Author's Note: So this is it, last chapter for this one. Everyone has been wonderful to read and review and I appreciate it more than I can say. This story was written quite a while ago, and there are somethings I might tweak in it and in the sequel, Charades, if I was doing it again right now. That said, I think they still stand on their feet fairly well. There is a sequel to Charades in the works, but it's set a few years later and some of the stories in the middle need to go up first. That will happen over the next few weeks. For a few who have asked/reviewed/messaged about the medical part of this, yes, that's what I do for a day job, and Frank's situation in this story and the next one is based on an actual case, although the young man there was injured by an ATV rollover, not a homicidal revolutionary. He did indeed recover with a year's worth of rehab and is a physically active person again, so it is doable, if not as likely as all of us in the hospital would like. It helps when a hut is most definitely not involved. And yes, Dr. Sianturi sometimes speaks for me a little for the person who asked. Thank you so very much for the support of the story, writing keeps me sane!
CHAPTER 25
Frank flinched from the pinprick, jaw tightening, head resolutely facing the wall.
"That hurts?" Dr. Sianturi watched the young man's face, the slight twitch beneath his eyes barely discernable.
"Yesss. St- st-ings."
The voice was still raspy, gravel churned through razor blades, but compared to three weeks ago any sound from the young man was melodious. They'd been through eight long days after he'd awakened but before he was breathing well enough to extubate, his brother and parents constantly at his bedside, fending off the panic of delirium and enforced helplessness.
Although the doctor never shared the tale with his patients, he knew the pervasive feeling all too well. A sensation that no portion of your body remained your own, obedient only to artificial piping that insinuated itself to your core - the very permission to breathe regulated by nameless strangers calculating whether you lived or died. Perhaps his own experience made him uniquely qualified for critical care, perhaps not. It certainly made him uniquely sensitive to the disorienting terror of finding yourself there, immobile and mute, both the center of attention and completely ignored. Years hadn't dulled that memory at all.
He chastised himself for the melancholy before it could become evident in his expression, surprised at wallowing in the intrusive recollection. There was something about this kid that had gotten under his skin. He moved the sliver of tapered wood down another inch and jabbed lightly again.
"H-hey!" Frank tried to look indignant, but he didn't have the strength yet to pull it off. Sianturi was inflicting pain, yet again, on purpose. Recurring theme lately. My life as a guinea pig, day… day what? Twenty-two? I have no idea anymore. Guess feeling anything in these fingers is supposed to be good. Look like they're carved out of wax.
Two days after they'd removed the ventilator, the doctor had sent an orthopedist and vascular surgeon in to see Frank, discussing the relative merits of proceeding with the first of three planned surgeries on his arm. The risk was higher in doing it so soon after a life threatening episode of sepsis, but the chance of full function in the extremity declined the longer they waited. From that perspective, it had already been far too long.
Frank had been groggy, unable to speak, but he fielded enough yes or no queries to convince both Sianturi and Joe that he understood the question. He made it emphatically clear he wanted to go ahead. Fenton and Laura, however, wanted to wait. A rather pointed discussion about the fact that their son was no longer a minor ensued, Joe not surprisingly taking Frank's side. Not that the idea of exposing his brother to more medical melodrama didn't make him wish they'd spent spring break learning to crochet doilies or herd yaks or something. He just thought it was Frank's call.
Fortunately it had gone fairly well,collar bone back in place and the humerus fracture successfully rebroken and pinned. The first phase of wound closure was done at the same time, but a date with a plastic surgeon for skin grafting would be unavoidable. He'd gotten stronger since, at least if you considered being allowed to hold your own water cup a banner-winner achievement. Staying awake more than an hour at a stretch loomed on the horizon as the next great milestone in life, right up there with first baby steps and college graduation.
"You're doing a little better than yesterday, Frank. Try the lateral fingers for me again."
Frank sighed, but made the attempt. Nothing. The left hand curled into a fist as if in demonstration, pounding once into the mattress. "I'm s-sorry."
