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Chapter Eighteen

"Trapped"

As Peter sat in the chair in the dining room, he began to work the ropes in the manner his father had taught him. 'Stretch. Release. Stretch. Release.' Now, if only someone didn't walk behind him to see the blood dripping from his wrists, he was home free.

The foursome came back inside and the leader gestured to one of his men. "Go for it. He's awake again. Might as well work off some frustration."

Peter looked at the man approaching him, and said, "You wanna talk about frustration? I've had to use the john for the last hour!"

The man smiled coldly as he made a fist and began to pound Peter's face with several quick, but stinging punches.

Somehow, Peter remained alert, though he knew his face was a mess. "So, what's next, guys? When are we ordering lunch? I hear the Chinese take out nearby is very goo-"

Another punch to his wounded side shut him up.

The leader shook his head. "This guy isn't going to give up the info. We might as well kill him and be done with it."

"Oh, that's real smart. Kill me and you've got jackshit!" Peter taunted as he gasped for air.

The man in the suede jacket with the coffee stains pushed forward.

"It would be worth it, cop!" he growled as he punched Peter in the solar plexus.

Peter swallowed, not giving his killer the satisfaction of watching him struggle for air. He lifted his strained gaze to stare into the eyes of the man with a gun pointed at his forehead.

'Sorry, Paul, looks like I let you down, but the person I let down the most is Tommy. God, please watch over that boy until Kermit can come back for him.'

All of a sudden, the man turned to the front door, and stepped away from Peter. The young detective tried to sneak in a breath of air, but it caught in his chest. Peter's worst nightmare was made real by the sight before him: Tommy with a gun to his head being brought in the front door.

"Maybe if you won't talk, he will," the man turned toward Tommy. "Won't ya, kid? You don't want to see this man hurt any more, do you?"

Tommy shook his head in response.

The man in charge smiled broadly as he knelt beside Tommy. "So, where is everyone?"

Tommy looked at the man in curiosity and then shrugged.

"Look, the boy can't talk because of what your employer's son did to his parents. He saw them shot to death and hasn't said a word since then. Besides, he really doesn't know where they are."

Peter had to make them to understand Tommy's situation, but cringed as he watched Tommy's expression become distant at the mere mention of the incident. So much progress reversed in a single moment.

"Well, if he can't talk, he's no good to us. Kill him, Jerry," the team leader said, as if he were telling one of his men to throw out the trash. "Kill them both."

"Wait! God, wait!" Peter screamed hoarsely.

The leader turned back to Peter with a gun still pointed to Tommy's head. "Ah, so do you remember something of use, cop?"

When Peter hesitated, one man abruptly raised a clenched fist preparing to strike Tommy, catching everyone off guard.

Peter went berserk, finally breaking free of his bonds. He attacked the man standing in front of him who was prepared to hit Tommy, knocking him out with a single blow. There were two men standing on either side of Peter. When he knocked out the first man, the other two went for their guns.

Peter finally pulled loose the last of his ropes hanging onto one wrist. Snaking out bloody hands, he grabbed the wrist of the man on his right and swung him into the man on his left with all his might.

The falling man got a handful of Peter's clothes, pulling him down with them, landing between the two of them as both guns went off together on either side of Peter's head. Peter screamed out in agony and then slumped to the ground, unconscious.

oOoOoOoOo

Peter awoke up to find Tommy watching over him. Once Peter adjusted to his pain and weakness, he realized the room was deathly quiet. Too quiet. His breath caught in his chest as realization hit him. He was deaf. At least for the moment. As further proof, Tommy was moving around him and he couldn't hear any of the boy's movements.

Peter raised his head and tried to speak, but he couldn't even hear the sound of his own voice, not even his own breathing. He panicked, moving to sit up but was forced back down by a nauseating wave of vertigo and the pain.

As he tried to make sense of his sudden deafness, Tommy reacted to Peter's panic and leaned down to give Peter a long, comforting hug, having recently known such emotions in his own heart.

Stoically, Peter wrapped his arms around the boy. A few moments later, he dropped back into oblivion.

The sun had set and night was coming on when Peter regained consciousness again. Tommy was still by his side, not moving until he felt Peter move. Peter's memories had returned, but something had Peter bewildered. Where were the hired goons? They wouldn't have just taken off and left Tommy and himself alive as potential witnesses against them.

