And Chapter 14.

Thanks Chromde, blackwolf. memorygirl and Diane for taking the time to let me know you enjoyed the last bit.

I hope the writings improved a little. I'm still struggling. For some reason, my knowledge of grammar seems to have gone on an extended holiday destination unknown. And I'm having difficulty finding the words to create the effect I wanted.

Anyways, do leave a line if you can. It helps to keep me happy and encouraged about writing.

Meantime, enjoy this chapter.


WHEN IT RAINS IT POURS

Chapter Fourteen

-o-

It was ten in the evening. A tired looking male nurse in his fifties was making his rounds checking on the patients. He paused in from of a private ward, allowing the plainclothes officer on duty to check his credentials before proceeding into that room.

He started off with the usual steps, checking the chart at the foot of the bed. Then he proceeded to change the bag attached to IV drip that was attached to the blonde headed patient who was still sleeping off the effects of the sedatives. Under normal circumstances, this patient would not be waking up till the following morning.

But that bag of water meant to keep the patient hydrated was doctored with a mild dose of stimulant, hallucinogen, and a little extra. The young man should be awake within the next hour or so. That male nurse smiled as he reached down to loosen one of the straps that were binding that blonde to the bed.

"I'm giving you a chance to fulfill your heart's desire, ungrateful son of mine," that nurse whispered, his brown eyes shining with a maniacal inner light.

He reached down to gently caress the face of the young man. "Oh Joseph, I can't wait to see your next move…"

And then he left the same way he came, with no one wiser.

-o-

It was very late, but the two Hardy men were still hard at work in the dining hall of their home at the corner of Elm Street. Maps and handwritten case notes were spread haphazardly all over the extended dining table. Known and presumed locations of Andrew Kempton were carefully marked on one map. Unsolved homicide cases where Andrew Kempton was a suspect were marked on another map.

Then the old grandfather clock struck one.

Both the father and son took that same moment to look up from their case notes, rubbed their bleary eyes, and stretched their tensed neck and back muscles.

Two pair of brown eyes met, and saw the truth that no real progress had been made in the last two hours. Two pair of similar brown eyes showed the same disappointment, followed by grim determination. They had no choice but to work on.

"I'll make another two mugs of coffee," Frank said to his father before heading slowly into the kitchen.

Both knew they needed sleep. But both also knew that neither would be able to sleep. The impact of the series of shocking events of the day would not give them the peace they needed to rest their mind. So they chose to work their way through their pent up fears and frustrations. They had to find Andrew Kempton. They just had to, before someone else dies.

"I'll check on Laura and then call Officer Murphy," Fenton said to no one in particular and headed up to his bedroom.

Laura, his beloved wife, was sound asleep. Her face shone pale and fragile in the soft glow of the moonlight. He walked closer to tuck the blankets around her. It was then he saw the streaks on her face. It was clear she cried herself to sleep.

Fenton quietly let himself out of the room and headed back down to the dining hall. His steps were slow and tired. Everything happened because of him. Now his family was paying for his failure.

Once back at the dining room, he made his call to the hospital asking for Officer Murphy.

At that moment, Frank returned from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of coffee.

"Joe's still asleep in his room," Fenton told Frank as soon as he finished his conversation.

Both smiled a little. In the light of what happened today, that was one bit of good news.

Then two pairs of eyes turned bleak. Neither could imagine what Joe would be feeling. Nor could they imagine how he would react the next morning. But no matter how much Joe hated them, they would be there at the hospital before Joe wakes up in the morning. The whole family would be there, including Laura. And then the hard work would begin. They would have to try to explain to Joe what really happened. And they could only hope that Joe would give them enough of a chance. That Joe would give his real family a chance to explain. No, that was not the right thing to say. They would not stop explaining. They would never give up on Joe no matter what. They would keep on explaining until Joe listens; simple as that.

Both were about to return to work when a single gunshot shattered the night's peace and quiet.

That was followed by a loud dull 'bang' as the main door was slammed opened.

The father and son exchanged one startled gaze before rushing for their respective guns. Neither of them made it, because a familiar figure stepped purposefully into the room.

It was a reunion neither envisioned.

Joe was standing right there in front of them. And both Fenton and Frank Hardy found themselves each staring straight up the barrel of a standard police-issued revolver and a Glock pistol, both aimed squarely at their hearts.

-o-o-0-o-o-

I knew I was dreaming.

In my dream, I was happy.

It was my graduation. My parents were seated amongst the audience. They clapped and cheered as I walked up the stage to receive my diploma. Their eyes shone with love and pride. I did it. I made them proud. Later, we gathered outside the school auditorium with my fellow graduates and their families, doing all the happy things happy graduates do. I barely noticed the dark clouds that gathered in the far horizon.

But those clouds came in quick and fast. And before we knew it, we were all caught in the grip of an unforgiving storm.