"Don't be sorry. You're doing very well. Ten days ago you couldn't move any part of the arm; now it's only those two fingers that won't budge. Ciri will be in after lunch to do the shoulder and elbow physical therapy and you can try the fingers again then."
"Was s-sooner f-for everr-rything els-ssse."
"True, but nerve damage is a fickle thing. Give yourself some more time. Dialysis after physical therapy, and then speech therapy after dinner, ok? Same schedule as yesterday."
"Dialysssis a-gain?" Frank's face fell at the word.
Sianturi had gotten basically the same reaction from the other members of the Hardy clan when he'd first ordered the treatment. "Frank, we've been over this. Your kidney labs are improving every day, but they still require some assistance. I think three more days should do it, and if I am off by a day or two, it still isn't forever."
"Hat-te it." Frank grunted at the slurred pronunciation, yet another item to add to the top ten things to never experience again list. Heck, maybe he was up to a top twenty list by now. Apparently your brain didn't take kindly to leaving half your blood splattered in a cave somewhere.
"I know." The physician paused at the foot of the bed. "Try to eat something this time. I don't suppose you've reconsidered talking to the psychologist?"
"Nn-no."
Joe swooped through the door as the medic exited, making better speed on crutches than most people could without.
"Gonn-na break your n-neck."
"Nah, I've decided against it. Van doesn't like me in turtlenecks, can't imagine the looks of one of those collars would do much for her."
"L-l-looks aren't why V-v-vanessssa d-doesn't like you in a t-turt-tleneck."
Joe flushed, embarrassed. He'd forgotten Frank had spotted the mark on his neck the night before they left home. Least it was gone before their mother had the same opportunity. "Yeah, well." He stared down at the dull tiles, acutely aware the aide with the lunch tray was now glancing between them. "Anyhow, not planning on breaking my neck."
He stepped aside to allow the girl to arrange the lunch in front of Frank. She started to help him with the food, but Joe shook his head. "I've got it."
Frank frowned. Admittedly, the regular meals were more tolerable in taste than the pulverized mush that finally disappeared yesterday, but he needed the aide's assistance to eat them. He didn't want it to be Joe.
"I ordered you a turkey sandwich and a banana – nothing to cut this time."
"Th-thanks." He still needed help pouring the juice – and peeling the banana - but he appreciated the gesture.
"Mom's at the airport finalizing all the travel details, so in four and half days, we should have you back in Bayport. Dr. Sianturi approved it as long as you've been off dialysis with no fluid problems for at least thirty six hours. Even have a nurse set to make the flight." Joe knew Frank wanted to go home, but the resultant smile was wan at best. Maybe a different angle…
"Biff called this morning. Everyone wants to come see you as soon as they can." Biff had flown home at Mr. Hardy's insistence the second day after Frank and Joe arrived in Indonesia.
"N-no." Frank shoved the tray away.
"Hey! It's not filet mignon, but I worked hard pouring that apple juice in a glass. You've got to eat more than that if I have to make ya!" Joe raised an eyebrow in a smirk, trying to draw Frank out of the funk he'd been all morning -with unfortunately exactly the opposite result.
"Y-you going to m-make me, t-too?"
The slow stutter made the mood of his words hard to interpret, but something haunted flickered fleetingly through his deep brown eyes. Desperation, maybe even fear, that he squashed too quickly to ever have to admit it was there - to anyone but Joe, anyway. Fleeting or not, he'd spotted it as clearly as a neon billboard.
"Frank?" Joe rolled the comments around, acknowledging they no longer had anything to do with lunch. Setting the tray table aside, he pulled his chair in closer. "No, I'm not."
"N-not what?"
"I'm not going to make you do anything." Joe searched for an easy entry to the conversation that was etching its way across his brother's features. Trying to joke about hospital food, he'd triggered an avalanche. "Not many choices in what happens to you lately, huh?"
"N-none." Okay, so technically he'd made the decision about the arm surgery. At the moment, Frank's mind was more on how it had been damaged in the first place.
