Chapter 11
Frank exhaled loudly as he sat upright in his bed, eyes wide open in shock. They became even wider when he found himself alone in complete darkness. Looking around, he finally recognized the dim outlines of his own room. He'd only dreamt it, the imaginary graveyard was far away.... He put his face into his hands and flopped back down onto his bed, feeling his heart still drumming inside.
The eerie dream was so realistic.... Frank shook his head, refusing to think about what it meant. 'It was just a dream, not a prophecy!...' He swallowed and turned his head to look at the digital alarm clock on the night table. 2.40. No matter he felt so shattered like he hadn't slept at all. Two hours were not enough for a good night's rest. He considered trying to go back to sleep, but decided against it.
Frank got from under the blanket, tidied his wrinkled clothes and walked out of the room, hoping his father had some good news. He found him in the kitchen and sighed inwardly. No neat clothes and trim appearance could hide the worn-out and troubled expression on Fenton's face. His eyes were red, indicating he hadn't slept a wink, and his skin was an unhealthy shade of pale.
"Hi, Dad," Frank greeted him.
Fenton turned around and frowned at the sight of his son, "I didn't expect you up so early."
Frank shook his head, "I can't sleep. I did doze off for some time, but woke up."
His father eyed him for a few moment, then sighed, "Understandable.... Slept well?"
"No," Frank replied, not going into details.
"Stupid question," Fenton sighed and took a sip from his cup of coffee.
"Any word on how things are going?" Frank asked hopefully.
Fenton shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh, "I called Collig about an hour ago, he said that his officers are alerted to the situation, they are patrolling the streets."
"And that's all?" Frank's eyebrows rose. At Fenton's slight nod he shook his head in dismay. "Unbelievable.... Any luck?"
"Not yet."
There was a mist before Frank's eyes. Joe's been gone for almost eight hours now, it'd be a miracle if he was still alright, physically and emotionally. And if their surmise was correct, Chet had one chance in a trillion. 'Damnit, damnit, damni',' he thought, despair taking control of his mind. 'Damnit!...'
"How are you?" Fenton asked softly, watching the pained expression on his son's face.
"Are you leaving anywhere?" Frank asked instead of answering.
His father nodded, "The police station."
Frank waited for him to ask if he wanted to come along, but Fenton said nothing else, only looked aside under his son's inquiring stare. "Am I not invited?" Frank asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Frank, there's nothing for you to do there," Fenton started.
"Right, there's so much to do for me here, isn't it?" Frank sniggered.
"Frank.... We've already talked about it," Fenton said tiredly, rubbing his forehead. "I know you want to help and I understand you want to be there to know the news immediately, but there really is nothing you can do there at the moment," he put a hand on his son's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "And I swear I'll call if anything."
Frank felt like he was fourteen years back, when he had to ask parents' permission to do something, to plead his father to let him see how he captured bad people or to go with him to interrogate a criminal – Fenton never allowed that, of course, and that hurt the little boy's feelings. Was he not good enough? Was he useless? Why didn't Dad want him to go with him and help? He could help after all – he was a big boy, he was four!
Years passed and Frank stood in the kitchen, feeling like a four-year-old, swallowing the insult of not being allowed to make himself useful. "You say there are police officers combing the town? Maybe, if Con's one of them, he'll let me ride with him?" he asked hopefully, keeping his resentment to himself.
"I'll ask Collig and Con and if it's alright with them, then fine," Fenton nodded, yet rather reluctantly, or so it seemed to Frank. "Listen, I know you needn't my permission to get into the van and go searching on your own," he went on, reading his son's mind like an open book. "But there are two reasons why I want you home. First, I'm worried about you as much as I'm worried about Joe and knowing you're safe at home makes me feel better. Second, I need you home in case someone calls or something."
"Did Newman ever call anyone?"
"No, but besides him there are over six billion people in the world and anyone of them may call."
"Speaking of that, have you talked to Mom yet?" Frank asked.
