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WHEN IT RAINS IT POURS

Chapter Nine

-o-

On a long and narrow curvy road stretched across a dry and rocky landscape was an old dirty Four Wheel Drive. That huge car was speeding westwards into the sunset, leaving behind a billowing trail of dust. In the car were two men, one younger and one older.

The younger one, who was also the driver, lifted his eyes from the road for an instant, to silently bid goodbye to the blurred and shadowy silhouette of the Smokey Mountains on his rearview mirror that were slowly fading away into the darkening background. That fulfilling part of his life was over, and he was looking forward to more challenges with his father in the foreseeable future.

The older man who shared many similar features with the younger was studying a huge map spread out across his lap, trying to decide the exact location where they should be heading next. His eyes fell on his watch, and he smiled. Fenton and his friends should be closing in on the mountain cabin, if they were not already there. He left behind such obvious clues, and planned everything so well, that he was confident that Fenton would get to his younger son before the effects of the drugs wear out totally.

First, there was the obvious torture and murder in a neighboring town to bring Fenton into the area. A seemingly accidental stopover at a small independent roadside grocery left a crucial clue pointing Hardy in the right direction. Finally, there was this well-timed robbery cum murder scene, with a surviving witness just so that she could tell Hardy where his hideout was. Then he and his son left town using a roundabout route, never returning to the cabin.

Andrew Kempton was still a little irritated by the fact that Joseph had the temerity thwart his original plan. Then again, there were many ways to inflict physical pain, and even more ways to inflict emotional pain. A true professional like him could well appreciate the tenacity of one like Joseph, just as he admire the strength of will of both Fenton and Frank Hardy. It was because of his respect for all those characters that he expended so much time and effort thinking, plotting, and planning. They were worthy adversaries, and the pleasure was worth every second of his time and energy.

Those poor, poor Hardys… As Andrew imagined the scene that would play out, he felt a pleasure so intense, he could almost taste it. Joseph's last hours would be intensely uncomfortable, but it would be Fenton and Frank that would have to live with the consequences.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end, Andrew Kempton sighed regretfully. After all, one of the keys to his long term survival in this cat and mouse game with the law was to know when to move on. He seriously doubt if he would be able to derive as much pleasure from any of his future victims. Then again, one could never be certain what the future holds, he concluded philosophically.

As he returned his attention to the map on his lap, he could not help but to wonder, would it be the father or the son who would have the honor of driving Joseph over the edge?

-o-

It was a reasonably big and coordinated operation involving the local sheriffs, the local park rangers, the state police, the FBI and several other detectives and officers from neighboring states. They were determined to end the twenty-plus-years killing spree by two of the wiliest serial killers they ever encountered. This time, they believed they had the best chance to do so. Simply because this time, the killer went personal. And that, according to all textbook theories, was when killers made mistake and get caught.

The members of the various law enforcement agencies worked together swiftly and efficiently. They had just this one chance of surprising and cornering the Kemptons. That was because, unbeknownst to the Kemptons, they left behind a living witness. Rachel Johnson of Gatlinburg was critically injured but still aware enough to want justice for her dead son and husband. She told the sheriff she overheard Andrew telling William they needed to bring some gear back to Gunter's place. That was the old ranger cabin halfway up the Old Black.

Within an hour of Rachel's statement, road blocks were set up at all potential escape routes. All remaining men were then divided into three teams, each taking one of the three known dirt tracks leading up close to that cabin. They knew they would have to cover the final mile or so on foot, depending which route they were on. They took with them two trained Alsatians, in case the Kemptons made a dash for the woods. Finally, they had two paramedics and a small paramedic van following at the rear. They have been briefed about a teenage boy, and that boy could be in bad physical or mental shape.

