2: Welcome

Andrew turned, startled. So did the little boy next to him.

"Andrew Aldebaran Hawkins, you put that down this instant!" cried an elderly woman. Immediately, something fell into Andrew's hair. And crawled.

Andrew leaped up and yelped, raking his head with his fingers. An insect scuttled onto his arm, was flung against the ground, and burrowed into the grass where it was to be seen no more. As Andrew gasped for breath, Micha laughed. Little Andrew, meanwhile, received a scolding.

The woman wagged a finger at the chiled. "I told you to put it down!"

"I did," whined the boy in reply.

The woman sighed. "Not on his hair, Andrew!"

The little boy scurried and hid behind Andrew's legs. "He's not mad," he answered defensively. Tugging at Andrew's coat, he hissed, "You're not mad, right? Right?"

Shaking her head, half-scolding, half-amused, the woman put her hands on her hips. "Micha, take your brother inside and aske B.E.N. for a snack." Obediently, Micha took her brother's hand and ran. Then she stopped and hurried back. She pulled at Andrew's fingers.

"You will stay, right?" she whispered.

"Micha..." the woman said warningly. The little girl squealed and ran to catch up with her brother. Andrew laughed, and then the silky-haired twins disappeared into the inn. "Welcome to the Benbow," the woman said with a chuckle. "I'm the proprietor, Sarah Hawkins. I hope my grandkids haven't bothered you too much," she added.

Andrew smiled and shook his head. "They're okay," he replied, watching the door, as if the two would pop out again. He felt sort of dazed at that moment, but he dismissed it as the sun.

"Would you like a room?" Mrs. Hawkins asked, linking arms with him and leading him to the inn. She was warm but firm, and Andrew knew this was the kind of businessperson you couldn't easily refuse. He walked resolutely with her, but he said no.

"I'm just... here to see someone," he said vaguely.

Mrs. Hawkins gave him an odd look, and Andrew felt even dizzier. It had to be just the sun, or maybe he was just nervous... That had to be it. "You look tired," she said. "Why don't I give you a room? You obviously need rest." Andrew opened his mouth to protest, but Mrs. Hawkins smiled and said, "Free of charge. You look like a nice young man."

And Andrew soon found himeself swept into the bustling Benbow Inn and up the stairs to a small but well-furnished room. Mrs. Hawkins fluffed up the pillows and drew the curtains together. Smiling, she said that if he needed anything, she was downstairs. "I'll knock if your friend comes looking for you."

Andrew was about to say that there was a mistake; his "friend" didn't know he was coming... Silenced by the shutting of the door, Andrew sat down on the bed helplessly. Sleep overcame him almost immediately.

=*=

Andrew exhaled deeply and stepped into the house. He slammed the door out of habit, unconsciously, his mind had told him that any attention from Simon was good attention. But when there was no answering "How many times to I have to tell you not to slam the door?!", he shrugged and tossed the keys to his transport onto the rack in the foyer.

"Andrew," rasped a voice from nearby. Here we go...

Andrew sighed exasperatedly and tossed his bag onto the couch. He sat down and leaned back, putting a hand to his forehead. Well, he thought, It's official. I'm a juvenile delinquent... Kicked out of school for fighting in the streets... like hell he wanted to listen to Simon ragging on him now. He hadn'e even been there.

It came with more urgency and anger: "Andrew!"

"What?!" he answered, his hand cutting away from his temples sharply. He didn't need this. Not now... If only Alison were here...

"Over here," came the rasp, from the next room. "Help me..."

Andrew started. "Where are you?" he asked, looking around warily. Simon never asked for help. Not from anyone. "Simon?" he called out.

"In here," was the answer, from the study. Andrew slowly got up and made his way to the door.

He knocked. "Simon?"

When there was no reply, he pushed the door open. There was Simon, lying in a swelling pool of his own dark, red blood.

Andrew rushed to him and fell to his knees, propping his head up. Simon's eyes tried to focus on him, and he smiled weakly. "Welcome home," he said menacingly. Andrew, however, was stunned. "What happened?" he asked.

Simon blinked once, slowly. "What does it look like, moron?" Andrew winced. "I was shot. Stupid b****..." Andrew took more note of two gunshot wounds: one in the man's chest, and another in his side.

"Listen," Simon began.

"Who did this to you?" Andrew interrupted. "How did this happen?"

"Listen!" Simon hissed, grabbing Andrew's collar, pulling himself up and at the same time pulling Andrew down toward him. "I want you to do something for me, 'Drew." He coughed, and Andrew prayed he'd calm down.

"Anything, Simon," Andrew said. The man was probably delirious; they had to get into his transport and get to the hospital.

Simon was gasping, his eyes roving Andrew's face. He pulled harder, so his mouth was at Andrew's ear.

Anxious, Andrew said, "Yes?"

"Find Jim Hawkins, 'Drew..." he rasped, "and - "

"Yes? And what?" Simon held Andrew so forcefully that he knew he wasn't joking or crazy.

Before his grip on the shirt relaxed, before he sank back to the floor, Simon clutched at his son for the last time and said, "Kill the b******. He did this to you, to us. For me, 'Drew... Kill him for me..."

=*=

Andrew shot up in bed, clutching his side. His fingers instinctively went to the inside breast pocket and clutched at the heavy weight inside. He gasped for breath and wiped the sweat from his brow, grimacing. He could still feel the dying man's fingers in a grip at his throat...