Three months later
Alan hurried across the street towards the high school. He hadn't meant to stay behind after school, but one of his teachers had pulled him aside to talk, and now he was running late. Gordon was going to kill him.
Ever since being left behind three months ago, Gordon had acted very cold towards him. Usually, Gordon was his biggest ally, his partner in pranks. Since getting in trouble, Gordon treated him as though he were a stranger. He only let Alan tag along on rides to and from school because their father made him. Other than that, it was as if Alan didn't exist. Alan never told anyone about the behavior, but deep down it hurt. He felt as though he had lost one of his best friends.
Alan ran into the parking lot, narrowly dodging a jeep. He ignored the angry calls and curses of the teenagers as he raced towards his meeting place with Gordon.
The bike racks lining the wall closest to the parking lot had a few people milling about, but no faces stood out. Alan paused, eyes scanning the area, looking for his brother.
"Gordon?" Alan moved closer as the last of the bikers left. An uneasy feeling crept into his stomach, and he shook it off. His brother was just running late. There was no way Gordon would have left him behind again.
Alan set his backpack down by the bike rack and jumped on top. He held his arms straight out at his sides, maintaining his balance, as he walked along the rack. He knew his brothers would have a fit if they saw him doing it. Alan smirked. Served them right for leaving him on his own.
He paced along the bike rack several times, but grew bored and jumped off. He picked up his backpack and decided to go looking around the lot for Gordon or his friend.
Those high school students who did not participate in after school activities were fleeing the lot like recently released prisoners. Alan paced the length of the parking lot two times, not seeing any sign of Gordon, Mark, or Mark's car. The sinking feeling returned to his stomach. Had Gordon abandoned him again?
Alan turned and headed for the high school. After the last time, Jeff, Scott, John, and Virgil had all pounded into his head to call home for a ride if he was stranded. Looking back, even Alan acknowledged that that would have been the best solution to his problem, and he had promised to do so.
Most of the doors were locked. Alan had to circle around the building and enter through the front door. Glancing around, he located a pat phone right outside the office. Digging into his backpack, Alan withdrew the proper amount of change needed and put them into the phone. He decided to call home first.
No answer.
Alan frowned at the phone as his change returned. Scott and John were away at school, so that option was out. Dropping the coins back into the phone, Alan decided to try Virgil's cell phone.
Voicemail.
"Yeah, Virgil, it's me. I'm at the high school, and I can't find Gordon. I guess I'll try Dad's office."
He hung up and pulled out some more change. He smiled faintly as a memory returned to him from three months before. Upon telling Alan to use the pay phone the next time he needed a ride, his father, Scott, and John had all given him so much pocket change for his backpack that his bag weighed an additional two pounds. Dropping the quarters into the slot, Alan dialed his father's office.
"Tracy Enterprises."
"Hi, Mrs. Ferris, is my Dad there? This is Alan."
"Oh, hello, dear," his father's grandmotherly receptionist replied warmly. "No, I'm sorry. He's in the middle of an important business meeting and asked that he not be disturbed. Is it an emergency?"
Alan thought for a moment. "Ah, no. Just tell him I called?"
"I'll do that, dear. Bye now."
"Bye." Alan hung up the phone and walked over to a row of chairs across the hall. Sinking into one, he set his backpack on the floor by his feet. Now what? His family had told him to call for a ride, but they had never told him what to do if he couldn't get a hold of one of them.
Walking home was not an option.
He didn't have any money for a cab; not that any cab driver in his right mind would pick up a twelve-year-old anyway.
Alan frowned down at his shoes. He decided to wait there as long as possible, and try to call again later.
Gordon let out another loud laugh across the table from his friend at the pizza shop in the mall. Mark joined in the laughter, then glanced out at the passersby.
"How about that guy?" he asked, pointing at a man in a business suit walking in their direction.
Gordon rolled his eyes, but picked up his straw. Taking careful aim, he took a deep breath and blew through the straw as hard as possible. A large spitball came sailing out of his straw and latched onto the man's lapel. The man reeled back slightly in disgust, then anger, and he looked around the mall for the culprits. Mark and Gordon quickly assumed looks of nonchalance until the man stormed away. As soon as he had gone, they broke into snickers.
"Man, that was hilarious!" Mark said. "Glad you're back, Gordie. It's been a dull couple of months without you."
Gordon's smile fell into a scowl. "Tell me about it. Being grounded is no picnic. And all because my stupid brother couldn't get a ride home. He probably got everybody all worked up so they'd feel sorry him and get mad at me."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "Where is he now? I noticed we cut last period so we could avoid the rush in the lot."
Gordon shrugged. "I dunno, but he'll be fine. After last time, there's no way he'll walk home alone again."
