Chapter 9
Frank sighed heavily. He has been studying the map of Bayport and its surrounding for an hour already, trying to figure out where Newman could probably keep Joe and Chet. The area around the town was woody and, Frank had to admit, it would be extremely difficult to locate the exact place. He had chosen a large-scaled map with all buildings stated and was writing down all the places that Newman could have preferred.
He was desperate to get into the van and speed to check all of them, but the weather outside was storming and the roads to all those places would be impassable at night. 'Jinx', he swore to himself and angrily threw his notebook and pen on the table. He glanced at the watch and a tight knot in his stomach became even tighter. Past midnight, seven hours since Joe's been gone, nine hours since Chet's disappearance.
'Let them be alright', he prayed silently. 'Let them be alright, safe and sound, alive and in one piece and we'll do the rest to save them....'
He closed his eyes, feeling he was on the verge of tears. It would be a miracle if either of them was alright by the moment. Frank was telling himself to remain positive, but as time went on he found it harder and harder to hold on and accept reality. Newman had no reason waiting till morning to start his enormities.
Frank swallowed his tears over a lump in his throat and stood up from the sofa. He glanced around the empty living room, his heart twisting. Never in his life had he felt so lonely and helpless. 'They're gonna be alright', he stubbornly repeated to himself and went to the kitchen to make himself coffee. Staring dumbly at the humming kettle, Frank felt guilt wash over him. He was safe and warm, at his own home and they.... 'They're gonna be alright!...'
'Why did Newman need the two of them? Or why Joe, not me? Frank's mind drifted away again. 'What does having our friend have to do with it all? And why Chet?' He swallowed as the answer rose in his mind. He wouldn't torture them both simultaneously, he'd kill Chet first. Chet, no one else, because of Iola.... He wants to make Joe watch it happen to the brother of his killed girlfriend before doing the same to him....
Frank irately smashed a fist against the table. Known as always cool-headed in the most nerve-wracking situations, Frank could never control his anger when he knew he could do nothing to help his brother. At moments like this – and he bitterly chuckled at the thought that there had been way too many moments like this – he found it hard to decide who felt worse – Joe, not knowing what to expect from a psycho like Newman, or Frank, now knowing what he'd be told when someone called to update him on his brother's fate.
A 'bing' snapped him back to reality. Frank rubbed his weary eyes and added water to instant coffee. Usually he drank tea and never this dark-brown liquid that tasted nothing like natural coffee, but as long as caffeine was going to keep him awake throughout the night he didn't care. He couldn't taste anything at the moment anyway. Picking up his cup, he headed for his father's study.
Fenton had arrived back home two hours ago, looking grim and crestfallen. There was nothing else he could have done but agree to Chief Collig's plan which would be carried out only in the morning – and that was to search every desolate building inside and outside Bayport and look for a dark sedan on the streets of the town. But morning would come almost 6 hours later. By the time they would be able to start too much time would be wasted.
Biff, Tony and Phil had stayed for some time, but then left reluctantly, making Frank promise he'd call them the moment he had news. Frank had watched them go and then started working on the map and the notes.
Frank passed the living room to Fenton's study. He knocked on the door and peeped inside. Fenton's hands were on the table and his head was rested on them. Hearing the rustle, he wearily looked up at his son, "Frank? What's wrong?" he asked, lifting his head and rubbing his temples.
"Nothing, I just wanted to know if you had good news to share with me?" Frank replied, waling inside and sitting down on an arm-chair.
Fenton sighed heavily before shaking his head, "The patrol cars are looking for a dark sedan, but.... It's probably parked somewhere in the woods next to a shabby house the road to which is impassable at night in such weather....." he shook his head, leaning back in his chair. "When the day breaks, they are going to search every suspicious place – houses, huts in the woods, yachts in the port.... Ezra is doing all he can, but..."
"But it's not going to make us of the Mortons feel better tonight," Frank finished for him in a small voice.
Fenton nodded, "Waiting is all we can do.... I hate it...."
"You called the Mortons?" Frank asked.
"Yesss. They're....I don't think I can explain it....they're nearly hysterical," Fenton said. Frank thought there was a note of guilt in his voice. "It's understandable, though. After losing their daughter like that, to have the only kid left at the hands of Newman..."
Frank felt bad for them. Donna and Bryan Morton were one of the nicest people he knew, they hadn't deserved anything like this happen to them. It was enough burying their daughter, no parent should outlive his child. And two children especially.
"Dad?" Frank broke the oppressive silence. He swallowed before asking the question he couldn't get off his mind, "Do you think he started to.... Started, well..."
Fenton gave his son a long steady gaze, "Frank, I think you know what I think about why he needed them both.... We still can save Joe.... If we work fast, we can save Chet, too."
