forth between Steve, Mark, and Jesse.
"Is that the gun you used on Tommy?" Mark asked. "What were you planning to do with it here, Nick? Use it to kill Bobby too?"
"Maybe," responded Nick defiantly. "If it came to that. Although I really didn't figure he'd be dumb enough to still be here."
"So, you were just planning on planting a bit more evidence to incriminate him, was that it?"
"It would have worked great, too, if you people hadn't interfered." Nick had maneuvered himself and his hostage around Mark and Jesse, who were furthest inside the room, and was now close to the door.
"Give it up, Nick," Steve said firmly. "You can't shoot all of us, and you'll never be able to run so far that the police can't find you."
"I think I can," Nick asserted. "And Bobby here's my guarantee. So if you don't want to see his brains splattered all over the floor, just stay back."
Dragging Bobby with him, he turned, as he approached the door, so that he could keep Mark and Jesse in his line of sight. Just as he was passing near Steve, who was closest to the door, Mark took a step forward, calling out, "It's no good Nick!" As Nick's eyes swiveled automatically to Mark, Steve lurched to the side, jabbing his cane behind and between Nick's legs, tripping him up. Caught completely off balance, Nick fell sideways hard, and Bobby slid out of his loosened grasp, lunging to grab the gun which skittered across the floor.
The jolt of resistance against the cane sent an excruciating stab of pain through Steve's abdomen, and he fell to the ground with a groan, landing on Nick's legs. With a anguished cry of "Steve!" Mark rushed to kneel beside his son, Jesse a bare step behind him, momentarily heedless of the actions of the two teens. But as Nick tried to roll free, shoving Steve roughly off himself, they heard Bobby call out in a voice that vibrated with rage and hatred, "Hold it right there, Nick!"
Everyone froze for a moment, all eyes on Bobby, who was standing white-faced and furious, pointing the gun at Nick.
"Bobby, don't," uttered Steve in voice tight with pain, from his prone position. Mark looked back down at him. "Lie still, son," he said, fear for Steve's condition showing through the forced calm he tried to maintain.
"I'm okay, Dad," muttered Steve, never taking his eyes from the overwrought teen with the gun.
Mark looked him over searchingly, noting that despite his pallor, Steve's breathing was returning to normal, the lines of pain in his face seemed to be easing, and there was no diaphoresis or other obvious signs of serious injury. He exchanged a quick glance with Jesse, who helped Steve to sit up, and returned his attention to Bobby. He straightened up from his position by his son, and faced the boy.
"Bobby," he said quietly. The teen's strained and anguished eyes turned to him. "You don't want to do this."
"He killed my brother," insisted Bobby, his voice throbbing with grief and hatred. "All this time he was pretending to be Jake's friend and my friend, and he killed him."
Mark held the boy's gaze, his own compassionate. "I understand how you feel, Bobby," he said quietly. "I know something about the pain of losing the person who means the most to you in the world. I know how much it hurts, and how it affects your whole life. But this isn't the way."
From his position on the floor, where he was dividing his attention between Bobby and Nick, Steve glanced sharply at his father, acutely aware of the personal relevance of what he was saying. Mark might be addressing Bobby's pain, but he was obviously referring to his own as well. Steve knew that it was his near-demise that had so affected his father, and his heart twisted at the echo of the very real pain behind that quiet voice – a pain his father was offering as a means to forge a shared bond with a similar distress.
Bobby's eyes flicked back and forth between Nick and Mark, as he hovered between conflicting desires.
"I don't care what happens to me," he cried defiantly. "There's nothing left for me anyway. I just want him to pay for what he did to Jake. Don't try and stop me."
Mark advanced slowly toward the teen. "He will pay, Bobby. We can all testify to what happened here; he'll pay for killing Jake and Tommy."
Steve watched in an agony of uncertainty as Mark moved closer to the distraught teen. All his instincts were urging him to stop his father from confronting this dangerously unstable youth, but he knew that it was important to let him do this. Mark was still somewhat emotionally unstable himself, his feelings of guilt and depression not yet fully exorcised. If Steve interfered now, not only might he ruin their best chance of preventing further violence, but he risked having his father interpret it as a lack of trust in his ability to carry off the very type of situation that he had always been so good at. And Steve knew just how important it was right now that his father not feel that the trust between them had been diminished in any way. So he held his tongue and his breath, knowing that he was possibly risking his father's life, sending up a prayer that he wasn't making a tragic mistake.
Bobby's eyes met Mark's, and he saw again the caring and sincerity that had first led him to confide in the older man at the cabin, mixed now with the memory of his recent anguish. Mark watched the wavering resolve in the boy's face, and continued his appeal.
"I know you loved Jake very much," he said gently. "And I know Jake must have loved you just as much. You told me how he tried to take care of you the only way he knew how, how he was working to make a better life for you. He wouldn't want you to throw your life away, Bobby. You've seen what violence can do – not just to the victim but to the person who commits it." Again Steve saw the pain of his father's recent experiences flit across his face. "Don't let that happen to you, Bobby," Mark urged. "Don't waste everything Jake did to help you."
By now Mark was standing right next to the teen. He held out his hand. "Give me the gun, Bobby," he said quietly. Bobby stared at him for a moment longer, then his face crumpled, and he handed the gun to Mark, collapsing into his shoulder as he succumbed to his overwrought emotions. Mark put an arm around the boy's shoulders, suddenly very pale as he glanced down at the gun in his hand. He hesitated for an instant, then slowly held the gun out, butt first, to Steve, who rose, with Jesse's assistance, to very carefully take it.
