Notes: Being that this is the last full-length chapter, the short epilogue is being posted immediately afterwards. Thank you for your interest! I hope you will enjoy the conclusion.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Anton's helicopter was parked nearby in the field. Fakir glowered at it as they approached. He hated it, he hated Anton, he hated everything about this wretched situation. Every time he hoped that maybe he was finally catching a break, something went wrong. Anton was always ahead of him and always managed to foil any ideas he had about getting away.
"Where have you been, anyway?" he snapped. "Your brother's been wondering what's up."
"That is none of your affair," Anton responded. He moved the gun level with Fakir's spine. "Get on board." As far as Fakir knew, the safety was still off.
Clenching his teeth, Fakir gripped the edges of the open doorway and hoisted his body into the aircraft. Anton followed almost immediately. Never allowing the gun to leave Fakir, he reached and adjusted some controls.
"Sit down!" he ordered.
Fakir was in no position to argue. Nor did he especially want to, if they were about to lift off. He eased himself into the nearest seat and affixed the safety belt.
Anton sat next to him. After pressing a button and pulling a lever, the helicopter began to rise by itself. Fakir stared.
"You've never seen anything work on autopilot before, have you?" Anton remarked. "Of course, coming from such a backwoods town, when would you have ever had the chance?"
Fakir glowered. "You make it sound like Kinkan Town is full of idiots," he said.
"I had thought they produced some intelligent people, since it's the legendary hub of the Story-Spinners, but considering all the trouble I've had with you I wonder if that's true." Anton trained the gun on Fakir's face. "If I didn't know better I'd say you have a deathwish."
"I want to live," Fakir growled. "I just don't want to help you."
"And here I thought you cared about Ahiru and Charon." Anton's expression darkened. "You're only concerned with yourself."
Fakir's willpower frayed and broke. "I know you've been lying to me," he retorted. "That girl I talked to isn't Ahiru."
The only change in Anton's visage was an almost imperceptive widening of his eyes. "She isn't?" he said.
"I led her into a trap to test her," Fakir said. "She would never, ever eat duck."
The gun shook in Anton's hand for a moment before he steadied it. The fury and tension in the air was almost tangible.
"You've been bluffing all along," Fakir went on. "You really didn't know where Ahiru and Charon were after the first heist. You came up with that story about testing me and having Ahiru captive and Charon being shot. I bet she and Charon are just fine right now, except for worrying about me. And even if you say they aren't, I won't believe you now."
"I actually was testing you, Fakir," Anton said, his tones frighteningly cool. "But it's true that by that point my idiot sniper was no longer following your loved ones. I still have no idea where they are."
He gave a tight, chilling smile. "I see I've been wrong about you, Fakir. I thought I had finally gotten through to you. Instead you've been more devious and clever than I had even imagined possible. Now I'm certain that you were responsible for getting the police to stop the second robbery. I would like to know exactly how you did it."
"You can wonder about it," Fakir said. "I'm not going to let you in on all of my secrets."
"I expected that from you," Anton said. "It's strange. In spite of all the police forces that have tried and failed to collapse my empire, a fifteen-year-old boy came the closest to succeeding. I tip my hat to you, young Fakir."
By now they were above the city, steadily moving towards the Port of Hamburg. Fakir stared out the window at the sight below.
"Surely after all this you're not planning to go through with the third robbery," he said.
"That depends," Anton said. "It depends entirely on you, Fakir." He pressed the gun against Fakir's forehead. "Under threat of your life, you will write that the police suddenly have no memory of the investigation and that those arrested will be freed."
Fakir's heart beat faster. He could see the murder in Anton's eyes. The man was not kidding.
"Well?" Anton spoke. "What will it be?"
Fakir ran his tongue over his lips. He could not write what Anton wanted. But if he pretended to, even for a moment, would there be the slightest chance of catching Anton off-guard? He had to try; it might be his last hope. And maybe if he could stall, it would give the police time to find them and catch up.
"Give me some paper and a pen," he said at last.
Anton gave a knowing nod. "Good boy."
xxxx
Much to the criminals' horror, Charon ran into the house and found the police, informing them of what Autor and Ahiru had seen. The officers came to attention immediately, hastening out to the guesthouse and to the tunnel, whose location the teens pointed out. Before long they were all hurrying through the stone passageway.
"There's someone down here," one of the policemen said presently.