Frank's face paled. He inhaled deeply to ease the pain in his chest. 'If you work fast, you can save Chet, too'. The words were eating at him, devouring the last pieces of hope he had. 'They're gonna be alright.... Would anyone ever be alright again?'
"Frank, why don't you go upstairs and lie down?" Fenton suggested. "I know it's hard to admit, but right now you can't do anything. You need to rest, I want you to be alright when needed."
"Look who's talking," Frank peered at his father . "You've been up since unearthly hour, too."
"Yes, but..." Fenton found no words to argue with his son. "Frank, you need it."
"So do you," Frank pointed out.
"I'm the father here," Fenton forced a rueful smile for his son. "Go. Time flies faster in sleep."
Frank shook his head, "Dad, I won't be able to sleep. I-I... Every time I close my eyes I can't stop thinking about them, about what can be happening while we're here and they're there, afraid...hurt...waiting for us to come and save them. But we're not coming and...and..." he whispered, bowing his head.
Fenton rose from his seat and went to his son. Wordlessly he kneeled down in front of him and pulled the trembling teen into his arms.
Frank closed his eyes, letting go of his fears in his father's comforting embrace. It never ceased to astonish him how Fenton's gentle touch or a simple word could chase away all his doubts, fears and uncertainties. Even now, when he was a grown-up, whenever he was lost and despaired he still felt the need to get lost in his father's magic embrace to raise his spirits.
"We're gonna get through this," Fenton told him quietly, patting him on the back. "We should always hope for the better."
"How? How can we hope for the better when they're God knows where and their time is running out? If it hadn't already..."
"I don't know why it happens, but thoughts often tend to materialize. If you think something bad is going to happen, it does turn out to be bad. And vice versa. As long as you hope, there's always a chance for the better."
Frank thought about materializing thoughts. He remembered his childhood years when he silently wished for a particular Christmas present and then always found it under the Christmas tree. It felt so delightful to hold in hands what used to be only an image in his mind. It was years later when he realized how his wishes materialized when he accidentally caught Fenton hiding shining boxes with bows in his study. But now that he reminisced those years, he suddenly felt a lot calmer. Fenton had always managed to fulfill his expectations – and Frank refused to think this time it would be different.
"Thank you, Dad," he said quietly, letting go of him and forcing a waned smiled. "Thank you."
"You are always welcome," Fenton smiled back. "You know that no matter what, I'll always be there for you and Joe."
"I know, Dad," Frank nodded. "And Joe knows it, too. Even now."
"We'll bring him home, Frank," Fenton said firmly. "Today."
"I believe you."
"Good," Fenton smiled at him. "Now will you believe me if I tell you that you look worn out and need a few hours of rest?"
"I guess I do, but... I can't. I really can't go to sleep. I want to be here."
"If anything I'll wake you up immediately. I promise," Fenton coaxed. "You need to get your strengths back and you won't unless you rest for some time. There's no point in wandering around the house, you'll only feel worse. Please."
As much as he tried to fight it, Frank had to admit that fatigue and sleepiness were taking the best of him. His father was right, the best thing he could do now was to summon up his strengths he'd need in the morning. "Okay," he finally agreed, much to Fenton's content. "But if anything you wake me up!"
"I promised."
Fenton wished him good night and Frank walked upstairs into his room. He didn't bother to undress and climbed under the blanket. He laid in the darkness, recalling the day's events. His whole body ached in tiredness, but sleep wouldn't come. The nearness of his brother's room and the emptiness of it seemed too disturbing to let him relax and fall asleep. How could he sleep knowing Joe was suffering?
"Good night, Joe," he whispered into the darkness, fighting back the tears. "Hold on, we're gonna bring you home real soon... Please, be okay..."
The wind was blowing the rain against the window, the monotone knocking seemed soothing and soporific. Frank tossed in bed for over ten minutes before sleep welcomed him.
'Frank sniffed and muffled himself in his parka. He was standing on the hoar-frosted ground, covered with dead brown autumn leaves; he was shivering as new gusts of icy wind were freezing him to his bones. Petty snowflakes were falling down from heavy grey clouds above.
"Just like Iola," whispered a familiar voice next to him.
Frank turned to the right and saw Joe wipe his tears with his glove. "Joe, it's going to be alright," he tried to assure him, but something deep inside told him nothing would ever be alright again.
"It-it is my fault," Joe said, his voice wavering with tears. "First her, now Chet. They shouldn't be there, it must be me and me only..."
"No, it mustn't," Frank shook his head, a knife twisting in his heart as he looked down at two graves. "It's not up to us to decide who should lie there," he turned to look at his brother and...
...his heart sank, Joe was nowhere to be seen, he was alone in the graveyard, his only company was the soughing wind. "Joe?" Frank called, dread creeping into him. "Joe??" he frantically looked around before his eyes caught sight of it.
There were three graves now.'
