Summary:

Things turn bad when Drake ends up in the hospital b/c of Josh, a mysterious stalker from Drake's past returns, stopping at nothing to get revenge, even murder. Drake falls for a sweet girl, but is scared to let her in his heart b/c of old heartbreaks. R&R!

Disclaimer:

I don't own Drake & Josh, I'm just having fun writing a Drake & Josh story like all the other Drake & Josh fan fiction writers on this Drake & Josh portion of I'm sure Drake & Josh would LOVE the Drake & Josh stories found in this Drake & Joshish part of the internet. And, I bet all of the other Drake & Josh fans like me enjoy reading these cool Drake & Josh stories. Need I say more? No? Good.

Note to Readers:

In this chapter, Drake & his psychopathic father have a face-off. Sorry this chapter was so slow – coming, I have a ton going on right now and plus I had a bit of writers block, and also, since this was basically the pivotal chapter in this story it was kind of hard to figure out what I wanted. Anyway, this chapter should be worth waiting for. Only about 2 or 3 more chapters until the end of the story. Thanks for reading, please review!

Story: "Party in a Box"

Chapter: "Broken Glass"; Twenty - Seven

Written By: Ginger

Extras:
Italics in "quotation marks" symbolize thoughts of Drake's.

"Open the door, now, boy. You know that I could kill you. You know what I did to your little girl friend. And I can do it to you too."

Drake stood shivering from head to toe beside his brother, looking on after the door and desperately clasping his arm in a frightened grasp. The door pounded and the hinges shook dreadfully, as if by only their flimsy metal the door was still standing. The man on the other side was yelling profanities and degrading words at the top of his lungs, and Josh almost felt sick when his words began to be directed at his brother. He wondered how Drake could possibly be handling the fear as well as he was. It was amazing to him.

"Maybe the neighbors will hear if he keeps on yelling like this…" Josh murmured closely to Drake's ear, in a hopeful whisper, but almost as if he had heard his words, the blows on the door and the loud shouts quickly ceased, leaving the two boys in complete silence. The only thing they could hear for a long, long moment were the beats of their thumping hearts pounding loudly in their ears, and the quiet sound of their strained breath.

"…Let me in, boy. I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just want to talk to you for a minute. It's been so long since I've talked to you and I miss you. I've seen you around town and all… you're really growing up to be quite a hand with the ladies. And pretty handsome too, I think." the disturbingly calm and much unexpected sentence was heard from the other side of the glass and wood.

Drake and Josh were still silent as they glanced at each other, and this fact alone seemed to be driving the man outside crazy. "And—and your band," he stuttered and stammered, trying to speak with almost sincere clarity in his tone: "It's great! You know… I once had a band, myself, with a couple of my guy friends. I played lead guitar and—heh, boy, did the girls come after me. I bet they come after you too, don't they? Just like your old Dad?"

Drake's lip was quivering in mixed anger, frustration and confusion at the same time, and he blinked his brown eyes profusely trying to hold back the enraged tears. But still he was silent. He didn't want to speak to him, of course, out of both fear for their safety and rage toward the man, but at the same time, even if he had wanted to he wouldn't have been able to come up with any sensical words. His mind was reeling at all of this perplexity and he hardly even knew how to think about anything any more.

A soft, almost comforting knock tapped on the already weathered door: "…Drake?"

The boy shuddered a grimace at the sound of his own name in his ears and he found the sudden strength to speak: "Look, I don't care what you happen to think, you're not my father any more!"

"Drake, you know that I'll always be your father—you're my child! Listen to me!"

"No, okay! For once, you're gonn'a listen to me." Drake exclaimed, gaining a confident air to his words, stepping a few steps across the room and toward the door. "My real father is Walter Nichols, not you!"

Josh was hardly able to comprehend that his brother had actually spoken those words—after all, this guy was his blood father… but Drake loved Josh and Walter so much that he actually accepted them as his true family.

