A/N: I've been thinking and rethinking my story, making sure this is the right direction I want it to go in. After a lot of thought, I believe I have found the general direction where I'm headed and I'm really excited about it! I would really love to hear your thoughts. Constructive criticism is welcome. Thank you for reading!
"Oh my God…"
Walt heard it right before he was about to step out of the car. The demand left by Kane sent chills scrambling down his spine.
He stepped out the car only to be met by microphones and tape recorders. Only three reporters and a cameraman right now were gathered around his car, but he could see more vans beginning to park and set up their camps. He recognized these three from before.
He was quickly asked a flurry of questions, cameras rolling. Walt had already learned to ignore these pests. He avoided eye contact and pretended they weren't even there. As he walked up the steps to the building, Roscoe right beside him, the reporters continued their pursuit.
As Walt entered, Roscoe stayed at the top step and raised his hands in the air. "Alright, folks, I'm gonna have to ask you all to stay back. Thank you. Please stay back, ma'am."
Tara Preston gave a cold glare at Roscoe. She never liked him, but she backed down. Nothing aggravated her more than deputies acting tough and asking her to stand back. She had a job to do. And she was going to do it.
Judas Kane put out his cigarette on the old wood table in front of him. He sighed and ran his left hand through his thinning hair, trying to refocus and calm himself down. He knew that was the key to this entire day. Staying calm.
He was beginning to grow tired of the damp room and rancid smell. He got up from his chair and stretched his legs. He then looked over at the helpless eight year old boy sitting in a chair in the corner. His was tied to the arms and legs of the chair with a thick rope, and his mouth covered with duct tape. His eyes, filled with fear, were red and swollen from crying, the streaks left by the tears were evident on his freckled face. His long black hair was a mess thanks to the dampness of the room.
Kane was sorry it had to come to this. To kidnapping children, demanding an ex-congressman's head on a plate. But it was something that had to be done. These are the people who ruined his life, spoiled his dreams.
"Don't worry, kid," he said flatly. "If everything goes right, you'll be out of here in no time."
He hoped so. He was a man of his word. If Fisher was dead by midnight, then he would return the kid. If not, well…
So far everything was going according to plan. Fisher would be dead by the end of the day. And Smith would have to deal with that for the rest of his life. And that he knew was enough. Smith should have known better than to stick his face into places he shouldn't have been. Anybody who helped Fisher was an enemy of his.
He had done his homework, gathered information that was vital to the success of this mission. He had read and asked around about how Smith locked himself up for months after he couldn't save an old friend from a car crash. That had devastated him. This would destroy him.
And if it didn't, he would try again.
It's amazing how a person can grow such a hatred for someone he had never met. But he did. And it was a hatred that burned with a passion; as if he had known him all of his life. The wall behind the tied-up kid was decorated with articles on John Smith. On the adjacent walls, articles of Harrison Fisher and Greg Stillson were riddled throughout.
But nothing was more important to this mission than containing Smith. He knew from the start he would be a risk. And his people warned him that trying to get him would be too dangerous, but when information about having Fisher and Smith in the same room two weeks ago fell into his hands, the tempting opportunity and his thirst for revenge were too much. It was a thirst that needed to be quenched. It was destiny.
For the last week, he put the final touches on the plans he had dreamed about since the day of his attempted execution. Now all the pieces were falling together. All he had to do was dodge Johnny Smith and run out the clock.
Of course, after this day was over, there was a lot more to be done. There was one more loose end that needed to be tied.
And that was Greg Stillson. But that was a problem for another day. There were worse things than death for Stillson.
"John, do you have anything? Anything that might tell us where he is?" Walt asked urgently.
John shook his head. "No. Not yet."
Walt sighed. "Alright."
Fisher was standing with some police officers, answering questions about Judas Kane. He was taking the dilemma pretty well, but he was still worried and his face couldn't hide it. His eyes could tell the story, but he was far off from a mental breakdown. Jack was also being asked questions, and he was more outraged and unraveling by the seams than anything else. In a way he began to look like the Jack Jericho that Johnny Smith had met.
The station was flowing with activity, police officers and employees trying to gather any kind of information that could be useful. Walt knew that there wasn't much that could be done from here. They had to go out and try to find this guy.
Walt went on his radio. "Dan, what do we have at the Kane house?"
Dan Hodges was now standing outside the Kane household, on the porch. His partner, Collier, was outside checking the perimeter, temporarily out of sight.
"House is empty. Family's not home just yet. Ryan here's checkin' the perimeter. Over," Dan responded in a thick southern accent.
The radio crackled and Walt's voice came back. "Okay. Stay close and wait until his family comes back."
"Copy that."
Dan clicked the radio back on his belt. He looked around. The neighborhood was pretty quiet except for the occasional group of teenagers walking back from school. But something didn't feel quite right. And Dan could feel it in his gut. And he knew better than to ignore his instincts. He walked back towards the house.
Serge was hiding behind some bushes about 50 yards away from the Kane household. The neighborhood located had a lot of trees, shrubs, and bushes; a lot of good places to hide. He was watching the two officers searching the house, doing his job for him. There was nobody home. And that was all he needed to know. He would wait a few more minutes before moving back to his Lexus, which he had parked a couple blocks away.
But then a slight movement about 30 yards to his left caught his eye and he rolled his eyes. The second he arrived at this spot, he had known someone was hiding in those bushes. To the average eye, he may not have been visible at all. But to Serge, he was a thorn in his side he was aching to remove, an itch he desperately needed to scratch.
From what Janus had told him, Judas Kane was - is - a very intelligent man. He had been around, made friends in all the right places. No doubt he would have some loyalties involved. He wouldn't go into this without being properly prepared.
Fortunately, whoever was in those bushes was an amateur. That would make his job a lot easier. He spun the silencer onto his Tag 17 pistol.
Tara Preston leaned against the side of the news van, impatiently waiting for something to happen. She was angry, frustrated and feeling down right useless. And that pretty much pushed her over the edge.
Her cell phone began chirping from inside the van.
She groaned in protest and reached inside to pick up the phone. Without checking the caller ID, she answered. "Preston."
"Tara?" It was her older sister Sam. And she sounded alarmed. Like she always did.
Tara sighed, not afraid to show the annoyance in her voice. "Sam, I really can't-"
"It's Robbie. I can't find him. I've checked everywhere. He's not at the school, his friends haven't seen him-," Tara could hear her taking a deep, but shaky breath. She imagined Sam frantically running her hands through her long dark hair.
"Tara… I'm scared."