"Won't you get into trouble for leaving him behind again?" Mark wanted to know.
"Alan's a pest, but he's not a snitch," Gordon said. "He'll find a way home, give me hell over it, and that'll be the end of it."
"You're pretty confident," Mark observed.
"Hey, we're brothers," Gordon stated. "Come on. I wanna go check out the CD store for the new arrivals."
Alan sat back down in his chair and sighed. He'd just tried to call for someone to come pick him up, but there was still no response. It was now six o'clock, and the high school was deserted save for the janitorial staff. Alan wondered how much longer it would be before someone noticed he was missing.
"Hey there, kiddo. You don't look old enough to be a student here."
Alan looked up at the figure of a tall, bulky man dressed in a suit and tie. He had thinning blond hair and brown eyes.
"Uh, no sir," Alan replied. "I'm waiting on my brothers. They'll be finished anytime now, and we'll be going home."
"Funny," the man commented. "I thought everyone else had already gone home for the night."
Alan shrugged. He didn't know who the man was, and felt uncomfortable sharing any more information with him.
The man's eyes suddenly lit in recognition. "You're one of Tracy's boys, aren't you? You all look so much alike, I'm surprised I didn't recognize you sooner."
Alan gave the man a strange look. He didn't think he and his brothers looked anything alike, but then some people could just be so blind.
"It's getting awfully late," the man went on. "Tell you what; I'll give you a lift home."
Warning bells immediately went off in Alan's mind. "Uh, no thanks, sir. Like I said, I'm waiting on my brothers. They'll be done soon."
"Nonsense, son," the man insisted. "The school's empty. I saw your brothers leave earlier today. We can't just leave you stranded, can we?"
"I really think I should wait for my brothers," Alan said weakly. Tension began to coil in his stomach.
"I insist." The man took Alan's backpack. "Come on. My car's right outside. I'll have you home before anyone knows you're gone."
Alan pondered that thought. "At least let me leave a message for my brothers so they know not to wait for me."
The man nodded. Alan went to the phone, then turned back to the man. "I don't even know who you are."
Oh, forgive me," the man said. "Jason Taggart, at your service. I teach math."
Alan nodded, then dialed home. Once the answering machine beeped, he said, "Hey, Dad, or whoever gets this message. I'm still at the high school, but Mr. Taggart, a teacher here, said he'd take me home, so I guess I'll see you guys soon. Bye."
He hung up and turned to Taggart. "Okay, sir. Ready whenever you are."
The door to the Tracy household opened, and Jeff walked in. Removing his jacket and hanging it up on the coat rack, he called out, "Virgil? Gordon? Alan? You boys home?"
Not receiving a response, Jeff went to drop his briefcase off in his study and went into the kitchen, looking for something to eat. He found some leftovers from the night before and popped it into the microwave. While he waited for his dinner to cook, Jeff dipped into his pocket and removed his message slips that his receptionist had left on his desk before she had gone for the night.
There were ten slips of paper, and half of them were from Alan. Frowning, Jeff left the kitchen in search of his son. Alan rarely ever called him at the office. For him to call five times was unheard of.
Alan wasn't in his bedroom, or anywhere else upstairs. A thorough search through the downstairs came up with the same result: Jeff was alone in the house.
The front door opened, and he hurried into the foyer. Virgil stood just inside the door, his eyes wide with surprise upon seeing his father run into view.
"Dad?" he asked. "What's wrong?"
"Where were you?" Jeff demanded.
"With my friends at a movie," Virgil replied. "I already asked you, remember?"
"Do you know where Alan and Gordon are?" Jeff continued.
Virgil shook his head. "No, why?"
"Check your voicemail," Jeff said, ignoring the question.
Giving his father a strange look, Virgil took out his cell phone and checked his messages. A frown creased his face.
"I have three messages," Virgil told him. "All from Alan. He can't find Gordon, and he's stuck at school without a ride."
Jeff's face darkened.
"Did you check our machine?" Virgil asked, closing his phone.
Jeff looked at Virgil in surprise and, turning, headed back into his study with Virgil hot on his heels. They reached the machine at the same time.
The message light was blinking furiously. There were several messages from the youngest Tracy, all along the same line.
"If someone gets this, could you please come get me? I'm at the office in the high school."
"I can't find anyone to give me a ride home."
"You know, a backpack full of quarters are pretty useless if I can't actually talk to a human being."
"I'm beginning to think I live with a family of robots or something, with all of the automated messages I've been hearing. Could somebody please come and get me?"
"Hey, Dad, or whoever gets this message. I'm still at the high school, but Mr. Taggart, a teacher here, said he'd take me home, so I guess I'll see you guys soon. Bye."