"I may have your genes and I may be biologically structured like you, but one thing I didn't inherit was your evil! And I won't be fooled in to adopting it, okay? So you can just pick up your game pieces and move on—maybe try to find out where you lost your mind. Go completely psycho if you really want to, but I'm just not taking any more crap from you—ever again! What ever you do, I'm telling you, you're going to leave me, my family, my brother, my girlfriend, and everybody else I have any connection with alone! Ya' got it?"

Josh felt his jaw drop and his heart almost stop, in slight fear, but mostly out of complete shock and amazement. He felt that his brother, after such an awing speech, should have been applauded, but instead he remained quiet and waited in curiosity, wondering what possible reaction the man would have.

All either of the two boys took notice of was the strange, jagged silence that followed, shortly afterwards. Drake began to feel the tension and glanced uneasily toward the door, shifting his weight as his brother looked over at him for a moment.

Not even a single sound except their edgy breathing and swift beating hearts was heard as the light in the room dimmed noticeably, and they figured that an on coming storm had passed over the house.

Who knows how many friction - filled, quiet minutes went past before Josh finally stirred from staring across, at the door. "…Drake," he whispered, in a hushed voice: "Do you think he's still there? Or has he actually left?"

"I don't know. But… but shh for a minute, just incase he's still out there." Drake finally said, taking a few steps away from the front door, to check on Anita.

"Oh, man, Josh—look…" came the distant, miserable murmur of words after Drake leaned over and pulled the blanket gently from around the shallowly breathing teenager, "She's bleeding worse. And—and look at her arms—she's trembling so hard!"

After a minute, a soft, caring hand rested on his shoulder and his brother's comforting voice spoke quietly in his ear: "Hey, come on, Drake, don't be scared. Anita is going to be just fine in a little while. And the police will be in a few minutes, okay? We can pull through until then, right?"

Drake let out a shaky sigh and turned his head to catch Josh in his glance: "But Josh, he knows that, too! And… I never thought he'd even go this far! Gosh, the second we found out that he killed Great Uncle Gavin, we should have told Mom and Dad. It was totally stupid not to! I knew we should have told them, but no, I had to let my ignorance block my gut feeling. Now take a look at Anita—my girl, the best girl in the entire world, Anita—she's more than likely dieing on my own couch, right before my eyes and it's all of my fault. And the very worst of it all is that there's nothing I can do about it, except wait."

This heart felt statement made Josh silent with compassion and yet worry for his brother and he couldn't help but wince when Drake shook his head and ran a hand through his wild bangs, letting out an almost painful groan: "Oh, how long does it have to be before the police get here?"

Josh blinked his hazel eyes and tried to think of anything positive to tell him, when all of the sudden, something behind them crashed.

Recognizing instantly the unexpected sound of shattering glass, both of them felt every nerve in their bodies stiffen and they couldn't help but jump, as they spun around to see what had made it.

The room had turned almost completely dim, because of the brewing storm outside, except for the very front of the foyer. A shaft of bland, grey sunlight fell over the wood floor, in an odd, jagged shape and the reflection it gave off of the busted casement nearly blinded them.

What Drake and Josh saw made them both freeze in absolute terror and all they could do was watch helplessly as more of the broken glass fell from the damaged front door and snapped in half when it hit the floor below.

After only maybe a single moment, the wooden handle of an axe poked out the rest of the destroyed pane and a rough, shadowy hand reach through and turned the key in the dead bolt lock of the door, twisting it slowly and trying hard to unlock it.

"D—Drake!" Josh murmured, flashing his frightened eyes over to him for a mere second.

He had begun to say something else to him, as the door knob started to turn, but he was cut off as his brother suddenly darted forward and dove at the door, slamming it closed again and pinning it closed as best as he could.

"Drake, don't! He's going to ki—"

"Josh," the teen age boy interrupted him, in a breathless voice: "Go to the back—you know, to the laundry room."

"Why would I do that?"

"Josh, go! And if you really want to help me, just wait for the cars!"

Josh knew his brother was trying to relay some coded message to him that was very urgent, and he did want to help all that he could, but he couldn't figure even part of the sentence out. The laundry room?

Almost as if he had read his mind, Drake pushed harder on the door and tossed his hair from his eyes, nodding toward the hall way on the other side of the room: "Go!"