"Who?" Ahiru wailed. "Is it Fakir?"
"No." He knelt down beside a heavyset form. "It's Bernhard Schuhmacher. It looks like he's unconscious."
Even as he spoke, the body moved and groaned. Everyone tensed.
"This is the police," the officer said sternly. "Tell us what happened. Where's the kidnapped boy Fakir?"
Schuhmacher grunted. His eyes cracked open halfway, focusing on the beam from the policeman's flashlight. A sickly sneer came over his features.
"He went through the trapdoor into the field," he rasped. "He won't get far; someone's going to be waiting for him."
"Who?" Charon demanded before the officer could ask. "Tell us now!"
But Schuhmacher just managed a weak shrug and closed his eyes in pain.
The policeman pulled out his cellphone to call an ambulance. His partner shined his flashlight on the ladder and began to climb, pushing up the door upon reaching the top.
"There's a field alright," he said with a frown. "But I don't see anyone." He pulled himself out of the hole and stood on the grass. "There's an old shed over there. It doesn't look like it's in use."
"We should have a look," the first officer said as he hung up the phone. "And we should spread out and search the whole field."
Charon was already scaling the ladder. The policeman looked to him in alarm. "Sir, I can't let you go up there," he said.
Charon reached the top and climbed out. "With all due respect, I came to find my son," he said, looking back down at him. "And that's exactly what I'm going to do."
Ahiru gave a firm nod. "Us too!" she declared, scurrying up the ladder before the stunned man could protest. Autor promptly followed.
For the next agonizing moments they tore over the field, calling in desperation for Fakir. But there was no response. In the darkness he could be anywhere—running for his life, being held captive again, or even lying somewhere in the grass. In spite of themselves the most frightening and horrible thoughts were gathering and growing in their minds, taking precedence over other possibilities. When Autor suddenly cried out, they expected the worst.
"What is it?" Ahiru half-sobbed.
"Look at this!" Autor bent down, shining his flashlight over two long and thin strips of grass that were standing apart yet were parallel to each other. They were bent and matted down, as though something heavy had been placed on them.
"What could have made that?" Charon frowned.
"I don't know," Autor admitted. "A small aircraft, perhaps? There aren't any other areas like this around at all. The only direction the object could have gone is up."
The second policeman came on the scene in time to hear Autor's analysis. He leaned over, examining the sight himself.
"It was probably a helicopter," he said. He grabbed for his walkie-talkie. "I'm going to put out an all-points bulletin for all unidentified helicopters over Hamburg."
"What do you think happened?" Ahiru cried. "Where could they be going? Do you think Fakir is . . . that he's still . . ." She trailed off, unable to finish.
Charon pulled a strong arm around her shoulders. "He's stuck it out this long," he said. "I refuse to believe that he's dead now. He'll come back to us."
Autor nodded. "He's helped turn this entire area upsidedown," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's fighting tooth and nail for his freedom at this exact moment."
"He'd better not just be fighting," Ahiru whispered. "He'd better win."
She threw her arms around Charon's waist as the sound of the policeman's all-points bulletin filled their ears.
xxxx
Fakir gripped the quill pen between his clammy fingers. His other hand shook as he clutched the paper holder. The cold barrel of the revolver was still being pressed against his forehead, the safety off. If the movement of the helicopter suddenly jerked Anton, the trigger could get pulled. It was enough to make him nervous and agonized in spite of his resolve to not commit any crimes. He would not be found guilty under these circumstances, were he to do as Anton demanded. But he would consider himself weak.
He stared down at the paper, running over the possible sentences in his mind. What could he write that would stall this madness? He had worked as hard as he could to get the police ahead in the case. He did not want to ruin it now so that they would forget all that they had done and let the crooks go scot-free. Maybe he could delay by writing what would start to look like what Anton wanted, before suddenly finishing the sentence and changing its entire meaning.
Of course, he would have to be quite creative to do that and get off with his life. How long could he drag it out before Anton became suspicious? Considering the crime boss's current mood, probably no time at all.
"Write, Fakir."
Somehow it rattled him more for Anton to call him by his Christian name than if he had said anything else. Anton probably knew it, too. He always seemed to know to do what would shake someone up the most.
Fakir dipped the pen in the inkwell. The helicopter bumped, turning Fakir sheet-white. But Anton was unmoved. The gun held fast.