Fenton's face saddened, "Not yet. It's too early in Oklahoma. Plus, I don't want to tell her anything until the situation clears. There's no need to worry her right now."
Frank wondered what he was going to tell her if she called herself. The truth, probably, because he knew she'd guess something was wrong by his voice and demand to tell her everything.
"Okay, I'll go," Fenton said when Frank remained silent. "You hold on here. Joe's gonna be home today."
"I hope so," Frank replied quietly. "I hope so..."
Fenton forced a smile for his son, "We'll get through his." Upon saying that, he patted Frank's shoulder and disappeared into the corridor.
'We'll get through this. We will. Will Joe and Chet, though?...'
Frank watched him go, a heavy feeling in his heart. He turned around and looked around the kitchen. Yesterday it was ordinary, today it seemed too big and empty without anyone to eat breakfast with. Breakfast. He felt sick at the thought.
Pushing the bad thoughts off his mind, he left the kitchen and headed upstairs. Frank was half way up the staircase when he stopped. Never before had he been alone at three in the morning in his own home. Never before had the emptiness in his heart hurt so much.... So much that he desperately wanted to splash out all his anxiety and pain and fill the painful emptiness with peace and hope...
He turned on his heels and went back downstairs and into the living room. He sat on the sofa and looked at the telephone, biting his lower lip in irresolution. What wouldn't he give away to hear it ring now and find someone on the other line who'd ask how he was doing and he'd just speak his pain-filled mind.... But the device was quiet.
Was there anyone he could call at this hour? Laura Hardy? No, definitely no. Callie? No, it was midnight in California where she and Vanessa had gone four days ago to attend her cousin's wedding. His friends? No, simply no....
Frank bowed his head into his hands, feeling even worse than before coming into the living room. He sat in complete silence for some time, trapped in his troubled thoughts. Fenton said they'd bring Joe home today. 'And what if they don't? What if they don't find them? What if it's already too late?... Stop it, Hardy!'
Frank stood up and went up to his dimly lit room. Today's weather was no better than the previous days, the sky was covered with thick dark clouds and the wind was blowing drizzle against the window. Yesterday it seemed like normal autumn morning, today... Today everything was different.
Exhaling loudly, Frank made his way into the bathroom to take the shower. Standing under the streams of hot water, he let his mind drift away again.
'Almost ten hours. Ten hours with that madman.... And you're doing nothing, just stand here, feeling fine, waiting till your father brings him home. You could have searched half the town in your van long ago, instead you slept.... Jerk.... What could I do? Under the rain? At night? Alone?... Nothing.... Dad's right, there's nothing I can do, because police officers – many of them – are more useful than me alone.... Justifying yourself? It's your brother out there, maybe half his body gone, cut off!!...' Frank stared at the tiled wall in front of him. 'But there's also your friend in there.... Does it make you feel better that he may be the first to experience what Newman has for them? Because it gives you more time to stand in the shower, more time to find Joe?... Does it make you feel better?... DOES IT???!!'
"No!!" Frank screamed at his inner voice, feeling tears in his eyes. "No..." he whispered. "No...it doesn't...."
He knew all his friends since kindergarten, they grew up together, they all were as important to him as Joe. They were like brothers. Of course, they weren't as close as Joe, they couldn't be, but knowing they were in danger always frightened him just as much.
"No...It doesn't make me feel better..." he whispered to no one, putting his face under the water to wash away the tears. "It doesn't make me feel better at all...."
He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Wrapping the towel around his waist, Frank went to his room to get some fresh clothes, sniffing his nose every once in a while. He hated himself for falling apart like that, but emotions were taking him open and he just couldn't do anything to shut himself from them.
He dressed and looked around, desperately hoping to see something that would take his mind off the anguished reality. His eyes stopped at the door to the bathroom, there he saw the other door that remained closed since yesterday's morning. It seemed so long ago, when Joe was in the next room and nothing beckoned horrible things to happen.
'Don't go in there, you'll only drive yourself mad!'
His feet were moving on their own...
