---1---
He sank to the ground. "Charlie. Charlie?" he said, feeling for a neck pulse. Faithful, familiar.
Don lifted his brother and embraced his upper body, supporting his head. He sat back, pulled him into a sitting position. Pressing him easily, he whispered, "I thought I'd lost you."
He held him for a long moment and listened, waiting for Charlie's breaths while he paused his own. He asked him to wake up, pulling back to see his face, make sure it was Charlie. It seemed necessary. When he released him, Don realized a blanket had been spread out on the floor and a partly empty water bottle lay beside it. He checked for injuries; there were no major ones--only facial scratches, torn scraped knees and shirt-rips. Don reeled, light-headed, a chill coursing through his shoulders. Too much at once.
Charlie wasn't free. Reylott had secured his right hand and ankle to the cave wall by using long-chained cuffs attached to metal, piton-like stakes, drilled or hammered in.
Don recovered and shook him lightly. "What did he do to you?" he said. "Wake up." He took Charlie's face in hand and ran fingertips over his hair. On the back, he had a knot the size of quarter. A black bandana had been tied loosely around his neck. Don removed it.
Backpack, first aid, keys. They were a few yards away, but he remained. He stared, thankful for Charlie's even breathing. He'll be all right. I believe it. Get to it, Eppes.
Before getting up, Don leaned over the blanket, wrapped the bandana over the cuff chains to protect his skin and gave each piton a pull. They were well pounded into the rock and wouldn't budge. Smarting hands stung under the pressure. With his knuckles, he soothed Charlie's forehead and got up, reusing the bandana as a bandage on his blistered right hand, and fetched the backpack, strap on an elbow. The wind had grown vigorous, sky gray.
"Rise and shine, buddy. I'm not carrying you." He put the pack beside them and rummaged through the contents, including a flashlight, trail mix, blanket, and, at the bottom, a tattered box of gauze, Band-Aids and antibiotic packets in a paper bag. No cuff keys. Don was concerned. The pack was incomplete, wasn't enough to support a man for longer than a day hike. Had Reylott stashed secondary supplies in the woods? Weapons?
He dressed his left hand with gauze, muscles weary, and bided his time against the mini-outcrop with Charlie. What could dad be thinking now? David? Larry and Amita? Had it made the headlines: "FBI Agent and Brother Missing in National Forest, Search Begins." Or was it too soon? It hadn't been twenty-four hours since he'd left a message for dad. Tonight, people would really be worrying. Sometimes it was a chore to get local authorities to act. Not in this case, not with the koi incident. Don counted on this, hoped a search craft was the next sound on the horizon. Better yet, a team of searchers and cops, flushing Reylott out of the area. As for the cabin fire: Alarms may or may not have gone off; it might not have been seen. Fire spotters were volunteers and they couldn't be everywhere.
Charlie lifted his left leg, folding it in. Don was ecstatic.
Without opening his eyes, Charlie yawned a hearty yawn, as though he were home. His free hand raised to his brow, covered it, and he inhaled slowly.
Don encouraged him, watched him suspend the inhalation and then, without exhaling, his lids cracked open, arm lowered to the side.
He breathed out, blinked. "Hello?" he said, as though doubting the sight. His eyes glistened.
"No no, it's over, it's over." Don clutched his brother's wrist. "Everything's all right. We're home-free."
Charlie reached out, right arm jerking back.
"Bad news," Don said. "You're glued to the wall."
"You okay?"
"In one piece. Take it easy."
Charlie raised his head, searched past the outcrop. "Where is he?"
"His name's Armen Reylott. Calm down, he's gone."
He relaxed back. "How long?"
"You were out? Don't know." Don looked at his watch. The dial had melted. "I'd say, two, three hours. Lost track."
"What happened?"
"Deep tale. One problem at a time. Can you sit?"
Charlie scooted sideways and did, weaving like a drunk.
"Whoa whoa," Don said, giving support.
Charlie's limbs stretched toward the rock and he tugged at the piton imprisoning his wrist. "I tried to get these out." He turned to Don. "It was pitch black."
"I know, it's been tough. He hit you?"
Charlie nodded, said after answering the call of nature he'd had his nose squished into a tree, threatened with death, rushed forward with a gun at his back, falling numerous times, asking questions of his captor, receiving warnings in return.
"At the bottom of the mountain," Charlie said. "He pulled down the blindfold and untied me, and I'd realized where I'd seen him. I felt like an idiot. He pointed the flashlight and told me to climb. There was some moonlight but I said I couldn't see. Too dangerous."