Josh frowned at the imperative request, but turned and reluctantly left his brother, running in to the hallway and then in to the laundry room. Still, being worried about getting back to Drake before the other guy got to him first, made him even less able to think straight. With a shake of his head and a deep sigh, Josh slapped a hand to the side of his head, looking around the tiny room for any sign of what his step brother had been speaking of in such a mysterious way.

And then, finally, as he spoke Drake's words to himself, it hit him.

"Wait… 'Just wait for the cars'? He meant police cars! But why did he send me in here, to the laundry room?"

Then scanning the room one final time, that fact hit him too, as his eyes passed over the door that led to the side yard, realizing that Drake had intended for him to go out and stay in the side yard until the police came, so he could lead them in to the house.

But he couldn't let Drake stay in the house with a maniac by himself for that long! And even if the man wasn't in the house as of yet, Josh knew that his slim teen age brother couldn't possibly have enough strength to hold the door closed for very long.

He was torn between the two options, because thought he trusted Drake's natural instincts, he also knew how psycho his Dad could be, and he knew how it probably wouldn't be too hard for him to eventually chase Drake down in the house, since he was already so psychically and mentally worn down. Finally, he bit his lip and nodded to himself, deciding upon what he thought would help the most, and readying himself to do it.

Drake felt his feet slowly sliding across the wood floor and he reared back, throwing all his weight at the door at one time.

"No body is going to help you, Drake—no body knows. Your parents are away, and your little girlfriend is dieing. Not that she'd be much of a help, anyway. The only person who knows is your great uncle, but it's just a little too late, isn't it? …A dead man can't help you."the man spoke from behind the door, trying to weaken the boy, with a voice so quiet and deep that it was almost lost in the noise of Drake's feet sliding on the rug below and his muffled groans as he tried with the strength of every muscle to hold down the door.

He didn't reply to these insane words, but instead leaned harder in to the broken surface in front of him, with vigor he thought he didn't have, and could only manage to think one, thing to himself:

"If only the police will come… if only they will come in time."

But even telling himself that they would be there soon didn't help—for he knew that even though they would come, time was swiftly running out and soon it may just be too late.

He had to do something—or someone had to do something. Standing here at this door was working right now, but it wouldn't for much longer. His only hope was in Josh and him doing his part and getting the police quickly inside to them, when they arrived.

"$#&$, let me in!" a desperate voice screamed and Drake began to feel himself loose his hold on the door frame before him.

"No!" he barked back, cramming his shivering body against the wood and wishing almost that the man would slam his own hands in the door so he could begin get an advantage over him.

Strangely enough, Drake felt as if he had started to gain control and he felt his muscles just about heave a figurative sigh of relief, as he brought the door almost to close—but then he was dealt something highly unexpected.

With out even a split second of warning, a strong, coarse hand thrust itself through the broken pane up near his shoulders, and reached out to strangle his neck in an unrelenting death grip.

The boy gasped out a choke of air as he felt the cold fingers snap around his throat. He tried to struggle for a moment, but he soon realized that the man had no slight intention of letting him breathe, so trying to take a little control over his deep panic; he leaned away from the doorway and frantically tried to snatch off the tight, wrenching fingers.

Little did he realize, though, as he stumbled away, breathlessly massaging his throat, that he had indeed let his weight away from the door and he let out an involuntary gasp as it swung open.

A dead, chilling breeze wafted across the floor to him and he stiffened, straightening up in trepidation from his slumped over position.

His mind was racing quickly and his brown eyes grew nearly to the size of saucers. He knew that now that the door was open, he couldn't possibly stall for too much longer. "And if the police don't get here fast," he thought quickly to himself, making his breath catch in his throat: "Then there's not really much hope for me."

A rigid, dark figure appeared in the door way and pushed it open as far as it would go. He was limping a little and by the way that he rested his hand on the door knob, Drake could only assume that he had injured himself a little sometime between fighting with Nita and the struggle with the door.