Frank exhaled loudly as he sat upright in his bed, eyes wide open in shock. They became even wider when he found himself alone in complete darkness. Looking around, he finally recognized the dim outlines of his own room. He'd only dreamt it, the imaginary graveyard was far away.... He put his face into his hands and flopped back down onto his bed, feeling his heart still drumming inside.
The eerie dream was so realistic.... Frank shook his head, refusing to think about what it meant. 'It was just a dream, not a prophecy!...' He swallowed and turned his head to look at the digital alarm clock on the night table. 2.40. No matter he felt so shattered like he hadn't slept at all. Two hours were not enough for a good night's rest. He considered trying to go back to sleep, but decided against it.
Frank got from under the blanket, tidied his wrinkled clothes and walked out of the room, hoping his father had some good news. He found him in the kitchen and sighed inwardly. No neat clothes and trim appearance could hide the worn-out and troubled expression on Fenton's face. His eyes were red, indicating he hadn't slept a wink, and his skin was an unhealthy shade of pale.
"Hi, Dad," Frank greeted him.
Fenton turned around and frowned at the sight of his son, "I didn't expect you up so early."
Frank shook his head, "I can't sleep. I did doze off for some time, but woke up."
His father eyed him for a few moment, then sighed, "Understandable.... Slept well?"
"No," Frank replied, not going into details.
"Stupid question," Fenton sighed and took a sip from his cup of coffee.
"Any word on how things are going?" Frank asked hopefully.
Fenton shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh, "I called Collig about an hour ago, he said that his officers are alerted to the situation, they are patrolling the streets."
"And that's all?" Frank's eyebrows rose. At Fenton's slight nod he shook his head in dismay. "Unbelievable.... Any luck?"
"Not yet."
There was a mist before Frank's eyes. Joe's been gone for almost eight hours now, it'd be a miracle if he was still alright, physically and emotionally. And if their surmise was correct, Chet had one chance in a trillion. 'Damnit, damnit, damni',' he thought, despair taking control of his mind. 'Damnit!...'
"How are you?" Fenton asked softly, watching the pained expression on his son's face.
"Are you leaving anywhere?" Frank asked instead of answering.
His father nodded, "The police station."
Frank waited for him to ask if he wanted to come along, but Fenton said nothing else, only looked aside under his son's inquiring stare. "Am I not invited?" Frank asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Frank, there's nothing for you to do there," Fenton started.
"Right, there's so much to do for me here, isn't it?" Frank sniggered.
"Frank.... We've already talked about it," Fenton said tiredly, rubbing his forehead. "I know you want to help and I understand you want to be there to know the news immediately, but there really is nothing you can do there at the moment," he put a hand on his son's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "And I swear I'll call if anything."
Frank felt like he was fourteen years back, when he had to ask parents' permission to do something, to plead his father to let him see how he captured bad people or to go with him to interrogate a criminal – Fenton never allowed that, of course, and that hurt the little boy's feelings. Was he not good enough? Was he useless? Why didn't Dad want him to go with him and help? He could help after all – he was a big boy, he was four!
Years passed and Frank stood in the kitchen, feeling like a four-year-old, swallowing the insult of not being allowed to make himself useful. "You say there are police officers combing the town? Maybe, if Con's one of them, he'll let me ride with him?" he asked hopefully, keeping his resentment to himself.
"I'll ask Collig and Con and if it's alright with them, then fine," Fenton nodded, yet rather reluctantly, or so it seemed to Frank. "Listen, I know you needn't my permission to get into the van and go searching on your own," he went on, reading his son's mind like an open book. "But there are two reasons why I want you home. First, I'm worried about you as much as I'm worried about Joe and knowing you're safe at home makes me feel better. Second, I need you home in case someone calls or something."
"Did Newman ever call anyone?"
"No, but besides him there are over six billion people in the world and anyone of them may call."
"Speaking of that, have you talked to Mom yet?" Frank asked.