Fakir brought the pen to the paper. For some reason, it was a struggle even getting it there. Surely it was not just his own personal feelings at this point. The Story was getting a mind of its own again. It did not want Fakir to write any more than Fakir wanted to write. But with the deadly weapon pushed against his head, that was not much of a comfort.
"The police . . . the police for- . . ."
Fakir clenched his teeth. His hand rocked, nearly sending the pen to the floor.
And Anton was losing whatever shreds of patience he had left.
"I would strongly advise you to put aside all your foolish notions of justice and nobility and write," he said. "In fact, I order it. This is your last chance, Fakir. Don't throw your life away."
"I can't help it," Fakir hissed. "The Story won't write."
"Do you expect me to believe that?" Anton said.
"No," Fakir said. "But it's still the truth." He glared at the criminal kingpin. "I was told that my loved ones wouldn't be faulted for an actual backfire with a Story."
"If they were here, they would be," Anton said. "Particularly since I don't believe there is any backfire!" His eyes flickered. "I won't say it again. You have exactly one minute to write before I kill you."
Inwardly Fakir was stricken, his blood turning to ice. Outwardly he still glared.
"What's one more body, huh?" he said. "Is that your excuse? I guess if they caught you, you would get the highest possible sentence right now, so maybe it wouldn't make a difference. On the other hand, maybe even for a complete wretch like you there'd still be some hope, if you don't kill a minor."
"I kill whoever must die," Anton said. "There have been others, younger than you."
Fakir was sickened. How could someone like that even live with himself? There could be no justification for this. Fakir considered killing acceptable only if in self-defense or the defense of others. Anton killed to collect more power and wealth.
"That shouldn't surprise me," Fakir snarled. "You're a monster! I just hope the police connect you with every one of their murders. And I hope you pay for each one a thousand times over."
He tried to steady the pen. He might as well try again. There was little else he could do, besides keeping up the frantic prayer for deliverance.
"The police for- . . ."
It was no use. The pen slipped from his fingers and to the floor. He nearly gagged. Even though he was not really going to write what Anton wanted, the Story was angry.
Suddenly his gaze fell upon the inkwell. Maybe there was still a sliver of hope, one last surprise he could enact. He just had to pray that it would only startle Anton enough for him to get the upper hand, not for it to result in the trigger being pulled.
"It's not working," he said. "Even if you won't believe it, it's the truth. The Story's mad. And it's not the only one!"
He yelled the last words as the same time he threw the inkwell at Anton's face. The man cried out, his hands flying up out of reflex to protect his eyes. The gun clattered to the floor. Fakir tossed the paper holder aside, diving for the weapon. Still wiping ink from his flesh, Anton sprang forward to snatch it first.
Fakir caught Anton's wrists, fighting to twist them up and away from the gun. Anton kicked out, hitting Fakir on his right knee. Fakir grimaced, desperate to keep his hold.
Again the helicopter swayed, more violent this time. Anton did not care, even as they tipped to the side. Instead he pushed and shoved. If he could not shoot Fakir dead, he would throw the boy out through the open doorway and let him fall to his end.
Fakir pushed and shoved right back. He was not going to die. He repeated that over and over to himself like a mantra. He was not going to die. He was going to be alright.
The helicopter banked to the right. Anton yelled as they slid dangerously close to the door. Outside, death loomed dark and cold in the form of a horrifying drop.
Fakir's heart raced as he struggled for dear life. Oh God, is this how I'm going to go? he cried out in his mind. The same way I killed Autor? Maybe I deserve that, but . . . I don't want to die! Please God, I don't want to die!
Anton dragged him ever closer to the edge. He wanted to kill Fakir and live himself, but if that were not possible they would both die. He refused to perish in this frightening way while Fakir would survive. Sooner or later, everyone whom he could not bend to his will died. Fakir would be no exception.
xxxx
Officer Heintz listened with grim, narrowed eyes to the report being transmitted over his walkie-talkie. At his side, Charon, Ahiru, and Autor were frantic. He looked to them as he pulled the device away from his ear.
"There's an unidentified helicopter flying over the Port of Hamburg," he announced. "It's having some kind of trouble. Either it's experiencing a bad patch of turbulence, the pilot simply doesn't know what he's doing, or it's on autopilot and failing. At least, that's what the person reporting it thinks."