It was late afternoon by the time the men quietly converged on the cabin in the woods that had lain silent and forgotten for decades. It was clearly lived in, but it was also empty. Some of the men gnashed their teeth in frustration, bemoaning the possibility that the Kemptons were alerted to their coming and had made another getaway. But wait! Perhaps the Kemptons were just out hunting or something and that perhaps they should just withdrew and wait outside, one of the officers suggested. Set the dogs loose, another suggested. If the Kemptons were just alerted, they could not have gone far. Another officer yelled that the dogs found something. It was a hidden door leading underground. They opened it and were greeted by an incredible stench of rotting flesh and perhaps more. One of the younger officers rushed out of the cabin to puke in the bushes.

Camden CSI Detective Sean Freeman shook his head at the pale-faced youthful officer, pulled out his handkerchief from his pocket, covered his nose and carefully made his way down the little hellhole. He knew two of the older and more experienced officers followed to back him up, but the only thought on his mind was to find out if there were any bodies or survivors to be found. Even with all his years dealing with numerous gruesome murders, he was unprepared for the sight that greeted him. The wall before him was a neat array of medical tools and medieval torture gears. The sharp metallic tools were so clean they gleamed evilly in the pale beam from his old torchlight. Stacked against the wall to his left was what he could best describe as a bloodied butcher's worktable and a bin that was overflowing with rotting biological parts that was causing the stink in the room. The only thing he could say from his first glance was that nothing in that bin appeared human, which could be a relief… or not.

A movement and a low moan from the darkest corner caught his attention. He turned and headed deeper into the shadows…

This was Joseph Hardy he was looking at, he knew without a doubt, even though the boy before him looked nothing like the photograph of that carefree healthy teenager that the father and brother had so willingly shared with him. The groveling and naked creature at his feet was all skin and bones and covered with bleeding sores. He was instantly reminded of an old documentary he watched about the old lepers' colonies.

Still… the boy was alive! Sixteen weeks after he was kidnapped by the Kemptons, Joseph Hardy was still alive, and that was a miracle, Detective Freeman thought as he sent one of the other two for the paramedics. Then he knelt down to make himself less intimidating and started talking to the clearly terrified and sick boy in soft soothing tones.

-o-

"Joe's in that cabin, Dad. I know he is… I just know…"

Frank Hardy stood behind a shrub just within sight of the old Gunter's cabin with his father, as politely requested by the officer-in-charge of this operation. His entire body was coiled tensed as a wound up spring as he fought against his natural instinct to rush to the cabin and to his brother's rescue. His fingers were clenched so tight, it hurts. His Dad was not in much better shape, he could see his Dad's fingers gripping so tightly to the tree trunk it looked like Fenton was going to gorge a chunk off the bark with his bare hands.

"He is," his Dad answered in a low calm voice that belied his nervousness.

Because Andrew had already all but stated it would be so… both father and son were thinking at the back of their minds.

Yet despite their fears, they stood and waited as they were told. They had a deal with the FBI; they could come along but only if they stay in the background and let the respective officers do their job. The FBI did not want the Hardys to be directly involved on the ground operation because they believed that the situation might become just too personal for the Hardys. Fenton Hardy agreed most reluctantly on the condition that he was allowed to participate in the planning but he would stay back during the execution of the operation – the father understood the value of the assistance of a national agency like the FBI when it comes to hunting down and apprehending someone as cunning and sneaky as Andrew Kempton.

Frank understood his father's, the other detectives' and police's concerns. He was there when Andrew Kempton stood over him and taunted him and tormented him. He was there when his Dad and Sam tried unsuccessfully to track down Andrew's movements from Bayport. He was there in Camden when they found the Kemptons' hideout at the old waterfront. They tracked the rather distinctive tire tracks and flecks of blue paint all they way down south to Cape May before the Kemptons disappeared mysteriously into thin air. It was almost as if the Kemptons drove straight into the Atlantic, Detective Freeman quipped darkly as the three of them stood at an isolated lookout and stared into the endless blue of the Atlantic. Two days later, the blue van was pulled out of the ocean. It was almost as if the Kemptons had anticipated their thoughts and strove to meet it with their own brand of morbid humor. Frank knew exactly how his Dad felt and what his Dad meant when he said: we did every thing right but Andrew was just several steps ahead.