Frank sighed heavily. He has been studying the map of Bayport and its surrounding for an hour already, trying to figure out where Newman could probably keep Joe and Chet. The area around the town was woody and, Frank had to admit, it would be extremely difficult to locate the exact place. He had chosen a large-scaled map with all buildings stated and was writing down all the places that Newman could have preferred.
He was desperate to get into the van and speed to check all of them, but the weather outside was storming and the roads to all those places would be impassable at night. 'Jinx', he swore to himself and angrily threw his notebook and pen on the table. He glanced at the watch and a tight knot in his stomach became even tighter. Past midnight, seven hours since Joe's been gone, nine hours since Chet's disappearance.
'Let them be alright', he prayed silently. 'Let them be alright, safe and sound, alive and in one piece and we'll do the rest to save them....'
He closed his eyes, feeling he was on the verge of tears. It would be a miracle if either of them was alright by the moment. Frank was telling himself to remain positive, but as time went on he found it harder and harder to hold on and accept reality. Newman had no reason waiting till morning to start his enormities.
Frank swallowed his tears over a lump in his throat and stood up from the sofa. He glanced around the empty living room, his heart twisting. Never in his life had he felt so lonely and helpless. 'They're gonna be alright', he stubbornly repeated to himself and went to the kitchen to make himself coffee. Staring dumbly at the humming kettle, Frank felt guilt wash over him. He was safe and warm, at his own home and they.... 'They're gonna be alright!...'
'Why did Newman need the two of them? Or why Joe, not me? Frank's mind drifted away again. 'What does having our friend have to do with it all? And why Chet?' He swallowed as the answer rose in his mind. He wouldn't torture them both simultaneously, he'd kill Chet first. Chet, no one else, because of Iola.... He wants to make Joe watch it happen to the brother of his killed girlfriend before doing the same to him....
Frank irately smashed a fist against the table. Known as always cool-headed in the most nerve-wracking situations, Frank could never control his anger when he knew he could do nothing to help his brother. At moments like this – and he bitterly chuckled at the thought that there had been way too many moments like this – he found it hard to decide who felt worse – Joe, not knowing what to expect from a psycho like Newman, or Frank, now knowing what he'd be told when someone called to update him on his brother's fate.
A 'bing' snapped him back to reality. Frank rubbed his weary eyes and added water to instant coffee. Usually he drank tea and never this dark-brown liquid that tasted nothing like natural coffee, but as long as caffeine was going to keep him awake throughout the night he didn't care. He couldn't taste anything at the moment anyway. Picking up his cup, he headed for his father's study.
Fenton had arrived back home two hours ago, looking grim and crestfallen. There was nothing else he could have done but agree to Chief Collig's plan which would be carried out only in the morning – and that was to search every desolate building inside and outside Bayport and look for a dark sedan on the streets of the town. But morning would come almost 6 hours later. By the time they would be able to start too much time would be wasted.
Biff, Tony and Phil had stayed for some time, but then left reluctantly, making Frank promise he'd call them the moment he had news. Frank had watched them go and then started working on the map and the notes.
Frank passed the living room to Fenton's study. He knocked on the door and peeped inside. Fenton's hands were on the table and his head was rested on them. Hearing the rustle, he wearily looked up at his son, "Frank? What's wrong?" he asked, lifting his head and rubbing his temples.
"Nothing, I just wanted to know if you had good news to share with me?" Frank replied, waling inside and sitting down on an arm-chair.
Fenton sighed heavily before shaking his head, "The patrol cars are looking for a dark sedan, but.... It's probably parked somewhere in the woods next to a shabby house the road to which is impassable at night in such weather....." he shook his head, leaning back in his chair. "When the day breaks, they are going to search every suspicious place – houses, huts in the woods, yachts in the port.... Ezra is doing all he can, but..."
"But it's not going to make us of the Mortons feel better tonight," Frank finished for him in a small voice.
Fenton nodded, "Waiting is all we can do.... I hate it...."
"You called the Mortons?" Frank asked.
"Yesss. They're....I don't think I can explain it....they're nearly hysterical," Fenton said. Frank thought there was a note of guilt in his voice. "It's understandable, though. After losing their daughter like that, to have the only kid left at the hands of Newman..."
Frank felt bad for them. Donna and Bryan Morton were one of the nicest people he knew, they hadn't deserved anything like this happen to them. It was enough burying their daughter, no parent should outlive his child. And two children especially.
"Dad?" Frank broke the oppressive silence. He swallowed before asking the question he couldn't get off his mind, "Do you think he started to.... Started, well..."
Fenton gave his son a long steady gaze, "Frank, I think you know what I think about why he needed them both.... We still can save Joe.... If we work fast, we can save Chet, too."