Fenton's face saddened, "Not yet. It's too early in Oklahoma. Plus, I don't want to tell her anything until the situation clears. There's no need to worry her right now."
Frank wondered what he was going to tell her if she called herself. The truth, probably, because he knew she'd guess something was wrong by his voice and demand to tell her everything.
"Okay, I'll go," Fenton said when Frank remained silent. "You hold on here. Joe's gonna be home today."
"I hope so," Frank replied quietly. "I hope so..."
Fenton forced a smile for his son, "We'll get through his." Upon saying that, he patted Frank's shoulder and disappeared into the corridor.
'We'll get through this. We will. Will Joe and Chet, though?...'
Frank watched him go, a heavy feeling in his heart. He turned around and looked around the kitchen. Yesterday it was ordinary, today it seemed too big and empty without anyone to eat breakfast with. Breakfast. He felt sick at the thought.
Pushing the bad thoughts off his mind, he left the kitchen and headed upstairs. Frank was half way up the staircase when he stopped. Never before had he been alone at three in the morning in his own home. Never before had the emptiness in his heart hurt so much.... So much that he desperately wanted to splash out all his anxiety and pain and fill the painful emptiness with peace and hope...
He turned on his heels and went back downstairs and into the living room. He sat on the sofa and looked at the telephone, biting his lower lip in irresolution. What wouldn't he give away to hear it ring now and find someone on the other line who'd ask how he was doing and he'd just speak his pain-filled mind.... But the device was quiet.
Was there anyone he could call at this hour? Laura Hardy? No, definitely no. Callie? No, it was midnight in California where she and Vanessa had gone four days ago to attend her cousin's wedding. His friends? No, simply no....
Frank bowed his head into his hands, feeling even worse than before coming into the living room. He sat in complete silence for some time, trapped in his troubled thoughts. Fenton said they'd bring Joe home today. 'And what if they don't? What if they don't find them? What if it's already too late?... Stop it, Hardy!'
Frank stood up and went up to his dimly lit room. Today's weather was no better than the previous days, the sky was covered with thick dark clouds and the wind was blowing drizzle against the window. Yesterday it seemed like normal autumn morning, today... Today everything was different.
Exhaling loudly, Frank made his way into the bathroom to take the shower. Standing under the streams of hot water, he let his mind drift away again.
'Almost ten hours. Ten hours with that madman.... And you're doing nothing, just stand here, feeling fine, waiting till your father brings him home. You could have searched half the town in your van long ago, instead you slept.... Jerk.... What could I do? Under the rain? At night? Alone?... Nothing.... Dad's right, there's nothing I can do, because police officers – many of them – are more useful than me alone.... Justifying yourself? It's your brother out there, maybe half his body gone, cut off!!...' Frank stared at the tiled wall in front of him. 'But there's also your friend in there.... Does it make you feel better that he may be the first to experience what Newman has for them? Because it gives you more time to stand in the shower, more time to find Joe?... Does it make you feel better?... DOES IT???!!'
"No!!" Frank screamed at his inner voice, feeling tears in his eyes. "No..." he whispered. "No...it doesn't...."
He knew all his friends since kindergarten, they grew up together, they all were as important to him as Joe. They were like brothers. Of course, they weren't as close as Joe, they couldn't be, but knowing they were in danger always frightened him just as much.
"No...It doesn't make me feel better..." he whispered to no one, putting his face under the water to wash away the tears. "It doesn't make me feel better at all...."
He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Wrapping the towel around his waist, Frank went to his room to get some fresh clothes, sniffing his nose every once in a while. He hated himself for falling apart like that, but emotions were taking him open and he just couldn't do anything to shut himself from them.
He dressed and looked around, desperately hoping to see something that would take his mind off the anguished reality. His eyes stopped at the door to the bathroom, there he saw the other door that remained closed since yesterday's morning. It seemed so long ago, when Joe was in the next room and nothing beckoned horrible things to happen.
'Don't go in there, you'll only drive yourself mad!'
His feet were moving on their own...