"Do you think that's Fakir?" Ahiru exclaimed.
"It could be," Officer Heintz said. "There's some officers closer to the docks who are going to investigate."
"We have to get there!" Ahiru declared. She looked up at Charon. "We have to!"
Charon nodded. "It's the only possible lead we have. We're going there to see if that's Fakir." He looked the policeman in the eyes. "And we can't be deterred from that."
Officer Heintz watched as they turned and hurried back over the field towards the trapdoor. "I won't try," he said quietly. He hooked the walkie-talkie on his belt as he started after them. "But I will go along."
xxxx
Kirsch was already on his way to the mansion. By the time he arrived, courtesy of a squad car whose other occupants were also going there, Charon and the teens were rushing to their car.
Kirsch rolled down the window of the squad car and leaned out. "Hey, what's going on?" he called. "I thought I'd hear something from you hours ago."
"There's no time to explain!" Charon called back. "Fakir might be at the docks in a wayward helicopter." He took the keys back from Autor and unlocked the vehicle. He and the kids practically threw themselves inside.
"I'll come with you!" Kirsch declared.
"You might as well ride with us," the local detective in the squad car said to him. "We were coming here to see if we could help, but if that boy's at the docks we might be able to do more there than here."
Kirsch looked to him, grateful. "Then let's go," he said as Charon's car sped past. "Follow them!"
xxxx
Fakir did not think he had been in such a frightening ordeal before.
One minute he and Anton were battling inside the helicopter as it jumped and tipped.
The next they were plummeting towards the Port of Hamburg, free of the aircraft.
The cold night air whipped into Fakir's face. Was this how Autor had felt when Fakir had pushed him and the balcony broke? Had he felt the same numb, unreal sensation mixed with panic? Had he realized he was going to die?
Desperately Fakir threw up his hands, longing for them to catch on something. But there was nothing for them to catch.
Yet somehow, his fingers curled around one of the helicopter's runners anyway.
The boy started, opening his eyes. He had not fallen to his death. He was suspended high above the docks on a helicopter with a mind of its own.
But Anton was still holding onto him too. Fakir clenched his teeth. The extra weight was too much for him to handle.
The madman reached up with one strong hand, trying to pry Fakir's hand loose. Fakir swayed, his legs kicking in thin air as he tried to jerk and force Anton to stay away.
"Are you trying to get us both killed?" he yelled over the sound of the propellers.
"Yes," Anton hissed. "You have defied me for the last time. You have to die." Again he leaned over to pry Fakir's fingers off of the runner.
Instead the action caused him to lose his own balance. With a cry he slipped down, his arms unhooking from around Fakir's chest and waist.
Fakir stared, horror stabbing into his heart. It was Anton falling, but in his place Fakir saw Autor. Autor, who had trusted that he and Fakir would get out of the mess with Ahiru. Autor, who had already been hurt and betrayed by Fakir during their argument. Autor, who was falling to his death because of Fakir and could never be saved.
The loud splash and spray of water startled Fakir back to the present. He looked down in amazement. Anton was still alive. He flailed and sputtered, spitting out water as he swam wildly towards shore.
Fakir carefully reached up, maneuvering one leg over the runner. Then, as he wrapped it around the thing, he also hugged it with both arms. He could let himself fall too, he supposed. But he did not want to deal with Anton in the water. For the moment, he was free of the creep. He breathed a prayer of thanks.
The sounds of wailing sirens stunned him again. As he watched, a squad car drove up near the pier and two officers jumped out, hastening down the wooden planks just as Anton managed to reach the structure himself. They bent down, grasping his arms and hauling him out of the water as he struggled and protested. The glint of what must be handcuffs reached Fakir's vision.
He let out a deep breath. Anton was captured. He had wanted so badly to see it happen and now it had. He was truly free.
Now if he could just get off this thing.
It was heading towards the roof of a tall row of warehouses. Fakir glanced from it to him, judging the distance. He might not be a mathematical genius like Autor, but he could figure out some things like this just by looking. Slowly and carefully he uncurled his leg and unwrapped his arms, gripping the runner with his hands again. Then, at just the right moment, he jumped. He bent his legs, landing firmly on the roof.
At first he was slightly jarred from the leap. But then, slowly, he straightened and stumbled back.