"Okay, Drake," the quiet, resounding, almost mocking words reached the teen age boy's ears: "I'm inside now. You can run around and act like an idiot if you want to. You can call the dang police for all I care—I don't want to hurt you, I just want to simply talk to you! Talk! God, you'd think I'd shot at you through the door or something!"

Drake bent his pounding brow and stepped back, shaking his head: "Wha--?"

"Why do you keep running away from me?" the man in front of him said, stepping closer and shaking his head as well: "I just want to be with you."

"N—no way, you… you gave that up a long time ago." came the quick but wavering answer. Drake knew the mind games were just beginning, but at the same time he thought he was much too strong to fall to these childish maneuvers.

"Why do you hate me so much? Drake, I love you so much! I've changed. Really, I have."

"Why do I hate you?-! Why do you think? How could I not? I mean—seriously, just for once—for like five seconds, try to use common sense! You practically murdered my own girlfriend—she's probably even dieing! You abused me and my Mother and sister all my life; you ruined about a million of our dreams and little wishes. You stalked me, and most of all, you screwed up my entire life right now! For years I still had night mares because of you! You. …I really can't believe that somebody didn't put you out of your misery already."

Drake's exclamation left the man staring with a mouth that was gaping open wide.

"You don't know who you're talking to…" he whispered, narrowing his eyes.

"You know… I wish I didn't." Drake replied, with sharp truth lacing his voice, staring with a disgusted look in to the face of his opposer, and feeling for the first time in three days that he was un-afraid.

As he stared in to his Father's face, he saw something that very few people ever see even once in their entire lifetime. An evil look rose in to his eyes that was so evil that Drake felt almost as if he was standing in the room with a super-natural being. He had never seen such blatant, vile sin in the face of any one and he hoped from that moment on that he never, ever would again. Drake could not at this point help falling completely in to terror, as a shiver raced down his spine, for there was not only evil in those eyes, but there was something more. There was death.

Before another second went by, the teen ager backed away several more steps and seeing though that the man was still following him, he turned and ran across the room.

"I said don't run!"the towering voice barked at him, as his son ran straight in to the kitchen.

Turning around and surveying his surroundings, Drake frantically realized that he was caught in a dead end and that there was no way out of the kitchen unless he was able to make it through the side swinging door quickly enough. But just as he made a sharp turn around the island in the middle of the floor, he slipped and took a fall to the hard floor. He hit so hard that it hurt, but he sat up on his elbows and shook his head, trying to clear his head as best as he could.

He could suddenly hear the pursuing foot steps of the man quickly coming nearer to the kitchen, and he felt his heart race as he bit his lip and suppressed a moan, jerking himself up and scrambling for the side door.

But before he knew what had happened, he ran straight in to his Father, who had stepped angrily through the door. The impact of the blow knocked Drake backwards, flat on to his back on the cold, hard floor, again.

He had thought that he could have possibly sustained enough strength to escape with only one fall, but now, with all of the pain coursing through him, he didn't even try to get up, because he knew he would only fail.

He had slammed so hard in to the ground below that the top of his head hurt horribly and the severe throbbing in the rest of his body was so disabling that he could only lay there, hoping it would quickly pass.

"What do you think you are, you little brat? Try to run away from me, will you? Why—are you afraid to fight me like a real man? You yellow - bellied wimp of a son." The almost laughing words emerged from the lips of the man who stood towering over him.

Drake bit his lip and felt the pain in his body lessen just enough so he could get up off of the floor and back away a few steps. "That's a lie." he seemed to be atleast gaining back some of his spiritedness and courage.

"What of it is?"

"I'm not the wimp. You can say that, but you know that the only 'yellow - bellied wimp' is you. Who abuses their wife and children and then deserts them, only to come back later to stalk his own son, that isn't a coward? And you are too afraid to even do it out in the open—you hide behind it all and even kill a man to get my parents out of town so you don't have to face them!" came the swift and true statement, building in strength with every single word.

"Do you think I even care?" came the wavering reply, almost sounding unsure.

"No, I don't expect you to care. Only someone with a heart would care, but you've proven quite a long while ago that that someone wasn't you. So, no, I don't know why I'm wasting my valuable time saying this to you, but I'm going to say it anyway."

