~oOo~
Jim laid Blair down on the far side of Lucas's bed. The teenager hadn't stirred an inch since falling asleep just before dinner and, given the circumstances of the day, sleep was more beneficial to the kid at the moment than food. Not forcing the bed issue with Blair and feeling his own need to keep the child close, he'd let his son fall asleep in front of the TV before moving him upstairs.
Flicking on the overhead fan to try and alleviate some of the heat from the warm, stuffy room, Jim adjusted a sheet over Blair's sleeping body. Leaving Lucas uncovered, he palmed away the moisture from the boy's sweat-dotted brow. "It's just me," he assured when Lucas stirred at the intrusion in his room. "Blair's in the bed with you." Lucas sleepily acknowledged the comment before flipping over. His fingers brushed against Blair's pajama top and it didn't take long for him to settle back down.
After double checking to make sure the latch on the window was secure, Jim peered out into a strangely moonless night, scanning the landscape only as far as the porch light would allow. His senses had been off kilter all night and, although he'd made a concerted effort to get them to cooperate, his hearing and eyesight wouldn't elevate beyond that of a normal level. Never truly comfortable with relying on the somewhat foreign and fickle nature of the so-called gift he'd been given, he shrugged off the inconvenience and let his detective instincts take over. His gut feeling was telling him that keeping the members of the household in close proximity was his first priority. His second was to be vigilant and prepared for whatever the night might bring. The chance of Max Wilder returning wasn't high on the list of probabilities but, not willing to store his faith in chance, Jim let his training and his intuition call the shots.
With the impenetrable darkness unwilling to give up the secrets it harboured within the confines of its shadows, Jim let the blind flutter closed. The sound of crickets and the sporadic barking of a neighbour's dog in the distance settled over him, bringing a sense of normality and order to a night where even the stars refused to shine.
Outside the window, a jaguar prowled restlessly, while a Chopec warrior watched without taking action.
~oOo~
Since Robert Wilder felt the means to an end well within his grasp, he could afford to be patient. He watched the blind close and scanned adjacent windows, before emerging from the tree line. Stepping onto the gravel path, as quietly as the stones beneath his feet would allow, he crept toward the side of the house. The back door, which had been bolted and locked, opened with a simple twist of the handle and the man with a soul as black and as sinister as the darkness that concealed his presence found himself wrestling with a decision. He could keep to the details of his original plan and attach the tracking devise to the cop's truck, waiting for the camping trip that had been so obvious in its preparation earlier that day to come to fruition, or he could deviate slightly and eliminate right here and now the only obstacle which he could see standing between himself and his ultimate targets.
The young child that Lucas had seemingly taken a shine to had not only become a convenient bargaining chip, but also a ripe, juicy cherry on top of an already delicious ice cream sundae. The cop was and had always been of no consequence to his plan, and whether Robert killed him now or later was of no real importance. They'd all be missed eventually, but eventually was a concept that was nothing more than matter of time, and he had plenty of time. Maybe it would be easier this way. He'd have it neatly wrapped up and could be on the road toward the border without the trouble of tracking the happy little family to the back woods of god knows where.
Cocking his head toward the second floor and listening intently for any sound or movement, Robert smiled evilly. "Too much bear shit in the woods, anyway," he muttered as his smug, superior nature endorsed his change of plans. He'd actually been surprised at how easy it was for him to gain access to the house. Lucas had either kept mum about seeing Max, or else the cop he'd hitched up with was just a plain ass dumb.
Almost laughing, Robert moved arrogantly toward the stairs, but his overconfident swagger suddenly pulled up short when an eerie chill ran through his body.
Incacha stood tall and strong, blocking Wilder's path. On the eve of an event that never should have been brought to pass, the warrior reluctantly stayed true to the dictates of the council. The man with the heart of pure evil would be given the freedom to roam, as long as he did not stray from the path that had been set out before him. A locked door conveniently unlatched, notifications of an unjust release swallowed under a mountain of paperwork, and a sentinel dulled and stripped of all sense and instinct until the intruder within his territory was long gone.
The day of reckoning would soon be at hand and, when it arrived, Incacha knew that he would stand strong and proud by the side of his sentinel. But until that day arose, the council's wishes would be upheld and Wilder would stay true to his destiny.
"What the holy fuck!" Robert blinked several times in order to clear his vision. He could have sworn on the grave of his crazy old grandmother that he'd just seen a half-naked Indian standing on the bottom stair. Blinking again, another chill swept violently over him, this time causing him to visibly shake and drop the knife clumsily from his hand.
Frozen momentarily, listening for any sign of movement that his careless mistake may have caused, Wilder endeavoured to pull himself together. Quickly snatching the knife from the tiled floor, he hastily made his way through the door that led to the garage. Dropping to the ground, he slid under the truck and attached the tracking device to the chassis. After making sure it was secure, he pulled himself out and cautiously retraced his footsteps, giving a sigh of relief when he was back out in the night air. As he made his way across the lawn toward the trees, the darkness that had hidden him before offered no solace. He felt a very real presence behind him, making the hairs on his neck bristle. For the first time in a very long time, Robert Wilder was afraid.
Slamming the car door shut and ignoring his brother's incoherent mumble, Robert shifted the car into drive and gunned the engine. Speeding recklessly down the main street of the quiet suburban neighbourhood, Robert let his anger and self-loathing at the spinelessness of his actions envelope him. He looked with disgust at the weak creature in the seat next to him, lashing out with a blow to his brother's lax face. Max was the coward of the family, not him. He was the strong one. He was the one who held the power; the one who, no matter what, got his way because he was the one who had the balls reach out and take what he wanted. He was not a pathetic coward – that role belonged to his brother.
Screeching around the corner into what appeared to be an uninhabited side street, Robert pulled up sharply, the tyres of the stolen four-wheel drive slamming into the curb, and stopping in front of a poorly-lit park. With his emotions still raging, he grabbed his brother by the collar and yanked him roughly across the seat and out the door. Losing his patience as the pitiable, drug-addicted man stumbled and staggered across the grass, Robert finally came to a stop and slammed Max down, chest first, onto a wooden picnic table. A snap of a buckle, a yank on a zipper, and legs that were no longer clad with denim were forcibly kicked apart. His brother grunted under the brutal force of his penetration, the whimpering noise only serving to spur him on. "Control," he ground out, slamming harder and deeper into Max. "I will not let you be taken away from me."
Release was quick and brutal and, as always when he abused his brother, came with a multitude of jumbled emotions. Pulling free with a care and tenderness that belied the act he'd just performed, he covered his brother's body with his own. "It's okay," he comforted gently, kissing the back of Max's head. "We'll get your boy back and we will be family again. If nothing else, I promise you that."
Max neither listened nor cared about this brother's words. There was no reaction or acknowledgement as his jeans were pulled up and his belt fastened. The ache that would rip through his body in the hours to come would be taken care of by the prick of a single needle. That was Max Wilder's world now, and all he cared about.
~oOo~