"Bad selection of words on my part. I know you turned Dr. Sianturi down, but sooner or later, you're going to have to talk about whatever happened on Ranei before I found you."
"I'm ok-kay."
"And I'm king of France. I've been sitting in here when you're asleep, Frank. The nightmares are, umm, let's go with impressive." As opposed to downright heartrending, for example. More accurate, but not a description utilized by teenage boys.
"N-no ch-choices now either."
Joe did his best to stay still in the chair, his foot's capabilities not matching his urge to fidget. "It'll get better." Somehow that didn't convey what he wanted to say at all. "Can I ask you something?"
"D-do I g-get to v-vote?" Frank wasn't looking at him anymore.
"Yes! You do!" Joe ran a hand over his face. "Physically I can tell you're so much better than a few weeks ago here, or in the village with Reza, but…"
"B-but att-titude st-stinks."
Something halfway to a snort escaped Joe. "I was really trying not to phrase it quite that way, but yeah. What's going on in there?"
"N-nothing."
"Frank…" Joe waited it out, eventually rewarded with more of an answer.
He stared at the squares on the ceiling a long while. "I th-thought I'd d-die." A minute gesture stopped the sharp intake of breath from Joe that signaled an impending interruption. "Or n-not. Th-this is l-limbo. N-not d-dead, but not m-me. The mili-itia f-fort w-was… w-was… R-Rao... he... " Frank stopped, frustrated. "C-can't talk."
"You can talk to me about anything you want. Anything, Frank."
His left hand knotted the sheets into a wad. "N-no. Lit-terally c-c-can't talk! C-c-can't sit. C-can't ea-t l-lunch. N-need a p-pill to k-keep f-from sc-screaming if I m-m-move. Can't s-stand." The water glass by the bed sailed to the floor in anger, unlamented by either of them. "N-no one w-will treat m-m-me l-like me."
Human nature made Joe's first instinct to deny that, but it wasn't what his brother needed. "You're a lot stronger than you were. Give it some more time."
"Y-you and S-s-s-san… S-san…sssss … Doc rehearse th-that speech? N-not what I m-meant."
"What do you mean?"
"M-mom p-pats m-me on th-the head, D-dad s-smiles and-d says e-everyth-thing's ok-k. I'm n-not t-two."
"Everybody was afraid for you; Frank, and maybe now we're wrapping you up in cotton batting a bit. Maybe we should give it some time too." Joe looked down, industriously studying his knees. "I'm not doing that, am I?"
"Y-yes."
"How?"
"Wh-what are y-you and D-d-dad up to?"
"Nothing. Dad's talked to the embassy a few times making sure we're clear to travel. I went with him yesterday since Mom was sitting with you, that's all."
"Joe!" Frank clicked his teeth together tightly enough that Joe heard it. "Y-you cut m-me off-f twice y-yester-day 'b-bout Chet. K-know y-you're w-w-working on it-t-t. T-talk t-to me."
"How about a trade? I'll 'fess up if you will?" Joe squared gazes with his sibling again. "You can't bottle all this up much longer. If not me, then talk to the psychologist; or Mom and Dad… or Callie when we get home, whatever's easiest."
Frank shook his head. "N-not yet."
"You'll have to soon."
"I k-know. N-not now… but w-when I d-do, it'll b-be you."
Joe nodded, accepting that was as far as show and tell was going today, at least from Frank's direction. As far as being up to something with his father, well… "So what do you want to know?"
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"It is a humbling thing to fail at a simple task, is it not? Especially when one has not truly exerted the effort it requires and knows the fault is one's own." Clipboard leaned a hip against the table's edge, perusing a handful of documents while berating the man seated before him.
"There was nothing simple about it, Colonel. They haven't been out of that hospital building in days except for one very well escorted trip to the airport. Fenton Hardy's arranged enough security around the ICU ward that I'm surprised the doctors can enter." Nicolas Shuman sulked, not pleased with the direction of the conversation.