For me, I realized too late, that an old evil had just found me again…

I tossed and turned uneasily in my sleep. I moaned and whimpered. I fought to wake up. I wanted to avoid the nightmare I knew would come. But I could not. Those cruel tendrils of sleep held me close to its bosom. I could not move, nor could I awaken. I could only watch, horrified, as life was slowly and painfully drained from my Mom and Dad.

All the while, Fenton and Frank stood in the background laughing at the futility of my struggles.

"We share the same blood, you and I," Frank said. "You cannot change what you are. Where we go, death follows…"

"No…" I refused to believe that; I repeated my Mom's and Michelle's words. "I am not like you. I make my own destiny…"

"You cannot run from your destiny, son," Fenton smirked. "All whom you loved are slated for death…"

"No… No….No! I would never become like you… never!"

I fought against that nightmarish destiny with every thing I had. I tugged and strained against those tendrils that held me prisoner. Then something broke, and I woke up. My first instinct was to scream my denial, but thank God I retained enough sanity to bit down hard on my lips, smothering that instinctive scream and keeping the night silence intact.

The door to my room opened. I shoved my freed left wrist under the blankets and pretended that I was still asleep. That someone that was left behind to guard me must be satisfied that I was still sleeping. He closed the door, and I was left alone again.

Over the next few minutes, I just lay there working on containing my grief. I cried at my new reality; Mom and Dad were dead.

Then I pulled myself together. I wanted justice. But first, I must get free of my restraints. I had no idea how I managed to get my left wrist free in the first place. Perhaps some angel finally heard my pleas and extended a helping hand.

I worked hard at loosening the strap around my right wrist. There was no way I was going to be around here comes morning. I was no fool. I knew I had to get away while I could. The moment I freed my right wrist, I use it to rip that needle out of my left wrist. Whatever Fenton had in that little bag flowing into me could not be good. Whatever was in that little bag was probably responsible for my current jumpiness, the heightened emotions, and my nightmares anyway.

I fought hard against the alternating grief and panic that were threatening to overcome my good sense. I fought hard against the effects of whatever drugs Fenton used on me. I fought as only I knew how, because I've experienced all of those before.

"Focus on making them pay…" I ordered myself sternly.

I looked around my room. It took a while, but I soon gathered enough items to create a shape under the blankets that could pass for me as long as whoever popped their head in did not turn the lights on. Then I headed towards the window. I was on the second floor. There was a set of pipes within reach running down to the ground.

What I needed to do now was to go home. There were some issues that I needed to settle; like my last will and testament. I am certain that my Mom and Dad would approve of me giving the bulk of their wealth to their favorite charities. I should also leave something for Maria, our loyal live-in nurse and housekeeper. I should ensure that her grandkids were provided for. Finally, I needed to write a letter to Vanessa, to explain to her why I broke my promise to her.

And then I would confront my past.

My home was a good distance from the hospital. So I stole a car. Yes, I stole a car. I chose an old car, picked the lock, jumpstart the engines, and drove off. A part of me marveled at the fact that I knew how to do that. Another part of me could not be bothered to wonder about it.

It must have been close to midnight by the time I drove up that final stretch of Shore Road leading up to my little lighthouse on The Point. All the way, I battle the incessant buzzing at the back of my mind, and my own volatile emotions. I parked my stolen car out of sight of my home. The police might have someone watching over my house, and the last thing I want was for them to alert my murderous biological father and brother as to my escape.

I shook my head and marveled at Fenton's ingenuity. Who would have expected a psycho serial killer like Fenton and Frank to be part of the law enforcement establishment? I laughed a little crazily at the irony that this truth would have made a great plot for one of Michael Black's crime novels. Whoever said that reality could not out-do the absurdity of pure fiction?

I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped into the house. It was in the very air I breathe. It was like the Devil had been here and left His mark.

My heart started pounding really hard, so hard I could hear nothing beyond that pounding echoing off the walls of my eardrums. A chill started at the pit of my stomach. It only grew with each passing second. By the time I reached the door to my Dad's personal study, I could taste the sour bile at the back of my throat, ready to spill out at the slightest provocation.

Whatever it was, it was waiting for me behind that door. It was with utter dread I pushed that door opened.

Maria was there, seated in my Dad's ergonomic leather chair, her arms spread wide as if she was welcoming me into her embrace.

Her lips were crudely sewn into a grotesque smile. Her eyes were propped wide opened. Those usually gentle smiling eyes now radiated sheer pain and terror.

Those eyes were staring accusingly at me. I knew she died because of me. Just like Mom and Dad.

And blood. There was blood everywhere. Even on the parquet floor upon which I stood.

I lost control at that point. In my mind's eye, I saw her floating towards me. From her mouth, the words of accusations flowed. Her eyes reflected the pain and horrors she faced before she died.