The machine beeped several times, signifying the end of the messages. Jeff looked at Virgil, who was frowning in confusion. "Who's Mr. Taggart?"
Virgil shook his head. "I haven't heard of him. He must be a new teacher or something."
Jeff checked his watch. "Alan left that last message fifteen minutes ago. He should be home soon."
Virgil's eyes darkened. "I wonder what happened to Gordon."
"Good question." Jeff led Virgil back out of the study and into the kitchen. "I fully intend to find out."
Gordon waved once more to Mark, then stepped into his house. Hanging up his jacket, he moved into the kitchen, looking for a snack.
He took all of two steps into the kitchen when a hand shot out and grabbed his arm firmly. Gordon was about to shout at the person who had seized him when he found himself staring up at Virgil's angry face. The complaints died on Gordon's lips.
"Where the hell have you been?" Virgil hissed.
"Out with Mark," Gordon replied indignantly. "What business is it of yours?"
"Alan never made it home."
Gordon frowned. "What?"
Virgil forced Gordon over to the table and shoved him into a chair. "Dad's on the phone right now with the police. Alan left messages with every number he knew for a ride home today, because he couldn't find the one person who was actually supposed to take him."
Gordon scowled. "I can't believe it! The little squirt actually ratted me out?"
Virgil cuffed him from behind his head. "Are you even listening? Alan's missing! A teacher from the high school supposedly gave him a ride home, but that was an hour and a half ago! He should have been here by now!"
Gordon's jaw moved up and down. "I . . . he . . . what?"
"Virgil!" Jeff stormed into the kitchen. "Call Scott and John, and . . ." He trailed off when he saw his second youngest son in the kitchen. "Gordon! Where the hell have you been? Your brother is missing, and I had no idea where you were, if something happened to you!"
"I-I went to the mall with Mark," Gordon stammered.
"I thought we went over this three months ago!" Jeff continued fervently. "Now here we are, right back here again. I can't seem to find anyone who knows who this 'Mr. Taggart' is, who supposedly gave Alan a ride home, and . . . look, I can't deal with this right now. Gordon, go to your room and stay there. The police are on their way; they'll probably want to talk to you when they get here. Virgil, get a hold of your brothers and let them know what's going on. Gordon . . . just go."
Virgil took out his cell phone and retreated from the room. Gordon stared at his father in disbelief, but Jeff wouldn't even meet his eyes. A little shell-
shocked, Gordon stood and did as he was told. He paused at the doorway and looked at the back of his father's head.
"Did you say Mr. Taggart gave Alan a ride home?" Gordon asked quietly.
Jeff turned to him. "Do you know him?"
Gordon found himself looking down at his shoes. "Sort of. He's been subbing for Mrs. Allen's math class for the past couple of weeks while Mrs. Allen's out on maternity leave. Mark has him for second period; I've seen him around."
Jeff gave a start. "Mark? Your friend Mark?"
Gordon nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Call him," Jeff ordered. "Have him come over here, now. I don't care what you have to do, just get him here."
"Yes, sir." Gordon shifted uncomfortably. "Dad?"
"Yes?" Jeff asked.
Gordon risked a look at his father's stern eyes. "About Alan . . ."
Jeff sighed heavily. "We'll worry about that after Alan's back home with us."
Gordon nodded dejectedly and, turning, headed out of the kitchen to call his friend.
Alan watched the scenery pass by at a quick pace, frowning when Taggart drove past the road that led to Alan's home. "Hey, Mr. Taggart, my house is back there. You missed it."
"No, I didn't," Taggart replied.
Alan turned to the teacher. "Uh, yeah, you did. I live back there."
"I know," Taggart said calmly.
"Okay." Alan tried to control the rising unease in his stomach. "Well, you can turn back anytime."
"I know."
A cold wind blew through Alan. "Um . . . could we get back to my house? My dad and brothers are going to be worried about me."
"I'm not taking you back to your house," Taggart told him.
Alan swallowed hard. "Then . . . where are you taking me?"
"I'm taking you somewhere where we won't be disturbed."
Alan fought back a wave of nausea. He didn't stop to think about what he was doing; he just reacted. Before Taggart could pick up any more speed, he opened the car door and leaped out.
Alan hit the ground hard and rolled as the sound of screeching brakes filled the air. Ignoring the sharp burst of pain in his leg, Alan rose onto his feet and began to run back towards his street. The sound of shoes on pavement close behind him spurred him on.
A sudden weight struck Alan around the knees, and he went down hard. He struggled against Taggart's restraining grip, but Taggart was too big and too strong.
"Don't fight me, Alan," Taggart ordered. A bolt of fear went through Alan; he had never told Taggart his name.
"Who are you?" Alan demanded, trying to free himself. "How do you know who I am?"