"Come now, the assignment is simple. I want the Hardy's dead. Hmm, except Laura perhaps. If the option arises, bring her to me, but accomplish the job. The details of what it takes to do so are of no importance. In any event, you are incorrect. Mr. Hardy has made a number of trips to the embassy to speak with Mr. Dahl. You should keep closer tabs on your prior employer. I have little doubt that he does so in regards to you."
Shuman rearranged the contents of his pockets, slouching in the chair. "Fenton made those trips alone. There was no opportunity to get at all of them."
Clipboard slammed the papers down in exasperation. "Are you that much of a simpleton? I would hardly expect Frank or Joseph to be waltzing about the town. Kill the father; you will draw out the sons. And when you do decide to heed my advice and track down Mr. Dahl, I believe you will find it easier than expected."
Nicolas clasped his fingers together, attempting to hide his dislike for the man before him. It wasn't an especially safe opinion to have. "How so?"
"One of my other ah, associates, invited Mr. Dahl to join us last evening."
"You captured Elias?! He's here?" Shuman couldn't help standing up.
"I believe I just said that, yes? Sit. Down."
In spite of his current situation, Nicolas wasn't that fond of turning Elias over to these people. They'd worked together a long time. Not friends precisely, more coworkers with an appreciation for one another's methods. "How's he responding to this 'invitation'?
"He appears to have some reservations, although Rao is negotiating the matter with him as we speak." Clipboard appeared disinterested in the process. "We shall see."
"I wouldn't expect him to fall in line with whatever you've got in mind."
"He can fall in line, or simply fall, I will accept either outcome." The militia leader circled closer to the man before him. "As to the other matter, I believe when you are having trouble hunting something, the typical mechanism is to use bait, correct?"
"I guess so. But if I do as you suggest and shoot Fenton the next time he sets foot out of the hospital, that may not make it any easier to get to the rest of them. Given the medical issues with the boys, Laura may still put them both on a plane home."
"Are American children of their age truly that obedient to their mothers? I do not spend an appreciable amount of time studying their culture, I admit, but that was not the impression I had."
Shuman shook his head. "It isn't about obedience. Frank Hardy is too ill to do anything right now and I don't think Joe will leave his side – even to avenge a murdered father. A kidnapped one perhaps, but without some time urgency to the situation, he'll follow his brother home."
"Kidnapping would allow me to continue my delightful discourse with the elder Hardy as he rudely departed my company before we had completed our conversation, but I can not risk it. Fenton is the larger threat; kill him as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Surely you can breach hospital security and eliminate the need to lure the others out?" Clipboard looked genuinely perplexed rather than pedantic for once.
"The goons around that place aren't all hospital security. Mr. Hardy called in some favors from the looks of it."
"Annoying but predictable. Their trip to the airport will be the most exposed time then, but perhaps some additional bait would prove useful as insurance. Something not of any risk to me, but still of value to a grieving son?"
"Like what?"
Clipboard tossed a photograph at the other man. "They have been making inquiries, have they not?"
Nicolas chuckled as he studied the image. "Oh yeah. This might just work. Kid looks scared to death."
"Good then." Clipboard smiled. "I trust you will have more success infiltrating that piece of paper into the hospital than you have had with yourself."
"Yes."
"Excellent, the matter is settled then, although I am still somewhat disappointed the task has taken this long." He paused in front of the chair, far closer than social politeness permitted. "It is simple."
"No, it is not. I'm tired of you acting like I'm an idiot. You couldn't manage to hang a boy that was already beaten half to death, so don't tell me how simple it is!" Nicolas cringed when he realized the outburst that had been in his head for an hour had managed to escape into the room.
Clipboard smiled, a wide malevolent smile full of glee. "That is a commentary you will come to regret." He waved the young soldier at the doorway into the large tent. "Would you find Rao and ask him to step in here, please?"
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"Laura, I'm sorry, but I made an agreement with the man. Once I get all of you settled in Bayport, I'll fly back here."
Laura sighed, already knowing she'd lose this argument, but not willing to give in quite yet. "You don't make agreements with a snake."