"You panicked?" Don asked, remembering what Reylott had said, the liar.
"I lost it," he said. "He hit me and backed off, said he didn't want to hurt me. I complied."
Once Reylott had Charlie locked up, he offered him bottled water, which he drank.
"He talked to me a while, it was bizarre," Charlie said. "He knew about us, said how unfortunate we never had time for chess. I told him I didn't understand. Then he left."
Don noticed Charlie had a tangle of spider webs stuck to his collar, woven through the tips of his hair. "Sorry you had to go through that."
"I didn't give up. I felt around and worked on the cuffs until my palms were sore." He was shaky and reached toward the back of his head. "I got drowsy, passed out."
"He drugged you," Don said, upset. "You should've known better than to drink."
"I was thirsty. It was mild, could've been worse."
"Almost a full day isn't mild." He picked a web off Charlie's collar. "Suppose it was poisoned?"
"Then why would he drag me all that way?"
"You know what criminals do to people. What were you thinking?"
"I wasn't," he said. "All...all I could see was you, alone at the cabin, and if he went back, or went after dad. If I cooperated--"
"You don't know this guy like I do."
"--maybe he would let me go," Charlie said.
"Dumb thing to do." Don rose to check for Reylott. "I'll be right back. Rest."
---2---
Their light was leaving and the twenty-percent chance of precipitation was now one hundred. They pooled their schemes and Charlie suggested Don leave him there. With Reylott at large, Don wouldn't hear of it, explaining that he suspected Rey had gone to refuel and could be lurking. The next item on the agenda segued to the pitons and cuffs, ruling out the use of bullets lest they cause a cave-in. In the end, they agreed the piton stakes would require less work.
This didn't bar Don from trying a belt buckle pin to fuss with the locks. The crude tool failed him. They tried chipping at the pitons with stones to loosen them, got worn-out. Next, Charlie threaded Don's belt through one of the pitons and pulled. It broke under the stress and they grabbed the ends, were unsuccessful.
"Leg power," Don said. Charlie agreed and they ripped off his overshirt, a long-sleeved button-down, to tie as a loop, lacing it through the eye of a piton. With Charlie seated forward, Don braced himself on the wall and stuck his foot into the loop. Because there was no way to get behind the contraption, he kept it angled away at forty-five degrees. He pounded until repetition did the trick, sending the piton out with a clang.
Charlie volunteered to do the ankle piton.
"I can do it," Don said. He was short of air.
"Even in this light I can see you're about to drop," Charlie said.
"I'm half-down, Charlie, not all yet."
"You're pale. Let me."
Don gave in and shifted aside. "I don't see how you're gonna' manage that."
Charlie had relooped the shirt in the second eye and tied it off. "No problem," he said and awkwardly braced against the wall. He pounded with his foot, holding the loop steady with his hands at the same forty-five degree angle. "This one's jammed," he said, after going at it for some time.
"It's too wonky with your left foot." Don kneeled facing Charlie, taking hold of the loop, hooked on his wrists. They applied steady tension and the piton let out a grating noise, then rocketed out of the wall into Don's ribs.
He rolled, moaning.
"Let me see." Charlie urged him to unroll. Don lay back and they examined the damage: a crimson bruise, no broken skin. "Glad it wasn't your eye." Charlie cradled Don's hand in his and removed the bandana. He turned it palm up and cringed. "How bad was the fire?" he asked, examining his brother's face.
Don recalled the experience, leaving out the gruesome details, emphasizing his stalker's determination.
"Reylott led you to believe I was dead?" Charlie said, rewrapping the hand.
"Yeah. He threatened to shoot me if I didn't go with him. I didn't care."
Charlie seemed confused. "Care about what?"
Don recalled the night, cot on fire, the phone's incessant ringing. "It's past, forget it."
"You considered letting him shoot you?" Charlie said. "Giving up?"
"It wasn't about 'considering' anything."
Charlie got up, bumped his head on a low spot of the ceiling. "What about dad?" he said, hand on the spot. "He needs you."
"Don't judge me, you weren't there." Don was taken aback by his attitude. I thought I'd lost you.
He tucked the ankle cuff into his boot. "I want some air," he said, and headed for the entrance.
Don called after him, expecting a reply, didn't get one. He warned Charlie to stay clear of the opening then leaned back, flexed his fingers as far as the injuries would allow, curling his arm close, and tried to forget.
I don't need this.