"There will be time for answers later," Taggart stated, bodily lifting Alan off of the ground and carrying the boy back to his car. Shifting the child into a one-armed grasp, Taggart opened the trunk of his car and forced Alan into it. Before Alan could try and escape, Taggart slammed the trunk shut. Casting a quick glance around, Taggart slid back into the driver's seat and roared away from town.
Scott and John nearly collided with each other in their haste to enter their home. Two police cars were parked in their driveway, along with another unfamiliar vehicle. Despite the fact that it was nearly two in the morning, every light in the house was on.
"Dad!" Scott yelled, the same time John called for Virgil.
Virgil appeared and found himself immediately drawn into his older brothers' protective grasps.
"Has there been any news?" John demanded.
"Where's Dad?" Scott added.
Virgil pulled back. "Dad's in the study with the police and Gordon's friend Mark. I went out to see if I could find any sign of Alan or that teacher, but I couldn't find anything. It's as if Alan's disappeared off the face of the planet."
"What about Gordon?" John asked.
Virgil's expression, if possible, became even more worried. "In his room. He hasn't come out since Dad sent him there earlier. I think he's really feeling guilty about this."
"Good," Scott said angrily. "We wouldn't even be in this mess if it hadn't been for him."
"Scott, he's just a kid," John said quietly. "I'm not any less angry, but he is only fifteen."
"Well, you know what?" Scott replied hotly. "Alan's only twelve, and he's out God knows where with some guy who wants to hurt him. So forgive me if I save my concern for someone who actually deserves it."
He tore down the hall towards his father's study. Virgil and John watched him go, then turned to one another.
"I'm going to go check on Gordon," John told Virgil. "You wanna come with?"
Virgil nodded, and he followed his older brother up the stairs to the bedroom that Gordon and Alan shared. John knocked softly, then pushed the door open.
Gordon was lying in Alan's bed, staring up at the ceiling with tears shining in his eyes. In his arms was an old stuffed bear that had been passed down to Alan from Virgil.
"Gordon?" Virgil asked tentatively.
Gordon ignored the call. John and Virgil moved further into the room, Virgil sitting on Gordon's bed as John took a place beside Gordon.
"'Are you all right?" Virgil tried again. He was truly worried; he had never seen Gordon stay so still and quiet for so long.
"I thought he'd be okay," Gordon said, his voice so soft that his brothers had to strain to hear him. "I really thought he'd be all right. Now, if he dies, it'll be all my fault."
"Hey," John said sharply. "Don't you dare think like that! Alan's not going to die."
"How do you know?" Gordon demanded in a sudden burst of life. "Were you there? Do you know where he is now? What that teacher might be doing right this minute!"
Tears were pouring out of Gordon's dark eyes. John, despite his anger with his younger brother, drew him into a tight hug. No matter how mad or frustrated he got with Gordon, he hated to see him cry.
"We're going to find him," John stated confidently. "We will. You'll see."
Alan winced and let out a groan when he shifted his body in the cramped trunk. His whole body felt like one giant bruise, but his left leg in particular throbbed relentlessly.
His heart thudded in his chest. He knew he shouldn't have ignored his instincts; his family had told him never to get into vehicles with strangers. The fact that this man was a teacher at his brothers' high school should not have mattered.
Alan shrugged that last thought away. Lesson learned, after the fact. Next time he'd know better.
If there was a next time.
The car slowed down. Alan wasn't sure how long Taggart had been driving, but trapped in the small, enclosed space, it had felt like hours. Alan was anxious to get out of there.
The car rolled to a gentle stop, and the engine turned off. Footsteps approached the rear of the car. Alan shifted his body so that when Taggart opened the trunk, he would be able to spring out of it and run away. As an afterthought, Alan felt around the trunk for something to use as a weapon. His fingers closed around a slender, metal tire iron, and he gripped it tightly.
The trunk lock clicked, and the lid began to rise. As soon as Alan saw Taggart, he popped out of the trunk like a jack-in-the-box and swung the tire iron with all his strength. Caught completely by surprise, Taggart took the full force of the tire iron on the side of his head. He dropped like a stone to the ground, barely holding on to threads of consciousness. Alan, still clutching the tire iron, sprang out of the back of the car and began to run as fast as he could down the road, not even paying attention to his surroundings. He just wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and Taggart.
Trees lined the road that Alan found himself on. Glancing behind him for any pursuers, Alan veered sharply into the cover that the forest provided.
Branches whipped at Alan, causing scrapes to appear on his face and uncovered arms. Still, he didn't stop. He had to find help; he had to find a phone and call home.