The man before him suddenly seemed almost less powerful… less threatening. Almost like a little kid in a Halloween costume—he seemed frightening but he really wasn't as immortal as he had tried to make any one think.

But then again, he had murdered a man, and he hadn't even stopped at stabbing a sixteen year old girl.

Drake knew he was up against something very hard for many to understand, and he knew that his chances of coming out of this last battle as a winner were only fifty - fifty. But for his brother's sake, for his own sake and for everybody, he was atleast going to try.

"Look," he began, picking his words very carefully and trying a risky strategy: "I don't know what you want from me. I tried to keep my distance all of these years—I didn't ask anything from you, I didn't bother you. So why did you start chasing me and all of this? Do you want me to say I love you? You know that I couldn't do that. It would only be pretend." Drake's voice held neither smartness nor retaliation, he only used a simple, almost tired tone, to test the waters.

"You do know what I want!" he growled, tensing and stepping closer, making his son step another foot back wards.

"Really, no. If I did, I'd get all of this foolishness over with. Do you think I want this to happen? I want to settle everything." Every word that flowed from the teen age boy's full lips was carefully examined and thought out before said, and he made sure not to be reckless and blurt anything out, as much as he wanted to.

"I don't want to hear you talk any more! Shut up!" he snapped, chasing Drake back ward, in to the door way of the door to the front hall.

"I just want to know why! Why have you done this? What you wish to gain?" he responded, desperately hoping the police would arrive as he watched the flame of anger light up his Father's eyes once again.

"Meaningless child!—" he yelled, but Drake began to finally yell back and interrupt him.

"What do you want?"

With out a single second more, the evil murderer's look returned and found it's home in the face of the man ahead of him as he backed his handsome son in to the door frame and whispered with a malevolent grin: "You want to know what I want? Alright, fine then. I'll tell you what I want. …I want your misery."

At that moment, Drake knew he was dealing with more that just his Father now, but he was dealing with a thing—a thirst that wouldn't be satisfied until some one was dead.

There was no use in trying to talk with him any more, because even if the teen had managed to make him listen, what ever he could have said would have only made him more enraged.

So Drake turned and twisted just in time to make his escape out of the door way behind him. The thunder of persistent foot steps not far away made him long to run even faster than his strength would allow.

The boy scrambled in to the stair well and grabbed the rail, nearly throwing himself up the flight and turning to stumble across the upper hall.

He had no slight idea of where he was going but he knew he had to run, and where he was running, at this point made little difference to him as long as he was going some where.

His heart was pounding in his ears and his head was literally spinning, so much so that he could barely keep himself from toppling over, but he still atleast had to try to get to some where that was safe.

He heard his Father start up the stairs and glancing around frantically; he ducked in to he and Josh's room and looked for some where to hide from him.

Knowing he had little time and deciding on a spot, he darted in to the small wardrobe closet in the shadowy corner of the room, and closed its door behind him. It was within only a few seconds that he heard another person enter the room. He didn't know if the man had actually seen him go into the room or not, but he couldn't help but feel himself shiver with the rush his adrenaline was giving him and struggle to silently catch his breath, with out moving a muscle. And he knew that if he had indeed seen him scurry in to the room, surely it wouldn't be long before he found him in this hiding spot.

"Come on out of where ever you are hiding, you idiot."

Drake could only barely control his shuddering body enough to keep quiet in the closet as he felt the full impact that his Father's loud voice made upon him.

"Stupid boy. I should have never brought you in to this world. You're just a worthless thing taking up air space. I brought in to the world, and this time I really can take you out of it." came the chilling, shattering sentence that seemed closer to where Drake was hiding than before, as the man started to laugh: "Pretty funny eh? What a perfect joke. Absolutely perfect."

The sick, twisted laughter began to turn the teen age boy's stomach as he stood, quietly in the dark, small space, hoping beyond hope that the police would break in the next moment.

There were a lot of slamming and crashing noises, in and out of the room, as if his Father was busy throwing around things to look for him. This fact made Drake upset and yet made him able to breathe a sigh of slight relief at the thought of the horribly dangerous man being in the next room, not so very close to his present hiding spot.