Frank's face paled. He inhaled deeply to ease the pain in his chest. 'If you work fast, you can save Chet, too'. The words were eating at him, devouring the last pieces of hope he had. 'They're gonna be alright.... Would anyone ever be alright again?'
"Frank, why don't you go upstairs and lie down?" Fenton suggested. "I know it's hard to admit, but right now you can't do anything. You need to rest, I want you to be alright when needed."
"Look who's talking," Frank peered at his father . "You've been up since unearthly hour, too."
"Yes, but..." Fenton found no words to argue with his son. "Frank, you need it."
"So do you," Frank pointed out.
"I'm the father here," Fenton forced a rueful smile for his son. "Go. Time flies faster in sleep."
Frank shook his head, "Dad, I won't be able to sleep. I-I... Every time I close my eyes I can't stop thinking about them, about what can be happening while we're here and they're there, afraid...hurt...waiting for us to come and save them. But we're not coming and...and..." he whispered, bowing his head.
Fenton rose from his seat and went to his son. Wordlessly he kneeled down in front of him and pulled the trembling teen into his arms.
Frank closed his eyes, letting go of his fears in his father's comforting embrace. It never ceased to astonish him how Fenton's gentle touch or a simple word could chase away all his doubts, fears and uncertainties. Even now, when he was a grown-up, whenever he was lost and despaired he still felt the need to get lost in his father's magic embrace to raise his spirits.
"We're gonna get through this," Fenton told him quietly, patting him on the back. "We should always hope for the better."
"How? How can we hope for the better when they're God knows where and their time is running out? If it hadn't already..."
"I don't know why it happens, but thoughts often tend to materialize. If you think something bad is going to happen, it does turn out to be bad. And vice versa. As long as you hope, there's always a chance for the better."
Frank thought about materializing thoughts. He remembered his childhood years when he silently wished for a particular Christmas present and then always found it under the Christmas tree. It felt so delightful to hold in hands what used to be only an image in his mind. It was years later when he realized how his wishes materialized when he accidentally caught Fenton hiding shining boxes with bows in his study. But now that he reminisced those years, he suddenly felt a lot calmer. Fenton had always managed to fulfill his expectations – and Frank refused to think this time it would be different.
"Thank you, Dad," he said quietly, letting go of him and forcing a waned smiled. "Thank you."
"You are always welcome," Fenton smiled back. "You know that no matter what, I'll always be there for you and Joe."
"I know, Dad," Frank nodded. "And Joe knows it, too. Even now."
"We'll bring him home, Frank," Fenton said firmly. "Today."
"I believe you."
"Good," Fenton smiled at him. "Now will you believe me if I tell you that you look worn out and need a few hours of rest?"
"I guess I do, but... I can't. I really can't go to sleep. I want to be here."
"If anything I'll wake you up immediately. I promise," Fenton coaxed. "You need to get your strengths back and you won't unless you rest for some time. There's no point in wandering around the house, you'll only feel worse. Please."
As much as he tried to fight it, Frank had to admit that fatigue and sleepiness were taking the best of him. His father was right, the best thing he could do now was to summon up his strengths he'd need in the morning. "Okay," he finally agreed, much to Fenton's content. "But if anything you wake me up!"
"I promised."
Fenton wished him good night and Frank walked upstairs into his room. He didn't bother to undress and climbed under the blanket. He laid in the darkness, recalling the day's events. His whole body ached in tiredness, but sleep wouldn't come. The nearness of his brother's room and the emptiness of it seemed too disturbing to let him relax and fall asleep. How could he sleep knowing Joe was suffering?
"Good night, Joe," he whispered into the darkness, fighting back the tears. "Hold on, we're gonna bring you home real soon... Please, be okay..."
The wind was blowing the rain against the window, the monotone knocking seemed soothing and soporific. Frank tossed in bed for over ten minutes before sleep welcomed him.
'Frank sniffed and muffled himself in his parka. He was standing on the hoar-frosted ground, covered with dead brown autumn leaves; he was shivering as new gusts of icy wind were freezing him to his bones. Petty snowflakes were falling down from heavy grey clouds above.
"Just like Iola," whispered a familiar voice next to him.
Frank turned to the right and saw Joe wipe his tears with his glove. "Joe, it's going to be alright," he tried to assure him, but something deep inside told him nothing would ever be alright again.
"It-it is my fault," Joe said, his voice wavering with tears. "First her, now Chet. They shouldn't be there, it must be me and me only..."
"No, it mustn't," Frank shook his head, a knife twisting in his heart as he looked down at two graves. "It's not up to us to decide who should lie there," he turned to look at his brother and...
...his heart sank, Joe was nowhere to be seen, he was alone in the graveyard, his only company was the soughing wind. "Joe?" Frank called, dread creeping into him. "Joe??" he frantically looked around before his eyes caught sight of it.
There were three graves now.'