A sudden noise ahead caused Alan to alter his course. He didn't even wait to see the source. Fear drove him now, causing him to forget or ignore his pain and search for safety. More than anything now, he wanted to be back home. He wanted to see his father, get picked on by his brothers. Even see Gordon.
Alan continued to run until he felt as though his legs would give out at any given moment, then ran to a tree and began to climb as quickly as he could. He didn't think Taggart would find him for at least a little while. Even if he did, he probably wouldn't be able to climb the tree and reach him. Alan climbed to the highest branch that would hold his weight and obscure him from sight by someone on the ground, and drew himself into as small a ball as he could. Burying his face into his knees, he let out a shuddering breath.
Safe, if only for a little while.
Jeff rubbed his face wearily and downed the rest of his coffee. It was now five in the morning, and he had called in every favor he had, and then some. So far, there had been no word on Alan's whereabouts.
Scott was draped over the couch in his study, having finally passed out from exhaustion an hour before. Jeff hadn't seen John yet, but he knew his older boys were all home. He supposed that John was with Virgil and Gordon, which was just as well. John was the most sensitive of the Tracy boys, and his younger sons needed the comfort that only John could give them.
Jeff stood and moved into the kitchen for another cup of coffee. He wanted to be alert if anything came through about Alan or Taggart. He would sleep after Alan was safe.
"Good idea. Poor me one, too?"
"John." Jeff turned and drew John into a tight hug. "How're the boys?"
"Worried, scared; Gordon's feeling guilty as hell," John replied, taking the mug his father offered him. "I think this is really hitting home with him this time."
"I hope it does," Jeff confided to John. "Maybe then he'll understand the idea of responsibility where Alan is concerned."
"Maybe," John agreed blandly.
Jeff sighed. "How long does it take for a background check to be run?" he asked. "It's been hours."
"What could Taggart want with Alan?" John asked abruptly. "Did he plan this, or was this spur of the moment, or does someone else have him altogether?"
The phone rang, interrupting the questioning. Jeff snatched it off the hook and barked a greeting into the receiver. John watched his father, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
"What?" Jeff's face paled, and he looked as though he were going to be sick. "Are you sure?"
John became worried as he watched his father listen to the rest of whatever was being said. Jeff took a deep breath, a little color returning to his cheeks. "Thanks, Jack, I owe you several." He hung up the phone and looked at John. "That was my friend down at the DA's office. He said that this man, Jason Taggart, is an alias for Jason Biggs."
"Okay," John said. "What does that mean?"
"Jack had to cross-reference some names, but he did find a pattern." Evidently, John was about to learn what had made Jeff look sick to his stomach, and he didn't like it one bit. "Apparently, Biggs hides out by assuming normal jobs within schools so that he can feed into his fetish."
"Which would be . . .?" John prompted, not sure he wanted to know the answer.
Jeff swallowed hard. "Young, blond-haired, blue-
eyed boys."
Nausea swelled in John's stomach, and he found himself swallowing harshly to keep his stomach's contents where they belonged. "Y-You mean . . . Alan's been kidnapped by . . . a predator?"
Jeff winced. "It looks that way. Three other boys fitting Alan's description have disappeared not long after Biggs leaves his temp job with the school. He must have noticed Alan when Alan caught his ride home with his brothers, and decided that last night was an opportunity that was too good to pass up."
John's face hardened. "If he so much as lays one finger on Alan's head . . ."
"You'll have to wait in line," Jeff told him. "Jack also gave me a possible address for Biggs. It's a timeshare condo about an hour out of town. The police called the other holders; apparently, it's someone else's turn, so they haven't checked it out yet. I think, though, that it's a good place to start."
"Then let's go!" John set down his mug. "I'll wake the boys." "I'll let Scott know," Jeff called after him. "Meet us at the van in twenty."
Within fifteen, the Tracys were already out on the road.
The sound of leaves crunching shook Alan out of a sound sleep. Almost immediately, memories rushed back to him, and he froze. Had he really fallen asleep?
He must have; the morning sunlight was pouring through the leaves of the trees. Alan shifted his body ever so slightly and looked down, searching for the source of the disturbance.
A figure shadowed by the leaves was slowly making its way across the ground, approaching the base of Alan's tree. Alan held his breath and kept his body absolutely still as the figure paused directly below him.
"Alan, I know you're out there. Come on out; I won't hurt you."
Alan began to shiver in fear. Taggart's voice was eerily calm; almost as if he were genuinely concerned about him. The young Tracy watched Taggart as he slowly passed below and moved on deeper into the woods.
He waited, frozen, for time to pass. How long could he hide up a tree? Sure, Taggart didn't know where he was, but neither did his family. Surely, they were looking for him by now, but how long would it be before they even thought to look here?
Alan hated the decision he was about to make, but he knew it was the right one.