But Andrew Kempton could not continue forever. Eventually, that man would make mistakes, and then he would be caught. He already made at least one – Andrew clearly underestimated Joe. But let the arrest be the job of the officers of the law. All Frank cared about was getting his brother back. Nothing else mattered. Frank returned his focus to the cabin that was barely visible from where he stood and waited. He knew, and his father knew, that there would be no holding him back the moment he sees his brother. Then again, that part had nothing to do with the actual capture of the Kemptons. The FBI should not complain about him interfering if he was to rush forward, or so the dark haired youth reasoned.

The minutes, the seconds crawled by…

"Frank… Joe might not…"

As Fenton's hesitant voice faded off, Frank knew his father was referring to the note that Andrew left behind at the Atlantic Views apartment back in Bayport. Andrew was wrong. He would never reject his own brother. And Joe might be a little confused and appalled by whatever he thought he did at first, but with tender loving care, Joe would eventually recover. Frank believed in that with every fiber of his being, only because the alternative was unthinkable and unacceptable to him.

"Joe will probably be in bad shape. He will need time. But he's strong," he told his father and willed his father to share in his confidence. "And we'll be there for him every step of the way…"

"Mr. Hardy…"

Frank, like his father, swiveled around at that familiar voice. Detective Freeman was approaching from behind, his expression grave. He waited with bated breath.

"Joseph is currently being treated by the paramedics…"

Both father and son heaved a huge sigh of relief as they turned in unison and started to head towards the paramedic truck that was parked a 'safe' distance away from the Gunter's cabin. Detective Freeman stepped in and blocked their path, earning two dark glares.

"He's in a bad shape," Freeman warned.

Frank nodded automatically – he wished otherwise, but he expected that. Again he tried to move pass Freeman.

"Physically as well as mentally…" Freeman added in a hard and serious tone that got both his and Dad's full attention. "Joseph's in an extremely volatile state of mind, shifting quickly from sheer terror to rage to almost unresponsive passivity. His pupils are dilated, indicating he is heavily drugged. The paramedics have no idea what he was given, and he is not responding to the usual sedatives…"

Frank and his Dad closed their eyes for an instant. That was all too familiar.

"He is certainly not reacting well to the presence of too many people," Freeman continued now that the Hardys were more ready to listen. "It took both paramedics quite a while to calm him down and moved him to the medical truck. They are still trying to assess his state and figure out the best way to transport him to the nearest hospital. One of them is still in the cabin scanning the medical notes Kempton left behind for clues as to what was given to Joseph. I know you want to see him, but the paramedics request that you give him some space for now, and to take it real slow so as not to startle him."

Both father and son nodded their acquiescence. If time was what Joe needed, they could give him that, especially if they could see with their own two eyes that he was all right.

It was a sorry sight that greeted them, nevertheless they feasted on the sight that Joe was still alive. The tiny figure crouching on a little rock hunched over a steaming mug of drink with a thermal blanket half wrapped around him was looked so cowed and so skeletal; a far cry from the laughing muscular star quarterback on the Bayport football team. Bleeding sores covered the exposed part of the body, and the paramedic was still gently treating the back which was clearly flayed by whips. They had to muster every ounce of will-power they could not to rush forward.

Frank had to admit, it was the fear and suspicion in Joe's eyes that held him back. His brother was clearly very frightened. Joe's shifty eyes were always scanning his environment. He looked ready to bolt any second.

"Joseph refused to get onto the paramedic truck," Freeman said softly. "I think the interior of the truck with the enclose space and medical equipment reminded him too much of…"

"How bad was it?" Fenton asked in a harsh voice; the father did not really want to know, yet the father must know if he was to be able to help his son fully.

