J.M.J.
Author's note: Thank you so much for reading! Thank you especially to MargaretA66, ErinJordan, Candylou, and max2013 for your reviews! God bless!
Chapter XXVIII
Every time Angelo turned his back, Joe inched as much as he dared toward the second sword that Angelo had brought. He knew he couldn't get very close to it before Angelo would realize and move it, but if he could lessen the distance even a little, it would help him to make his eventual spring toward it.
Angelo was restlessly pacing about, idly drawing shapes in the air with the sword that he was still holding. Joe had the idea he must be waiting for something. Maybe he was waiting to see if any other Black Rose members would turn up. In any case, he had ceased paying much attention to Joe once he decided that his prisoner wasn't going to make any attempts to run. However, just when Joe was bracing himself to rip his hands from the rope that was loosely binding them and make his spring for the sword, Angelo suddenly turned on him.
"I'm surprised at you, Joe," he declared. "I knew you didn't care much for your brother anymore, but I still thought you'd be more affected by seeing him speared to death. I mean, your initial reaction was to be expected, but since then you've just sat there. You haven't cried or carried on or anything. You must have hated your brother even more than I hate mine."
It took all Joe's self-restraint not to make his spring then and there. He wanted to shout at Angelo that his apparent calm was only because there was still work to do. He still had to see that Frank and Tony's murderer paid for his crimes. Then he could let himself mourn for them. Then he could face the reality that he would have to go through life without either his brother or one of his best friends, that there were two more graves in the Bayport cemetery that shouldn't have been there, that he could have prevented from being there, that Frank and Tony had both deserved so much better, that life itself had been marred in such a way that it would never truly be all right again. But he kept his silence and only glared. He wasn't going to lose this chance to stop Angelo. It was probably the last he would ever get.
"Maybe it's this place," Angelo said, a bit carelessly. "Don't you recognize it?"
Joe kept his gaze steadily on Angelo. He had already looked around the small, one-room cabin. It was just a cabin, as far as he could tell, but there was something about it, some vague recollection of it. At the moment, he didn't care. He couldn't feel anything just now except that a part of himself had been mercilessly ripped away.
"I would think it would have made a bigger impression on you," Angelo went on. "You almost died here once before. You must not have looked around too thoroughly. You were too busy saving your girlfriend. You should have saved yourself the trouble, considering she dumped you later."
Then it all clicked into place. This was the cabin outside of Gresham where the serial killer had held Iola. No, Joe hadn't paid much attention then. His primary concern had been getting Iola out of there safely. But then, he didn't think Angelo would understand putting someone else first.
Angelo came to stand right in front of him. "What? No emotion over your girlfriend, either? You really are a heartless person, Joe. Maybe when I'm done with you as a hostage, I should let you go after all. I can't think of any worse punishment to inflict on your parents and all your friends." He chuckled as he turned his back to continue his pacing.
That was when Joe decided to act. It took only a moment to pull his hands out of the bonds around them. Then he made a leap for Angelo's knees. His captor let out a cry of surprise as he fell forward. However, the struggle only lasted a few seconds before Angelo had gotten himself away and was standing once again, pointing his sword at Joe, who was still on his hands and knees.
For a moment, Joe thought it was all over, but then he realized that his hand was inches away from the second sword. In a movement that Angelo didn't expect and had no time to react to, Joe grasped the sword and brought it up to block Angelo's blade as he scrambled to his feet.
Angelo's face wore a surprised but oddly approving look. "So you want to fight. I don't suppose you've ever used a sword before?"
Joe wasn't about to tell him that he had not. The only response he gave was to attempt raining down a series of blows on Angelo. His opponent was no great swordsman, either, but he knew some of the rudimentary techniques, and so he was able to ward of Joe's inexperienced blows. He took a step back and managed to get in a few swings of his own sword.
It wasn't like the sword fights in movies. Neither of them was skilled or graceful enough to make it look like a performance and the goal for both of them was to stop their opponent by any means necessary. Once Angelo managed to bring his sword down on Joe's fingers as they gripped the hilt, but he hit them with the flat of his blade, so they weren't cut. By that time, Joe had let his fury and sorrow come to his aid, and so he barely even noticed the pain from the hit at first.
When Angelo realized that his small knowledge of the use of a sword wasn't going to help him much against the energy and fury of Joe's onslaught, he began to back off and look for something he could use to aid him in subduing his opponent. He tried to pull a chair from the table and trip Joe with it, but in snagging one of the legs with his foot and trying to pull it out while blocking Joe's swings, he tripped himself. He sprawled backward, flailing with the sword. Joe tried to press his advantage, but he got too close too carelessly, and the tip of Angelo's sword raked over his forehead. That momentarily took Joe's attention away from Angelo, who kicked at his knee and regained his feet.