After another half hour of checking and double-checking for Taggart, Alan silently climbed back down to the ground. Picking his way around the leaves and twigs, he began to walk quickly in the opposite direction his pursuer had taken.
A sharp noise close by caused Alan to freeze in place. He cast wide blue eyes around, then took off like a shot, not bothering to disguise his footsteps any longer. His heart filled with dread when he heard a second pair of feet in hot pursuit.
"Don't run from me, Alan," Taggart called out. "I won't hurt you, I promise."
Alan ignored him, pushing himself to run even faster. Just ahead, in the distance, stood a two-story log cabin. The boy glanced back quickly, then continued on the path to the cabin. He prayed fervently that someone was home, that someone would help him.
A sudden force plowed into him from behind, and Alan rolled on the ground, tangled with Taggart's larger form. The bulk of the teacher's weight landed awkwardly on Alan's injured leg, and he cried out when he felt something snap. White stars exploded before Alan's eyes as they immediately filled with tears.
Taggart managed to disentangle himself from Alan, his hands gripping the child's arms painfully. He hauled Alan up and slung him effortlessly over his shoulder, then began to walk to the cabin.
Alan twisted and writhed in Taggart's hold, yelling at the top of his lungs for somebody, anybody, to help him. His voice echoed among the trees, unanswered.
"You can yell all you want, Alan," Taggart told him, opening the door to the cabin and stepping inside. "The nearest human is twenty miles away. We won't be disturbed."
"M-My family will come looking for me," Alan stated fiercely, his voice shaking. "Th-They know who-who you are, and . . ."
"They think they know," Taggart corrected, carrying Alan into a bedroom and dropping the boy onto the bed. He latched a hand onto Alan's injured leg, causing him to cry out again. "You aren't my first, Alan. No one is coming. By the time they figure out who I really am and where we are, this will all be over."
He lifted a large, metal cuff attached to a long chain and fastened it securely around Alan's injured ankle. As soon as he released Alan, the boy leaped up off of the bed, intent on escaping. The instant he put pressure on his leg, however, he crumpled to the ground. Tears poured from his eyes, and he tried once again to stand. He was met with similar results.
"I wouldn't move around too much," Taggart advised, his voice calm as he dispensed the advice. "That leg looks broken to me."
"Well, thank you, Doctor Taggart, or whoever the hell you are," Alan shot back scathingly.
Taggart didn't react to the curse. Instead, he reached out and gently traced a finger down the side of Alan's face. Alan recoiled in disgust, fear twisting in his gut.
"I'm going to finish the preparations, but I'll be back soon," Taggart told him. "Be good."
Alan watched Taggart leave the room, shutting and locking the door behind him. As soon as he had gone, Alan immediately leaned over and emptied what little he had in his stomach all over the floor.
He had to get out of here.
Now.
The ride out of town and through the heavily wooded area was spent largely in tense silence. Jeff's face was grim as he guided his van along the road. Scott rode beside him, eyes fixed on something that only he could see. John, Virgil, and Gordon were all strapped in the back of the van, each lost in thought.
"Wh-What does Mr. Taggart want with Alan?" Gordon's voice was soft, tentative. It was the first time he'd tried to speak to his father since the night before.
John met his father's eyes through the rearview mirror as Scott's jaw tightened. Jeff had told his older sons the truth, but all agreed that Virgil and Gordon were better off left in the dark; at least for now.
"Let's just get to Alan before Mr. Taggart can do anything to him," Jeff replied.
Gordon's eyes dropped to his hands in his lap, but not before John could see the hurt and shame in them. He reached over and squeezed his younger brother's shoulder.
"I see it," Scott said suddenly, his voice tense.
Sure enough, through the trees, everyone could see the winding dirt path leading up to a broad cabin. No lights were lit, though the sun had reached high enough in the sky for it to be unnecessary.
"Doesn't look like anyone's home," Virgil observed.
Jeff guided his van to a halt and stepped out. Scott and John joined him, but before the younger Tracys could follow suit, Jeff stopped them.
"You two wait here," he ordered. "Gordon, I'm going to need you to identify this guy, but only after we decided it's safe. Virgil, you watch him."
It was a sign of how serious the situation was when no one offered a protest. Jeff's protective instincts were flaring, and none of his sons were willing to go against them.
At least, not in front of him.
"Gordon!" Virgil exclaimed as Gordon opened the door of the van. He quickly glanced over athis father and older brothers, who hadreached the front door of the cabin.
Gordon looked back at him. "It's my fault Alan's in this mess! I'm not going to just sit around and watch Dad handle it. I got him in, I'll get him out. You with me or not?"
Casting another glance at his father's back, Virgil sighed and followed his younger brother around the back of the cabin.