He heard him go in to the master bed room, across the hall and begin to rummage around in their closet.

"Wait, closet? Oh, no… oh no—he's starting to go through the closets! He'll eventually figure out that I'm in here, if I don't think up some way to get out, first."

He mulled it all over as fast as he possibly could manage, and finally he decided that to have any chance of survival, he had to take a chance. And a risky chance, at that. But none the less, a try at some peace of mind.

Listening as closely as he could for a length of about ten seconds, he knew indeed that, with out a doubt, his Father was still preoccupied in his parent's room.

With one last deep breath, Drake slowly opened the small wooden door and slid off his shoes, leaving them inside the wardrobe, before he stepped out and silently darted across the room.

He was careful to keep absolutely quiet as he looked around the corner and hurried out in to the long hall. It was only a few seconds before he was half way down the stairs.

The shaken up teen age boy had just rounded the foot of the steps and started for the broken front door when a sudden, quiet sound behind him made him jump and spin around.

Anita's fragile, whispering voice called his name across the expanse of the room, from the couch. He knew he should probably have gone ahead and made his hasty escape to wait out side until the police got there, but something in her helpless voice summoned him back to her, and he simply couldn't help it.

"Nita—" he whispered, almost voice-lessly as he reached her at the sofa, hoping that she wouldn't speak loudly.

"Drake!" she moaned under her breath: "Drake, h-help. …Something is wrong with me. I can't feel my arms."

This sentence sent alarm through him, and he felt his heart cave in pain and anxiety over her. He bit his lip to keep himself from spilling out a water fall of words to her.

This numbness that she was feeling couldn't be a good sign. He didn't really know what it meant, or what he should try to do for her, but the agony in her eyes told him that it was worse than she was letting on and though he tried to keep himself positive, he still could not help but feel that her sweet life was slowly fading.

The girl's face was ashen and it held a deathly greenish blue tint, as well as was the rest of her stained skin. Drake took her cold hand and felt that her arms had indeed become limp, as she held no grip on his fingers whatsoever.

A few moments later, the dark look came back in to her face and stars were spinning off in her head, sending the atmosphere around her in to unstable ground and after a last, tortured gasp, she fell back ward, in to the cushions.

Drake's heart nearly stopped beating in his chest until he felt her pulse and realized with great relief and little comfort that she was still with him.

"Anita," he spoke, in a soft, soft voice: "Please, try and hang on, for me." Tears formed in the corners of his eyes and he clenched his throat, trying to hold them in: "Sweetie, I need you more than ever."

Suddenly the air in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

"She needs you too, Drake—and she'll get you in a moment, if I can help it. Look at the brighter side, even though every one here on earth will miss you two, atleast both of you idiots will get to be together."

Drake couldn't hardly believe it when the cold, taunting voice behind him spoke.

"I didn't hear him! How did he get here with out me seeing or hearing him? This has got to be a nightmare. Some body please, please wake me up."

He snapped his head up and quickly yanked himself up from his knees, on the floor, turning around and facing his adversary.

"You know, I really don't think the middle of the living room was much of a great hiding spot—it wasn't hard to find you at all." his flagrantly depraved laughter made Drake's skin crawl and he sucked in a deep breath, bringing himself to look the man straight in the eyes.

"Okay, no more hiding. If you want to have this out, fine then. I knew it would come to this thing, some day. I knew that like ten years ago. So I don't really know why I should be even half surprised." he replied, trying to stall a little while he scrambled to think up a plan of action.

"Look, boy, that's about enough. I'm not interested in hearing any more of your back talk. I didn't come here to talk…" came the reply, as the man's eyes glistened and a wicked grin slid over his face.

"So, what do you plan to do to me? Stab me? Like my girl friend?"

"Oh, no, Drake. Believe me, that's much too humane for you. I have… how shall I put this? Other plans in mind for you, my dear son." he spoke, slowly, reaching in to his bulging pocket and gripping a slender steel barrel resting there.

Drake had no idea what he had in mind, and he was so busy studying the man's face, that he hadn't even seen him reach in to his pocket.