Angelo then pressed in close, thrusting his sword forward in an attempt to stab Joe. Joe managed to sidestep and then swung his own blade at Angelo's injured arm. The point caught his wound from where Sam had shot him and Angelo bellowed in pain. He retaliated with such a flurry of blows that it was all Joe could do to block them. For a few seconds, Joe felt as if his opponent had grown several more arms, each clutching a sword.
Then, in the confusion of that moment, Joe misjudged where one of Angelo's blows would land. He shoved his blade too far forward so that Angelo's blade missed it entirely and came perilously near to Joe's head. Angelo's arm, however, didn't have the same luck. His forearm came down directly on the edge of the blade, which bit deep into it. In the first shock of pain, Angelo dropped his sword with a clatter.
Instantly, Joe had the tip of his own blade at Angelo's throat. For a few seconds, both men just stood there, trying to catch their breaths and not quite believing that the fight had ended this way.
Angelo was the first to recover. He scoffed. "You're not going to do anything." He tried to take a step forward.
Joe didn't move the blade and let it press against Angelo's neck. Angelo stepped back again, bemusement playing over his face.
"What are you trying to do, Joe? You won't do it. We both know that. Isn't that the point? Isn't that why you ran away from home and went to California and quit detective work and tore your whole family apart?"
"No one ever gave me as much of a reason as you have," Joe told him, and his tone was dark that Angelo lost a bit of his bravado.
He shrank back. "You wouldn't kill in self-defense or even to protect your friend, but you would in revenge?"
All the fury that Joe was feeling urged him to do it. It was almost as if a voice outside of him was telling him to. No one would ever know it hadn't exactly been self-defense. There were no witnesses, Joe had been Angelo's prisoner, and Angelo had proven he was willing to kill for almost no reason at all. Joe even had the cuts and bruises to prove that there had been a fight. Even if anyone suspected that it hadn't been self-defense in the strictest sense of the word, they couldn't prove anything, and would they even want to? Who would blame Joe, after everything Angelo had done? For that matter, Joe had had the opportunity to kill Angelo once before and had not, and at least three people had been killed because of it. How many more would pay for it with their lives if Joe risked letting Angelo escape? After all, Joe couldn't very well restrain Angelo in any way. He couldn't tie him up without moving the sword, and then Angelo would put up another fight. There was no guarantee that Joe would be able to overpower him. In all likelihood, Joe would just end up being the first to die because of his second moment of weakness.
Yet something held Joe's arm back. He didn't have to kill Angelo. The fight was over and Joe had won. If Joe thought it over, there had to be a way that he could safely get himself and his prisoner to Gresham, where the police could deal with Angelo.
Then the image of Angelo thrusting that spear into Frank's side presented itself to Joe's mind. It was so vivid that it almost seemed to take over his actual vision rather than simply his imagination. His heart seemed to stop, as it had when he had seen it and his breaths came in heavy gasps. Almost without knowing what he was doing, he raised the sword to make a final swing.
"Don't," Angelo whimpered, his face nearly transformed with fear. "Please don't. Please. I don't want to die."
No change of expression came over Joe's face, but then Angelo's pleading was doing nothing to change his mind. He had already made it up.
While Angelo was still watching the sword poised above his head, Joe kicked forward and kneed him in the stomach. Angelo doubled over and then Joe brought the hilt of the sword down, striking Angelo in the back of the head with the pommel. It momentarily stunned him, and Joe hastily grabbed the rope that had recently been restraining his own hands. He started to bind Angelo's hands behind his back.
A dog barked outside the cabin and distracted Joe for a second. That was all the more time Angelo needed. He wrenched his hands from Joe's grip and had them around Joe's throat before Joe could react. Frantically, Joe tried to pull Angelo's hands away from his throat, but he couldn't. Angelo shoved him to the floor and pinned him there with a knee on his chest, still choking him.
The blood was pounding so hard in Joe's ears that he didn't hear the dog scratching at the door or the door being thrown open. He did hear someone scream his name and then his father's voice shouting, "Let go of him!"
Angelo didn't relax his grip in the least. Joe didn't think he could hold onto consciousness much longer. Then someone pulled Angelo off him. He found he could breathe again and he lay there, gasping for breath and dangling on the edge of unconsciousness.
He felt someone caress his head and heard his mother saying, "Joe? Joe, are you all right?"
"The villain! The murderer! He deserves to be beaten within an inch of his life!" Aunt Gertrude was shouting.