Jeff pounded on the door yet again, his impatience shining through. He knew his sons were surprised by his behavior, but that was the least of his worries. He wanted to see, to hold his baby boy again, and he didn't care what he had to do to make it happen.
He was interrupted mid-pound as the door opened to reveal a man not much shorter than Jeff himself, though he had about one hundred more pounds on him. His frame was stocky, but Jeff suspected a lot of it was muscle. He had thinning blond hair, and his eyes were the color of ice. He examined Jeff curiously for a moment before looking over at Scott. He gave Scott a quick once-over, then turned to John. The man's gaze was more lingering, and John shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
"Apparently, Biggs hides out by assuming normal jobs within schools so that he can feed into his fetish."
"Which would be . . .?"
"Young, blond-haired, blue-eyed boys."
The sudden memory from earlier that morning caused Jeff to insinuate himself between the man and his other blond child. His brown eyes pierced the man's like daggers.
"Can I help you?" the man asked, unphased by Jeff's erratic behavior.
"We're looking for someone," Jeff stated. "My boys and I are camping just up the road, and I'm afraid my youngest got separated from us. Have you seen him?"
The man shook his head. "I'm sorry, no. What does he look like?"
As Jeff described Alan to him, Scott and John exchanged glances, then snuck peeks at the cabin around the man. From what they could see, nothing seemed unusual or out of place.
"Well, I'll be sure to give you a holler if I see him," the man was saying.
"Thank you." Jeff waited until the man shut the door, then turned around. Grabbing John firmly by the bicep, he led his sons back to his van.
"It's him," he stated. "He fits Mark's description to a tee. Now all we need is for Gordon . . ." He trailed off, his face paling, then turning red once they reached the van.
It was empty.
Virgil allowed Gordon to lead the way around to the back of the cabin, both boys peeking through the windows as they went. Each room was empty, and looked as if no one had used them in a while.
"Maybe we should go back and get the others," Virgil said, his voice low.
Gordon moved away from another window and moved on to the next. "You go back if you want to," he replied. "I'm not leaving until I know for sure that- ALAN!"
Virgil ran to Gordon and peered through the window. Sure enough, their younger brother was sitting on the floor, tugging futilely on a long chain attached to his leg. His face was stained with tears, the sight of which sent the older boys into a frenzy.
Alan looked up as they tapped insistently on the window. Eyes widening in shock, he crawled over to the window and used the wall to stand himself up. Unlocking the window, he fought with the weight and lifted it up.
Gordon and Virgil pried the screen away and reached in, hugging Alan through the window.
"Alan, thank God . . ." Virgil said.
"Are you all right?" Gordon demanded.
"My leg hurts," Alan told them. "And Mr. Taggart has me locked to the wall. I can't get out. Please, help me. I want to go home, please take me home."
"We won't leave without you," Virgil promised him. "Move back."
Alan did as he was told. Virgil laced his fingers together, and Gordon used the boost to climb into the room. As soon as he was inside, Virgil jumped up and clambered in after him.
Once they were all inside, the older boys drew Alan into their embrace once more. Alan clutched tightly at his brothers.
"Let's get you out of here." Gordon withdrew and crouched on the ground, examining Alan's ankle cuff. "Simple enough. Virgil, get me something I can use to pick the keyhole with. Preferably a wire."
Alan sank to the ground, easing the pressure on his injured leg. Wide blue eyes looked at Gordon. "You know how to pick locks?"
Gordon winked at his brother. "I've learned a couple things. It's useful to know how to escape from different stuff when you have people trying to tie you up all the time."
Alan grinned, giddy with relief.
"I'll have to remember that," Virgil stated, returning with a coat hangar. He sank down next to Alan and drew his little brother close, both watching as Gordon twisted the hangar and set to work.
A scratching sound caused the boys to stop and stare at the door. Alan's face drained of color. "He's coming back! Hurry, get me out of here!"
Gordon fiddled furiously with the cuff, then stopped in frustration when a key sounded in the lock of the door. Virgil and Gordon jumped to their feet.
"Hide!" they hissed at each other.
Gordon dove under the bed as Virgil ran for the closet. Before closing himself inside, he turned to Alan's stricken face.
"We aren't leaving you, Sprout, but if we're caught, it's all over," he told Alan. "Okay?"
Alan nodded, but fresh tears shined in his eyes. Virgil vowed right then that Taggart, or Biggs, would pay for what he'd done.
Virgil shut the closet door just as the bedroom door opened. Biggs strode into the room and knelt at Alan's side, inserting a key into the lock.
"I don't know how your family found us, but we have to move," he told the boy. "I didn't go through all this trouble to be stopped now."