Then he saw the bodies of the dead hit men scattered around the room, leading all the way into the living room and out the open front door. The place looked like a cyclone had hit it while he was out. Nothing made any sense to him, especially with his head pounding like the fabled John Henry was inside of it, using his mighty sledgehammer with a maddening rhythm.

Closing his eyes to concentrate, Peter whispered Tommy's name. The boy was busily wiping the blood from Peter's face, wrists, and ears. Next, Tommy's hand went to Peter's heart.

"Where-where are the bad guys?" Peter tried to say, but he had no idea if Tommy could make out his slurred words. The effort forced him to close his eyes to stop the swirling room.

The small hand went to Peter's cheek, and he opened his eyes. Tommy's silver gray eyes were reflecting the rising moon. He held something up in front of Peter's face. It was the book on the Spirit of the Forest.

Peter felt his expression contort with confusion. "Tommy, you mean it was...that Forest spirit who did...this?"

Tommy nodded emphatically. Peter closed his eyes again. In addition to losing his hearing, Peter decided he must have lost his mind, too. Or Tommy had.

"More bad guys...are coming. We have to...go," he said in raspy spurts and as clearly as he could.

Tommy nodded and pulled a chair beside the deaf detective, sliding it to one side of Peter, and then he came around to Peter's other side, pulling Peter's arm over the eight year-old's minute shoulder.

"Okay, sport," Peter whispered, trying to sound strong but he felt anything but that.

Peter was pretty certain he'd pass out before they took two steps, but Tommy was ready for that. He had Ansel's cane for Peter to use on one side and his own little body for support on the other.

"We need guns. Go to...a shelter. Flashlight?"

Tommy nodded, pulling it out of the back of his pants, along with his Wolf token he'd made earlier in the day. He slid everything back into place and picked up the book, putting it into one of his jacket's deep pockets.

"Okay, let's go."

Peter's dizziness was fearsome and he felt like he was about to collapse at any moment, but how he felt didn't matter. He had to get that little boy to safety, even if it was the last thing he did. As they exited the cabin, Peter looked around for any sign of trouble, but there was nothing in the forest was moving, not even the wind in the trees.

And, of course, there was maddening silence resonating in his head. He put a hand to one ear and snapped his fingers, but didn't hear a thing. Peter swallowed back his fear. First, he had to get Tommy to safety, then he would deal with the deafness.

"Keep the flashlight...low to ground," Peter warned, worried the beam might attract attention. Tommy obeyed right away.

They had only gone a short distance before Peter's knees started buckling. "We-we need...shelter. Fast," he said in gasping whispers.

Tommy did a quick survey and pointed ahead. Somehow, they made it there before Peter collapsed completely, tumbling into the shelter with a groan while Tommy held the hatch open. Breathing heavily, Peter scooted himself against the far edge of the shelter, making room for Tommy to climb in. It took all of the boy's strength to close the heavy door and latch it, but he managed it.

He sat beside Peter and took out a cloth and some bottled water, dabbing again at the fresh blood of Peter's numerous injuries. The boy concentrated his efforts on Peter's ears, as if that would return his sense of hearing.

When he stopped, he held the bottle out to Peter to drink. Peter took a sip. He was afraid to take more. He didn't want to get sick inside of their hideout.

"Sit, Tommy," he said carefully, but the effort drained him. "You...did good, but-but now...we sleep. Leave in morning."

Tommy snuggled against him, and then reached into a corner for a down sleeping bag. He carefully covered Peter with it, and then got one for himself before pressing himself close to Peter again. Peter couldn't hear the boy's breathing change to indicate he'd fallen asleep, but he felt the slow, steady respiration with his hand on Tommy's chest.

Only then did he allow himself to give into the emotions that had been suppressed ever since they heard the first booby trap explode. His body trembled with pent-up rage, but then another emotion took over. Namely, the fear that he may have permanently lost his hearing. That would affect his job and relationships. Hell, it would affect his whole life.

Taking a deep breath, he made himself stay in the moment and not project into an unknown future. Right then, his only concern was the precious life beside him. With that perspective in mind, his fears slowly crept back into the shadows of his soul, allowing him some peace. He leaned his head against Tommy's as he prayed for Tommy's safety. Soon, the lingering fears haunting him fell away and he drifted into a troubled sleep.

oOoOoOoOo