For a moment he slumped against the nearby gable, breathing heavily and trying to gather his wits about him. He was alive. He had made it. He could come down and find the police and they would help him find Ahiru and Charon. Everything would be well.
His next breath caught in his throat. As well as it could be, with Autor gone. He slumped further against the gable, several pained tears trickling from his eyes.
Anton had fallen farther than Autor, yet he had hit the water instead of cruel, hard ground. A creep like that was still alive and Autor, who had never deserved death, had met his demise.
Fakir would never forgive himself for causing Autor's fall. And Ahiru would never be the same. She had been so full of life with both of her best friends rallied around her. Now, with one of them absent, she would always feel the hole. Fakir would too.
"I wish," Fakir rasped, turning his gaze to the starry Heavens, "I could have asked your forgiveness for that stupid argument. I can never think of being forgiven for pushing you to your death. I just wonder if Ahiru will forgive me for it."
She would try to reassure him that it had been an accident. Maybe even by now she knew the gang had premeditated it. But would some dark part of her that missed Autor so badly blame Fakir? Why shouldn't she? She was only human. And Fakir blamed himself. He blamed himself so thoroughly, in spite of knowing that the gang had set the whole thing up.
At last he pushed himself away from the wall, moving slowly towards the door leading into the building. He had to come down. If he did not, the police would come looking for him. And he did not want them to find him here, in anguish and despair.
xxxx
As Charon approached the docks and the circling helicopter came into view, Ahiru's heart caught in her throat.
"What if that really is the one and Fakir's up there?" she wailed. "What if that awful Anton guy is hurting him?"
"Try not to think of the worst," Autor said. "Maybe it isn't even the right one. Or maybe it is but everything's alright. Look, is that the police over there?" He pointed to flashing lights by a pier almost directly below the aircraft.
"It is," Charon said. He sped up, anxious to get over there. "And it looks like they're handcuffing someone."
It was difficult not to go over the speed limit in his haste to get to the scene and find out what was going on. Once they were close enough he parked and got out, hurrying over to the gathering. Ahiru and Autor were close behind him. And it was only a moment more before the squad car Kirsch was in pulled up in back of Charon's rental car. They promptly hastened to the group as well.
"What's happened here?" Charon called as they all drew close.
A policeman looked to him in triumph. "We just went fishing," he said with a grin, "and bagged the big one." He indicated the drenched man in handcuffs. "Meet Anton Schuster."
Many emotions crashed through Charon's heart. This was the monster who had orchestrated what had happened to Fakir. He had tried to force the boy to write for him. Who knew what unspeakable horrors Fakir had seen and heard in his presence!
But . . . for Anton to be here, and arrested . . . did that . . . could that . . . mean it was over at last? Did it mean Fakir was safe and he could return to them now?
While these thoughts were still turning over in his mind, Ahiru rushed forward. "And where's Fakir?" she demanded. "Is he okay? He's not still up there, is he?" She looked up at the helicopter.
"No, he jumped onto the roof of that warehouse over there," the policeman told her. "He just went through the door leading down. He'll reach the bottom in a few minutes."
"Did he seem to be alright?" Autor asked.
"From this distance it's hard to say," was the answer. "But he was walking normal, as far as I could see."
Relief and joy swelled in all of their hearts. Ahiru looked to Charon and Autor, beaming. "He's okay!" she exclaimed. "He's coming down and he's okay and we'll see him this time! We'll talk to him and take him back with us and . . . !"
She trailed off when she saw Anton and Charon looking at each other. Both men bore serious, calculating expressions. It was hard to tell who was more repulsed by the other.
"You got Fakir into this mess," Charon growled. "You tried to make him commit criminal acts for you! I'd ask if you had any idea of what you've put him and his friends through, only I know you do and you don't care."
Anton's visage was frozen. "I care only when it affects me," he said.
"And this really affects you!" Ahiru exclaimed. "I hope they don't ever let you out of prison!"
"You deserve it, after what you've done to my son," Charon snarled.
Anton's sour visage now twisted in a mocking sneer. "You aren't his father," he said. "You're nothing but a poor blacksmith who never married and never had children of your own. Fakir's true father held the power of the world in his hands. But just like his son, he was too foolish to use it."
"He was too smart to use it for the likes of you," Charon shot back.
"If Fakir had listened to me, someday he likely would have been powerful enough to overthrow me and take over my empire," Anton said. "Most would willingly kill for such opportunity."