As soon as Alan was free, he kicked his good leg up as hard as he could. His foot connected solidly with Biggs' groin, dropping the man to the ground like a stone. Gordon rolled out from under the bed the same time Virgil burst from the closet. Each brother took one of Alan's arms and began to run as fast as they could from the room.
"Nice shot, Sprout," Gordon said, his voice winded as they ran through the hall.
"How do we get out of here?" Virgil asked.
The boys ran through the long hallway, hunting for an exit. They burst through a large door and found themselves in a den. It was elegantly furnished, with lots of beautiful windows, but right now the boys needed a door.
They turned to find another way out when Biggs' body framed their only exit from the den. Startled, the boys stumbled backwards.
"It seems I have three little playmates now," he said, an eerie edge to his voice that sent shivers of dread through the younger Tracys. "Though you two boys aren't really my type."
Virgil and Gordon exchanged looks of shock and disgust, which gave way to fury when they finally understood exactly what Biggs was. They tightened their grips on their brother.
"Who would like to go first?" Biggs asked, advancing slowly on the boys.
"As a matter of fact, I would."
Biggs whirled around at the sound of Jeff's voice, just in time to have Jeff's fist connect with Biggs' nose.
"Dad!" Alan cried.
"Scott, John, get your brothers to the van!" Jeff ordered, ready to fight with the downed Biggs.
Scott and John raced into the room and to their brothers' sides. They grabbed handfuls of the boys' shirts, pushing them out of the den and away from the men.
Jeff blocked the doorway, shielding his sons' escape from Biggs. His fists clenched and rose as Biggs staggered to his feet. He barely had control over his rage; the only thing restraining him was the need to see his sons, all safe and sound.
"Did you touch him?" Jeff demanded, his voice dangerously low.
"Your boy has quite a spirit," Biggs said, blood pouring from his nose. "I've been watching him for awhile now."
Jeff lashed out again, this time aiming for Biggs' chin. Biggs blocked Jeff's blow and threw one of his own, connecting with the side of Jeff's head. Jeff staggered, stunned. Biggs took advantage of Jeff's temporary immobility and, lifting a nearby vase, brought it down on Jeff's head. Jeff fell to the ground.
Dropping the last of the vase to the floor beside the eldest Tracy, Biggs stepped around the still body and headed after the boys.
Scott and John tried to push their brothers faster through the house, but Alan was slowing them down. Finally, Scott swung Alan up into his arms and broke into a run, urging the others ahead.
They burst into the sunlight and raced each other to the car. They made it halfway there when Biggs exited the house, chasing after them.
"Scott!" Alan yelled fearfully into his eldest brother's ear.
The boys all paused and turned to see what Alan had seen. Gordon looked at John. "If he's out here, where's Dad?"
Scott turned and thrust Alan into John's arms. "Get the boys out of here!" he ordered, preparing to face off against the threat to his family.
"But," Gordon protested.
"Go!" Scott shouted.
Virgil grabbed Gordon's sleeve and pulled him after John and Alan. Scott didn't watch them go, intent on protecting his brothers' escape.
Biggs slowed as he approached Scott. "I didn't come this far to be stopped by the likes of you," he stated, anger beginning to cloud his features.
"And I'm not just going to let you hurt my brothers," Scott shot back. "Do yourself a favor and stop right there."
Biggs sneered. "Who's going to stop me? You?"
"No, me."
Biggs didn't have time to turn around this time as a heavy statue came crashing down on the back of his head. Biggs crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Standing over him was Jeff Tracy, slightly hunched over. A thin stream of blood trickled down the side of his face, but his eyes were clear and bright.
"Dad!" Scott exclaimed, stunned. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Jeff replied. "Let's tie up this piece of work and call the police."
As soon as they had bound Biggs with their belts, Jeff had Scott call 911 as he headed for the van. His heart thudded in his chest with anticipation.
"Boys?" he called.
"Dad!" Gordon and Virgil bolted from the van and nearly toppled their father in their haste to reach him. Jeff hugged them tightly.
"Don't you boys ever do that to me again!" he exclaimed. "When we got back to the van, and you two were gone . . ."
"We had to find Alan!" Gordon insisted. "I'm sorry we worried you."
Jeff squeezed his sons tightly, then looked past them to see John emerge from the van with Alan in his arms. As they approached, Jeff released Virgil and Gordon and held out his arms to his youngest child. Alan went willingly over to him, hugging him so tightly that he nearly cut off Jeff's flow of air. Jeff didn't care; he only held on tighter.
"Can we go home now, Daddy?" The tiny voice and old moniker told Jeff just how frightened his son had been. Suppressing another wave of anger, he nodded.
"As soon as the police arrive, Alan," he said softly. "Once they do, then we'll go home."
End Chapter Two