"I don't like Elias either, but it was the fastest way to get air transportation for Frank." Fenton closed the foot wide gap to his wife, twining both arms around her shoulders. The cane he'd graduated to the day before clattered to the floor as he pulled her in. "I made a promise."
"More like you made a deal with the devil." She dipped her head, allowing Fenton's chin to come to rest on her hair.
"Maybe I did at that." His voice was soft now, no hint of contention in it. "If it gets our boys home, I'd do it again."
The stood there a long time, making peace with the situation more so than with each other.
"How soon?" Laura's question was muffled against his chest.
"I can spend a week or two at home, at the most."
She nodded, the gesture felt rather than seen. It was as much as she had expected. "Do the boys know?"
"Joe does."
That brought a smile. "So they do then."
He tightened the hug. "Yeah, I guess so." He pushed her hair back behind an ear, starting a trail of kisses at her temple.
"Fenton!" The stage whisper was easily heard through the fortunately vacant waiting room.
"What?"
"We're in the middle of the hospital…"
"And?"
Laura chuckled, writing it off as hopeless. She stood on her toes to kiss him properly. "And I love you."
"I love you too, Laura."
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"W-what are you thinking a-about?" Frank was still aggravated by the stutter, but the last five days had brought some improvement.
"Just thinking." Joe tried to rearrange his expression to something less introspective. While Frank was more himself the last few days, he still hadn't talked about what happened in the prison on Ranei. Joe figured that meant he still had plenty of his own demons occupying the space in his head without throwing Joe's in there.
"About D-dad c-c-coming back here? We c-can help with re-research f-from home."
"Yeah, I figured we would. That's not what I was thinking about though."
Frank stared another minute. "Well, w-whatever it is-s, I'd s-stop thinking ab-about it. Y-you look like y-you ate lemons and f-found out about a c-c-calculus pop quiz at-t the s-same time."
Joe managed a half smile. "I'll take the lemons and calculus. You feel up to going home in the morning?"
"Y-yeah, already a day late, so r-ready. T-tell me."
Although Frank was still keeping his sentences clipped, Joe had no trouble discerning his attempt to change the subject had failed. Somewhere in the last twenty four hours, Frank had become the big brother again.
"The Mortons."
Frank ran his left hand through his hair, a mirror image of his usual gesture. "Y-you said M-mom and D-dad called th-them?"
"Yeah, Dad's talked to them four times that I know of. Biff's been out to the farm a lot, too." Joe stopped, at a complete loss. "I feel like I should go out there as soon as we get home, but I don't think I can face them. Not after Iola. Now with Chet…"
"J-Joe, n-not your fault – either t-time."
"Wasn't it? My car, Frank, and I'm the one that decided to lead a jungle expedition in a war zone."
"Our c-car, and Ch-chet agreed-d to go with you. An ex-expedition I'd be d-dead without."
"Yeah." Joe rose to look out the window. "I just can't imagine walking into that house.
"W-was there any way you c-could look for Chet after he l-left?"
"No, but…"
"And y-you and Dad are l-looking now?"
"Yes, but…"
"B-but what?"
"We're leaving here without him. It feels wrong, Frank."
"Is wr-wrong. Not the s-same thing as b-being your fault. If th-there was a cr-credible lead, then y-you should s-stay. Y-you're not holding out on m-me again?"
"I already apologized for that, Frank." Joe turned back to the bed, regretting his aggravated tone instantly. "Sorry. No, there's no lead worth pursuing. It's like he disappeared off the face of the earth. I'm afraid he's dead and what am I supposed to say to his parents? They ought to truly hate me."
"Th-they won't. T-tell them wh-what you told me. Tell th-them Chet was brave enough t-to keep the s-soldiers from f-finding you and B-biff. T-tell them if y-you'd gotten caught, then I'd be dead." Frank paused, panting slightly from the longest speech he'd made. "Th-they'll be s-sad and maybe angry at first, but p-proud of Chet."
"I know they'll be proud of him, but it's not much to trade for a son."