"Other plans like what?"

"You'll find out soon enough, don't you think so? Why should you want to know now as to what means will be your end?" he asked, in return, letting a laughing smirk surface on his face.

"For once, you're right. It really doesn't matter, anymore." Drake said.

"And for once, you're right." he replied, glaring back at Drake and shifting his weight on the floor, as he chuckled darkly.

"Alright. I give up. But I have only one more question to ask." the boy finished, with a deep knot in his stomach and a racing mind.

"I guess any body would be subject to atleast one last request." his haunting answer reached Drake's ears: "Go ahead. At this point, I hardly care what stupid question you ask."

"My question is only this. What made you try to kill an innocent teen age girl?" he responded, taking an almost un-noticeable few steps back from the man and motioning toward the girl's nearly - lifeless body lying limply and powerlessly on the sofa, "She had never done any thing to you, had she? I can even under stand you're feeling the need to bring harm to me—you lived with me and I chose to step away from you. But why her? She could have had a life and a future, even if you decided to kill me. I mean, she would have been upset about it for a while—maybe a long while—but she could have gotten over me. She could have moved on to find another guy and have a house and kids and the whole works. She could have had everything a maturing girl wishes for and dreams about, but still you did this. …Why?"

Everything was quiet for a minute, and finally the man spoke up—with not a voice full of sympathy as any normal person would expect, but one of bitter contempt and heartless coldness: "Because she had connection with you. Because she loved you. She would have done anything to save you, and she tried to. So she had to be destroyed… as do you."

With a clicking sound, the figure standing before Drake reached deeper in to his coat and drew out a gray steel revolver.

Drake felt the first real understanding of how horrible this man was pass through him, making him shudder and shake his head, finally breaking his stare in to his Father's unfeeling eyes and turning to run for the door to the hall, across from the dining room.

He was only halfway across the room when, with shock that made him jump, an explosion went off, sending lightning whizzing past him only mere inches from where he stood. He turned for no more than a second to see that his rival did indeed have a gun, and was aiming very carefully at him. If only he could dodge the other five shots.

Outside of the house, Josh jerked and looked back at the dark shadow of the building behind him when he suddenly heard the loud blast that could hardly be mistaken for anything but that of a gun going off. He lost his breath as unbelievable worry and fear over came him and he could only clutch and hand to his mouth and whisper a soft: "Oh God, please—please don't let him…"

You can't imagine the kind of things that were flying through both boys' heads at this moment. Drake was literally running for his life from an armed maniac in side, and out side, Josh stood quivering in the soft grass of the side - yard, waiting helplessly for the police force to arrive and praying with the deepest depths of his heart that he would see his brother again.

As he reached the door way to the hall, Drake suddenly realized that he couldn't go through the garage, nor could he go out of the laundry room door, for the mere fact that if he was to do that, the man obviously would follow him—and Josh was out there. After all, Drake thought that even if he himself were to be wounded, he couldn't risk his brother being shot, just to save his own skin.

With one last decision, he stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, luckily surprising his Father enough and thinking quickly enough to manage to knock the gun out of his hand and far across the room. The man was very clearly shocked at this for a moment, and Drake used this time wisely, by lunging forward and managing to knock him to the cold, hard floor.

"You may have had me scared enough to stand by while you killed my great uncle and my girlfriend but now I'm not scared enough to let you take me and my brother, too." the strained words drifted across the room as Drake and the man struggled roughly against each other on the ground.

Drake had the upper hand for a few seconds, because he had indeed shocked his Dad rather well, but soon after that, the value of the shock diminished and he began to retaliate. Flinging Drake from above him with his muscular arms, he pinned him down below him in one single, almost effortless motion and laughed in bitter and vile disdain.

"Who says that you're strong enough to survive even my bare hands?"

With out so much as a moment more of time, Drake shouted out a reply in a deep voice and knocked the man's supporting arm out from under him, gaining back atleast some power: "I do."

This fight went on for quite some time, until Drake managed to sit up on his knees and knock his opponent hard back wards, disabling him for a minute.