And all that she went through was because of me…

Sheer guilt and terror rose to the fore. I tripped and fell backwards in my haste to get away from that bloody sight. A fission of pain rippled up my spine, but I ignored it and scrambled away in tears and horror.

But that blood-splattered-vision refused to let me go. The image of her sewn up face and bloody body greeted me no matter where I turn. Those terror-filled accusing eyes stayed with me no matter where I run.

Finally, I made it out of the house. The crisp night air cleared away a tiny part of my irrational fears. But I bump straight into a police car parked at the end of the driveway.

That car was unnaturally quiet.

The poor officer in the car was dead. I knew, yet I had to see the truth with my own two eyes. It looked like he was merely sleeping in the driver's seat, but for that deep red line across his neck.

I laughed. It started as the softest of a giggle that burst to the surface like an air bubble does in the water. Then it grew and it grew, till I was laughing crazily like a mad man.

There was no one near to hear me.

There was nowhere for me to run. There was nowhere for me to hide.

Dead, they were all dead.

And Vanessa? She's probably dead too. Even if she was still alive, she would soon be dead.

Death was my gift to any one who dared to care for me.

There was no escape from my fate.

I never should have tried. I should have died when I was given that chance to go in peace.

Calmness came over me.

I reached into the police car and took the revolver that was lying on the passenger seat next to the dead officer.

"Rest in peace," I said to him before calmly walking back into the house.

I took my time to go through each and every room.

In each room, I recalled a happy moment spent in that room. This was my way of exorcising the evil that touched this whole place; the evil that was here because of me. I did it also because I wanted to remember the last two happy weeks I spent in this new home with my Mom and my Dad. I knew this would be my last time walking down all these corridors and visiting all these rooms. I would never be coming back here again.

My final stop was my Dad's study. There, I took a blanket and gently covered Maria. I knew I was tampering with evidence, but it hardly right to leave her exposed that way. Furthermore, soon this evidence would no longer matter.

"Sleep well, Maria," I bade her.

Then I reached into the hidden compartment of the table for my Dad's Glock pistol before heading resolutely back to my stolen car.

I drove down Shore Road. I drove through the town centre. I made my way directly to that two storey house located at the corner of Elm and High Street. Of course I knew where Fenton lives. I was his son. As Frank said, I could not deny the fact that we all shared that same tainted blood.

At the back of my mind, the Devil's minions danced and sang their approval. I had no doubt that was where I belonged.

I parked the car a block away from my target. I walked the rest of the way so Fenton would have no warning of my arrival. I reached the front door, lifted one of my guns and blast away the lock. Then I kicked the door opened and walked straight in. There was light coming from the dining hall. And that was where Fenton and Frank were now, seated at that old wooden dining table planning and plotting their nefarious deeds deep into the night.

Everything ends right here tonight.

And the Devil could have my soul for all I cared.

I took that final step from the corridor into the dining hall, with both my guns held firmly before me. Both of them froze at the sight of my grand entrance. I could see the shock on their faces.

Do you think that psychotic serial killers looked ugly and mean? No. They are all good looking bitches and bastards. They are all intelligent, and they are all very likeable. How else do you think they could survive long enough to become serial?

"You've always wanted to make me a killer," I announced in a flippant tone and a big wide smile. "Congratulations, you've finally succeeded. Just guess who I selected as my first victims…"

Both Fenton and Frank were trying to say something. I could see their mouths moving almost desperately. My smile grew even wider, so wide my cheek muscles hurt. But I heard nothing of what they were saying simply because there was nothing they could possibly say that could interest me.

Instead my fingers tightened on the trigger.

Every thing would be over in a few seconds.

"JOE!... Don't!..."

That feminine voice was so familiar; it calls straight to my soul. I could not resist the need to turn around to see the owner of that voice, only to find myself staring into a pair of teary blue eyes.

In that instant, time slowed to a crawl.

It was that same big and desperate pale blue eyes that haunt my dreams. For the first time in six long years, the features I could never remember formed around those eyes. Soon, I could see the whole face. She was as beautiful as I thought she would be. Her hair was blonde, just like mine. She was dressed in a long flowing white gown of sorts.

I could not help the tears that started flowing.

How could I forget what my biological mother died for? But she became my guardian angel. And now at this low point in my life, she was again here for me. She saved my soul again.

I still have a choice. And I could still choose not to become like them.

It was not my job to be judge and executioner. Judgment belongs to God and God alone.

"Mom…" I whispered.

She must have heard me. She actually started smiling back.

I knew then that we would be together again.

That was why I felt nothing but peace and acceptance when that policeman stepped through the corridor with his gun pointed at me from the corner of my eye.

I kept my eyes locked to my Mom's pale blue ones.

And the policeman fired, as I knew he would.

Bang.