"N-no. It isn't." The silence stretched out, insidious in invisible coils. Sometimes, there isn't anything else to say.
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Fenton rummaged through his pocket for his borrowed cell phone, irritated that Dahl was late calling him. It didn't matter, really; he had some theories he didn't particularly want to discuss on the telephone anyway. His footsteps clacked across the marble flooring of the hospital lobby, headed for the embassy.
The minute he stepped into the sunshine something felt off; the milling crowd near the coffee house a little too arranged. He edged closer to the sandstone and brick façade of the building, his hand grazing his hip in search of a gun he didn't have. The guard at the hospital door was one he didn't recognize and didn't seem cognizant of the charged atmosphere. Of course, maybe it simply didn't bother him.
That thought hit Fenton about the same time the first shot hit the brick behind his left ear. The shot the hospital guard fired. The detective flattened himself to the ground, sending the follow up round over his head as he rolled behind a stone planter. The large pot was more than adequate for the roses it hosted, but not as much for sheltering the coiled detective. A chunk of it gave way to the third bullet, allowing the projectile the slightest access to his arm. He jerked it back, opposite fingers instinctively probing the burning scratch. Crud. Third time this year. A record.
Additional security poured out from the building, surrounding their wayward colleague, while a siren could be heard approaching. Three shots in a main city street was not the norm here. Fenton peered out, watching until the officers emerged from their vehicle. The crowd had instantly melted, the surrounding storefronts spontaneously transformed into a ghost town. Shakily standing, he went to speak to police.
The fake security guard was violently shaking his head in denial, but no one seemed inclined to believe him. The attention shifted to Fenton as soon as the officers spotted the red trail winding down the formerly white shirt.
Fenton answered their questions rapidly, sadly dissuading them from the idea that everything was well in hand with the guard arrested. The third round had come from the opposite direction. A physician had come out from the hospital, fluttering about his arm as he did his best to ignore her, instead texting a single word to his wife. Maybe Joe insisting on teaching him how to do that wasn't such a bad deal.
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Laura pulled the buzzing phone from her purse, assuming Fenton had forgotten to tell her something. Instead the message was extraordinarily blunt. "Go."
She made two hurried phone calls before calming her steps to walk into the medical step down ward. The staff was whispering behind the desk, the gossip from the street undoubtedly here ahead of her. Laura remained unaware of that topic of conversation, focused instead on orchestrating the plan her husband had laid out days ago.
Joe sat on the edge of Frank's bed, the two of them lost in conversation.
"Joe, can I see you a minute?"
Joe made a your guess is as good as mine shrug at his brother and followed their mother into the hall. "Sure."
Laura uncharacteristically wrapped her fingers around Joe's forearm to lead him a short distance from Frank's door. "I need you to gather up all of Frank's things, now. There shouldn't be that much."
"What's wrong?" Her nervousness was obvious to him.
"I don't know yet. Your dad sent a message; we need to be at the airport in a half hour. The ambulance crew to transport Frank should be here any minute."
"Where's Dad?"
"No idea. Now go – and don't upset your brother."
Joe was already moving back to the room as Laura headed for the desk, but he called back over a shoulder. "Only thing that's going to upset Frank is pretending there's not a problem."
He started cramming the meager personal contents of the hospital room into a plastic bag as soon as he entered. "Looks like we're leaving for home early."
"W-why?"
"Dad crashed it." Laura wouldn't have recognized the reference, but Frank certainly did. The situation had taken a potential dangerous turn and everyone needed to stop whatever they were doing and get to a rendezvous point. One of their father's earliest lessons, the signal for instituting crash down had always been merely 'go,' and it was a no questions, no excuses, hard and fast rule. In this case, the meeting point appeared to be the airport.
"D-dad ok?"
"I don't know, Frank."
A noise in the door made them both turn that way, Joe grabbing the heaviest thing he could spot on short notice.
"I'm fine unless your brother wallops me with that." Fenton gave the meal tray a dubious glance.
Both brothers saw the stained sleeve at the same time. "D-Dad?"