"Calm down. That's not going to make things any better," Fenton told her. Then Joe felt someone else kneel next to him. "Joe? Joe, can you hear me?"
Suddenly, Axel jumped on Joe and began licking his face. Fenton and Laura shooed him away, but it brought Joe out of his daze. He opened his eyes and looked up into his parents' faces.
"Oh, thank God," Laura said, gathering him in her arms and crying.
"Careful," Fenton cautioned her. "We don't know how badly he's hurt yet."
Joe, however, continued trying to sit up. "Dad. Mom," he tried to say, but his throat wasn't quite cooperating yet. He could see Sam standing over Angelo, who had been handcuffed and was now sitting on the floor. Aunt Gertrude had also been standing over him to threaten him, but now she abandoned that to come and embrace her nephew.
"Your forehead!" Laura exclaimed, brushing the hair away from Joe's forehead to examine the cut there which she had just noticed.
"Frank," Joe managed to gasp out. He looked from his mom to his dad and back again. "He killed Frank."
Every person in the group stiffened and fell silent, except for Angelo who snickered. The looks of shock on the others' faces only made Joe realize even more that it was real. He suddenly felt tired right to the core of his being, so tired, he wasn't sure he could even sit up. He swayed.
Fenton reached out to catch him. "Are you all right?" His voice was shaking, shaking more than Joe had ever heard his father's voice.
"I don't…know," Joe said.
"Maybe it would be better to get him off the floor," Sam suggested.
Fenton helped Joe to stand up and took him to where a cot was against the wall. Joe promptly sank onto it, dropping his head in his hands.
Angelo chuckled as he watched the scene. "It's almost worth getting captured for."
"Is he the one who…?" Laura asked, hoping she didn't have to finish the question.
Joe nodded wordlessly without lifting his head.
Gertrude sprang at the prisoner. "Let me at him! You evil, disgusting…"
Sam held her back. "No one would blame you, Gertrude, but that's not the way to deal with him."
"But he hurt my nephews!" Gertrude protested.
Angelo snorted. Apparently not being killed had restored his swagger to him. "Haven't you been listening, lady? I did more than just hurt Frank. He's dead."
Gertrude struggled against Sam. If Sam hadn't been holding her back, he might have cuffed Angelo himself.
"Where is he?" Fenton demanded, going to stand in front of him.
"Hell, hopefully," Angelo retorted.
"He's in the basement of some big mansion," Joe said, his voice hoarse. "It's somewhere near here, I think. I don't remember how we got from there to here. There was a tunnel..."
"A tunnel?" Fenton repeated.
Angelo's eyes darted to a corner, but he quickly averted his gaze from there. On a sudden hunch, Fenton strode to that corner and crouched down. The floor was made of wooden boards and he traced their edges with his fingers. He saw that one section was perfectly square and moreover was slightly lower than the rest of the floor. He tried to grasp it with his fingernails, but he couldn't.
He glanced around and noticed the swords. He picked one up and inserted the blade into the cracks between the boards. He felt something give, and the section dropped down, revealing a trapdoor that led into a tunnel.
"Sam, you'd better stay here with Laura and Gertrude and Joe," Fenton said.
"No," Sam protested. "You'd better stay. I'll go."
"Wait, Dad." Joe raised his head. "Evangeline. She's there."
"What? What is she doing there?" Sam asked.
Angelo laughed. "She's in a mood for settling scores. I hope you run right into her."
"Neither one of you had better go alone," Laura said, her face white. She wasn't sure what would be best for them to do. She couldn't have another member of her family go into danger, but they couldn't just leave Frank wherever he was. She sat next to Joe, wrapped her arms around him, and tried to keep from sobbing, since she couldn't stop her tears entirely.
"He's my son, Sam," Fenton said. "I've got to go."
"You don't know what happened," Sam cautioned him. "I doubt you want to see it."
Rather than responding, Fenton stepped down through the trapdoor. Sam let go of Gertrude and followed him, leaving the women to look after Joe and guard the prisoner. Laura watched them go with a horrible knot in her stomach, not knowing whether her husband would be coming back or not. Then Laura finally let herself weep into Joe's shoulder.
Angelo sneered. "Go ahead and cry. I hope your whole family gets killed. It's what you all deserve!"
Gertrude picked up one of the swords, her eyes flaring. "I don't want to hear another word from you!"
"Or what? You'll kill me?" Angelo scoffed. "As if. Your nephew was too weak to do it. Why would I think you could?" He looked at Joe. "Why didn't you kill me?"
Joe continued looking down at his hands. "Because I didn't have to."