He didn't want to have to beat him. He didn't want to have to knock him out, or even to touch him for that matter. Probably because of his quite rocky child hood, this Parker boy was not in the least the type you would expect to be violent and he never imagined considering himself fight - material. But as he had told himself over and over, he wasn't about to compromise his own brother just because he was a little afraid.

With all of this racing steadily through his head, he was still for a minute, but after waking up again and snapping back in to the real world, he dropped back to the floor and began to struggle again. He was strong for a while because he was inspired by his own thoughts, but when the grown man really began to unleash his force, he started to lose. After all, the form that he was fighting was atleast twice his size, and full grown, making it very hard on him.

He felt a whimper issue from his lips, which he couldn't suppress, though try as he might, when his rival clawed and kicked him. He was loosing control fast and when his Father landed an extra painful blow to his newly healed ribs, he knew that it was time to start retorting against this man. With almost every last drop of any energy that he had left, he turned and let go of a hard punch, right in the jaw.

A gasping half- moan came from the boy's adversary and within an instant, the grip he had had on Drake's torso loosened enough for him to struggle up from the floor and stagger back ward a few steps, letting out a fleeting breath.

The person lying below him on held to his stinging chin with a bloody hand and let out a little almost - laughing whisper: "I wondered if you had any fight in you at all. Maybe you do. But that really doesn't matter." It was only a few moments before he was back on his feet, and he began to come toward the boy, backing him across the room.

Drake hardly knew what had happened when like a flash, his Dad grabbed his shoulders and threw him in to the wall behind him, knocking the air out of his lungs away and making his ribs throb.

"Ah…" he gasped painfully, trying to catch his breath and grabbing his middle.

"What? Does it hurt? You poor boy. Are you ready to give up yet, eh?" came the taunting voice of the figure that was towering alarmingly close over him.

"Not yet." was Drake's only reply as he grew strong enough to hurl a harsh blow to his adversary's stomach and escape from his pinned position against the wall.

The man bent forward and collapsed on to the floor, holding his stomach and gritting his teeth, and the boy stood still, almost not even believing that he had actually been able to disable him to this extent.

So, boy… what are you going to do to your old Dad? Kill me?" the weak, laughing reply came from him after a silent moment, when he found the voice to speak.

"Maybe it has crossed my mind, old man." the cool, feisty answer reached his ears as Drake shifted his weight and began to feel a little bit more of the pain he had earned from all of this combat.

"Okay, fine. Go ahead—kill me then. But you know what, little boy? Even if you kill me—even if you claim that it was in self - defense when the police find my body, no one will believe you. Not even your own family. Then they'll lock you up in a clinic for teen age drug dealers and murderers and I'll be laughing. I'll still get the last laugh, Drake Parker. Even death can't stop me from winning our little battle." he spoke.

"No. Now, it's my turn to tell you to 'shut up'. I must look naïve to you, but believe me, I'm way past that. I couldn't possibly still be a naïve teen ager, after all of the things you've put me through. Maybe that was the good in all of this—I learned to not trust everything around me and it all forced me to mature. As for what you said, I really don't give a crap whether you laugh your stupid face off. At this point I've arrived at now, I wouldn't care if you ever did anything." With that speech from the teen ager, the guy on the floor gained back enough temporary strength to spring up and land a hard punch to the side of his head.

It made everything hurt much worse than it already had, and Drake felt his weak knees fold up under him in obedience as his Father pushed him to the wood floor.

He gave several ample kicks and punches to Drake's stomach and ribs, and then dropping down to the ground, he finally drew something out of his deep pocket to finish it all of with, and to put an end to this fight.

As he raised it high in to the chilly air, Drake saw the cold, sharp steel blade flash like the lightning of a summer storm on the horizion, and with literally no strength left, all he could manage to do was to lay there in horror as his Father bent close to him and whispered softly in to his ear with a voice full of only mock sympathy and concern: "I enjoyed the party, Drake. Thanks for inviting me. I'm so sorry you have to leave. …Goodbye, now."

"Get off of him." The thunder of a voice spoke from what seemed far away, accompanied by the distinct clicking of several cocked guns.