"Later, it's a scratch." He frowned at Joe's raised eyebrows. "Really. The ambulance is here."
"Fl-flight's not until t-tomorrow." Frank knew the arrangements for medical transport had been tedious.
"I've had a private flight on standby. Looks like that's an option we'll be using." Fenton stepped aside as the paramedics arrived and transferred Frank to a stretcher.
"G-gonna cost a fortune D-Dad." Frank grimaced as he shifted to the other bed.
"You're my son, Frank, and as they say, it's only money. Let's go. Pay attention and keep your head down."
The police escort to the airport was vigilant, allowing no further fireworks to mar the escape. From the outside of the vehicle, anyway. Joe could overhear a somewhat lively exchange from the backseat as Laura bandaged the so called scratch.
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"Explain 'got away." A deep plum color suffused the furious militant's face.
"Colonel, all I can do is apologize. I was certain the operative at the hospital would be able to get to Fenton at least. The swift exodus to the airport was unanticipated." Nicolas chewed at his split and bleeding lower lip, seeking a hint in Clipboard's expression as to whether he would live out the day.
"Anticipating the enemy is part of your job. Something I would advise you to remember."
Remember. Then Clipboard wasn't going to kill him outright. "Of course. I could be in New York by morning if you want me to pursue this there."
"No, Nicolas. You have permitted the flies to leave your web, and we shall have to accept that circumstance for the time being. While I believe they still present a risk, the danger of additional international interference in our affairs will only be increased by eliminating an American family on their native soil. Leave the Hardys be, as long as they do not return to Ranei."
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Frank was unknowingly covering similar topics thirty thousand feet over the Pacific Ocean. "If y-you stay away, w-we may be in the c-c-clear."
Joe smiled; relieved to be on the way home despite his trepidation about what awaited him. "Trust me, dude, there is nothing that could make me set foot on Ranei again."
Frank nodded, content, and let his eyes slide closed.
The stack of papers in Joe's lap scattered at some turbulence, revealing a manila envelope he hadn't opened yet. Half a stack of papers would be more accurate, actually, as Fenton had the other half, each of them putting the long flight time to good use.
He slit the envelope flap with his finger, extracting a note and photograph from within. "Except maybe this."
Sleepy as he was, Frank heard the gasped utterance clearly. Joe's face alarmed him, suddenly pale and vaguely clammy. The photo remained clasped in white knuckled fingers.
"G-give me."
Wordlessly Joe handed the items to his sibling.
He would have loved to blame the slow roll of his stomach on the erratic motion of the plane. Eventually Frank dropped the picture to the blanket across his chest, studying the simply written note instead. The letters were large and shaky, obviously crafted with difficulty, but he recognized the handwriting.
"I'm still here. Chet."
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The landing in Bayport six hours later was a subdued affair, all of them lost in various thoughts of what had begun as a two week vacation almost six weeks ago. The sun and surf had transformed into dungeon and nightmare, and apparently it wasn't over.
Somewhere past the security checkpoint, Gertrude was waiting for them. She'd given them some warning that an ad hoc reception committee lurked as well. Biff, Callie, Vanessa, Phil, Tony, even Ezra and Con were beyond those doors somewhere. For now though, it was just the four of them, naked honesty in the expressions that would shortly be replaced with welcome home game-faces.
Fenton fingered the crook of the cane grasped in his hand, the other arm draped over Laura's slightly hunched shoulders. She had a hand on the metal rails of Frank's gurney, as did Joe from the opposite side. Joe leaned forward there on one of his crutches, the other propped against the wall beside him. As soon as the nurse finished signing a few papers for the airline, they'd all reenter a familiar world very different from the one they'd just escaped. As much as you can escape something that engraves itself on your memory and threatens to claim one of your friends.
A stranger from another flight walked past the odd ensemble, openly gawking at the assorted bandages and splints. Caught, she made the only comment that came to mind. "Rough flight?"
A glance passed between the foursome in an instant, stress and worry ceding the floor to near hysteria as choked laughter broke out. "You could say that."
FINIS
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