"Mr. Hardy… the dogs are tracing the Kemptons through the woods," another voice cut in. "The forensic team is currently going through the crime scene."

It was the local sheriff. He tilted his head slightly towards Joe before adding gently. "There is something you should see…"

"Go ahead Dad, I'll keep an eye on Joe," Frank assured his father when Fenton hesitated.

If Kempton left something behind that concerns Joe, then at least one of them should be aware of what that was. Yet as much as Frank would like to know, there was no way he would leave his brother now. Not when he just got to see him after sixteen long weeks. It would have to be his father. He would stay where he could keep Joe in sight, plain and simple. So he stayed and watched as his father walked off with the sheriff.

Something in the distance sent a flock of birds flying. Frank could see the immediate and volatile reaction from his brother. The steaming mug and the paramedic both went flying as Joe scrambled off the rock and took a defensive position with his back to the paramedic truck, his eyes wild yet terrified. He snarled as the paramedic tried to approach.

Frank could take it no longer. Ignoring the paramedics' request, he got down on his knees and slowly made his way towards Joe. He stayed low on the ground copying the paramedic's every move. He knew what the paramedic was doing. Joe at this point in time was a frightened and injured animal. So both he and the paramedic must appear smaller or unintimidating, and must be able to offer comfort. He made sure Joe knew that he was there before he slowly approached. As he got closer, he started reaching out by talking to Joe in soft soothing tones.

"I'm Frank. His brother…" Frank whispered back to the paramedic when he asked.

Neither of them took their eyes off Joe's eyes. Those deep blue eyes were the only clues they had as to whether they could move closer or back off.

For a moment, Frank's heart sank when he thought he saw sheer terror in those familiar blue eyes. Then that fear was gone, to be replaced by a blankness that Frank found most unnerving. Even the paramedic was concerned. But Joe had allowed them to replace the thermal blanket, and allowed Frank to lead him back to the rock.

And Frank thought everything was fine. But how wrong he was…

In that instant where he relaxed to watch Joe sip on his next mug of warm drink, Joe moved with a suddenness and agility that took both him and the paramedic by surprise.

Next Frank knew Joe was racing into the woods and away from them.

He followed in a race that seemed to last forever. He knew the paramedic and at least one other person was following him. He pushed ahead. The gap between him and Joe was narrowing. A few more steps and Joe would be within tackling range…

Then the trees fell away and Frank found himself on a bare rocky clearing.

Something cold and wet touched his face and for the merest instant, he froze.

It was water. Droplets of water…

No… not now, Frank thought desperately as he took several deep gulps of air fighting hard against the panic attack he felt lurking just beneath his thin veneer of self-control. He threw all his focus onto the fact that Joe needed him. It worked, and his terror retreated.

And that fraction of a second cost him, more dearly than he ever thought possible. By the time his eyes focused on the environment around him again, he saw that Joe was more than twenty feet away crouching at the very edge of the cold and slippery precipice staring blankly into the waterfall far, far below.

There was no way he could reach his brother on time. He could only plead…

"Joe… please… don't…"

And pray…

-o-

At the point in time when the local sheriff first handed him that huge package that Andrew addressed to him, Fenton had no idea of the drama and tragedy that was occuring just about a mile from where he stood. He read the letter and was assailed by a sudden need to see that both his sons were still fine. He left the cabin in a rush.

Dear Fenton,

Now we are even: A wife for a wife, a son for a son, a brother for a brother, and a mother for a mother.

I have left behind a collection of video recordings of Joseph's life in the last four months for your viewing pleasure. I have also included a medical journal detailing his medical condition throughout his stay with us.

You might wonder: why not kill you too? The answer is simple – you are simply too much fun to kill. One day, when we are bored, we will meet again. William is already looking forward to playing with Frank. May the better son win…

Until then,

Andrew Kempton.