"You're terrible at math!" Ahiru declared. "Most people are good and have integrity. It's just a few that want to do bad things!"
Anton gave a knowing nod. "Such naïveté," he said.
"Perhaps. But your view is likely colored by the company you keep, the same as Ahiru's may be." Autor stepped forward. "In any case, Fakir never wanted power to get ahead in the world."
"Unfortunately, I've learned that," Anton said. "He was a complete waste of my time. And yet, somehow I respect him. I didn't have hold of him at all; he was two steps ahead of me."
Ahiru gave a sharp nod. "Fakir's wonderful. And you're awful!" she reprimanded Anton. Then she frowned, contemplating something in her mind. At last she said, "But you have ended up making it so that we're getting Fakir back finally. So I guess I have to be grateful for that, even though I know you didn't mean to do it."
Anton was regarding her in shock at her speech. "If I had had my way, he would be dead now," he said.
Autor was not surprised, but he was angry. "Yes," he said coldly. "I'm sure he would be." He paused, then added, "If we were still in a fairytale, I'd wonder whether the Monster Raven hadn't eaten your heart. You certainly don't use it in the least."
Anton looked to him. "I must say, I'm surprised that you survived that fall, and without any permanent damage." He sneered again. "Of course, I knew all along that you were alive. Fakir was afraid you were dead. I made him believe it for certain."
Autor's expression darkened. "He'll learn the truth now," he said.
They turned away as Anton was led to the nearest squad car and loaded into the backseat. Meeting the wretch who had started all of this had infuriated all of them. All of them were hoping most sincerely that he would never get out of prison.
Ahiru clenched her fists. "He's horrible!" she cried. "Oh, he makes me so upset!"
"I don't often say things like this, but I could not see anything of value in his eyes," Autor said. "I only saw evil. And you know I don't like to throw that term around."
"I wanted to strike him," Charon admitted.
"And he deserves it," Kirsch commented as he came up to them. He had been standing back, allowing them their meeting with Anton. It had been tempting for him to go and say a few words to the miscreant, but he had not wanted to get in their way. He would find a chance to talk to Anton at the police station.
And as soon as possible, he intended to apply for the state police. That, he had determined over the course of this investigation, was where he belonged. In the future he wanted to take a far more active role in capturing criminals such as Anton Schuster. There were plenty more out there who needed to be reeled in.
For now he sighed, pushing back his hat. "He's not worth wasting our energy on."
Charon nodded. "That was why I held myself back."
"And we don't have to think about him any more right now!" Ahiru said. "Fakir's coming down!"
Autor smiled and turned to her. "You and Charon should greet Fakir first," he said. "It might be too much of a shock for him to see me at the start. Besides," he added, "you and Charon have been waiting so long for this. I can stand by for my turn."
Ahiru opened her mouth to protest. "But . . . !"
Charon silenced her with his announcement. "He's coming!"
xxxx
It only took a few minutes for Fakir to go down the warehouse steps to the ground floor and come out onto the docks, but it felt more like an hour. And the police were right there waiting as soon as he stepped out. He steeled himself, pushing back his grief.
"Are you Fakir?" queried the one in the lead.
"Yeah," Fakir said. "Anton's gang abducted me from Kinkan Town." He glanced up at the sky. The helicopter was still cruising over the area. "Are you going to be able to get that thing down?"
"One of our tech experts is going to override the autopilot and guide it down remotely," the policeman told him.
"But meanwhile, there's someone here who can't wait any longer to see you," said the second, unable to hide a smile.
They both stepped aside as a red-haired blur ran to him, her arms outstretched. "Fakir! Fakir!" she wailed.
Fakir's heart raced as he ran too. There were only several seconds between them, but that was too long. He caught Ahiru in his arms, clutching her tightly as he shut his eyes and trembled.
She was alright! He had wondered and worried about her for so many agonizing days and nights during this treacherous experience. That had been horrible enough, without Anton telling him about the terrible things Ahiru had been going through. And hearing that tape cassette of the torture had nearly stopped his heart. He had only recently realized that Ahiru was no longer under the surveillance of the gang, and that she had never been held captive by them, but it was nothing compared to having her right here with him and seeing that she was safe.
And of course she forgave him. He was certain of that in the way she was embracing him, crying and being mushy and not wanting to let go.
He choked back a sob. He felt just the same.