Thank you for all the lovely reviews I've been getting. Not so much for some PMs I've had throughout the time I've been publishing this story. I've always been very happy to receive critiques, but please, can people learn the difference between constructive and destructive criticism. If you spot a plot hole or grammatical error, or if you want me to clarify something...brilliant - PM me! What I don't want is people contacting me to say you don't like a physical trait I've given a character, that you felt I was showing favouritism to one brother over another, that something has happened in the story that has offended you, that my writing style isn't American enough (if I've used an English word in error, tell me, but I can't do anything about my writing style), or that a chapter "didn't quite work for me".
Sorry to have to write this, but there was a delay in me posting and I went off the grid because I had to walk away and refuel. The last PM'd critique really knocked my confidence at a point in the story when I was so excited to post it up for you all. I took all the wind out of my sails and spoiled it. It stung. I'm usually laid back and thick skinned, but everyone has a limit (Flashpoint). I couldn't laugh it off any more. Sorry to moan, I hate moaning. Moaning makes me feel guilty.
That said, here's chapter 35. I hope you enjoy it. If you feel you'd like to review, please do. No pressure though. :-)
CHAPTER 35
"NO!" Frank screamed in horror. Out of everything he'd been forced to endure this night, watching his beloved brother executed was the worse!
The gun in the Red-Headed Man's outstretched arm went off…but with a dull click. "Oh snap. Empty." He feigned disappointment, retracted the barrel from Joe's mouth and tossed it. He draped his forearm over his knee and observed Frank's reaction. "Who's emasculated now, huh?"
A ragged noise hit Frank's throat and he allowed the shock to take him, surrendered to unconsciousness.
When his eyes opened again, he found the Red-Headed Man had stepped closer, waiting. He showed Frank something. In his hand, the cloth he'd just used to strangle the older Hardy Brother. He looked pointedly at Frank and then walked back to Joe.
"Don't you do it!" Frank assumed the Red-Headed Man's planned to throttle his brother, but instead the Red-Headed Man used his foot to ease Joe onto his front.
"Relax, Frank." The Man dipped to pull Joe's arms behind his back and bound his wrists. Next he rolled Joe onto his side, unzipped his jacket and unclipped his utility belt. He pulled it free and used it to strap the younger Hardy brother's legs together. He went through Joe's jacket pockets, found something, scrutinised it thoughtfully, and shoved it into his own pocket. He dropped Joe onto his back and struck him in the face.
"Leave him alone!"
"No." The man sat stride Joe. "Wake up Joe Hardy and watch your brother die," he demanded and slapped Joe's cheek.
"Don't, for pity's sake!"
"Pity? An interesting emotion." The Red-Headed Man carried on slapping and ordering Joe to respond. Eventually he gave up. "He's not waking up." He back-handed Joe across the jaw hard and switched his attention back to Frank.
He got off Joe, walked across and bent to untie and unravel the long rope from around Frank's ankles. "Your brother's a practical man. I found his Swiss army knife."
'Crap! CRAP!' Frank had forgotten his brother still had it. He'd not returned it after cutting Vanessa's scarf free. Now the Red-headed Man possessed it, and he could do plenty of damage. "Don't kill Joe. What's the point? Kill me and let him go."
The Red-Headed Man slid the rope free and looked back at Joe.
Frank desperately tried to pull the attention back around, make himself the centre of focus to buy time for Joe. "Look at me! Finish me off, do the job your leader wanted. He said he'd spare my family and friends if I let him kill me, do it. I give it…I give you permission to kill me."
"I don't need your permission." The Red-Headed Man dropped the rope and moved to pull Frank up to his feet by his shirt front. He propelled Frank backward until his spine slammed the tree trunk, then transferred his hand to Frank's throat to stop him sliding. "Pass out and I'll gut your brother right here, right now." The Red-Headed Man snarled through Frank's sinking mind.
Frank willed himself back as his face was rocked to one side and the man moved his mouth close to Frank's ear to whisper. "The man you made the gentleman's agreement with? He was my brother, and he was a gentleman, I'm not." He pounded a fist into Frank's ribs. Frank dropped breathlessly to one knee.
The man crouched and his breath warmed Frank's ear again. "I'm going to gut you as you swing, and Joe's going to watch and I'm going to watch him. Then I'm going to disfigure him. Then I'll let him go. Then I'm going after everyone he loves, everyone you love. How long until he ends his miserable existence, do you think?"
The Red-Headed Man stood. One foot left Frank's field of shifting vision to stamp down onto his injured shoulder and flatten him out. The man's fingers were then in his hair to grip and pull him onto his knees to talk again. "I remember you in the tree with the noose, using your own life to get Nancy freed." His hand released and Frank fell. "Shame you didn't follow through. Would have stopped all this."
The stomp had reopened the damage to Frank's shoulder so it bled heavily…but his legs were free! Now was the time to get up to use some kick-boxing moves. But nothing would coordinate, the lack of air into his hurt lungs rendering him lightheaded and inactive. Frank softly moaned but couldn't stop. It wasn't about physical pain, more his raw and excruciating reaction to the Red-Headed Man's words.
The man's returned and forced something down over Frank's head which settled heavily about Frank's shoulders for a second before shooting up around his neck and going tight…a noose.
It yanked Frank up onto his toes, and the man's dead and cruel eyes were there. He held the piece of rope he'd used to truss up Frank's legs. He had it wrapped around his forearm and up into his hand, powerfully gripped. There followed a lull in proceedings as the man studied Frank's face. "How does it make you feel, Frank Hardy, at the end, that you couldn't do anything to protect your brother, that you failed…you're responsible?" He transferred his free hand to the other and pulled to bear Frank's weight until he lifted him off the ground, dangling and choking. "Know this - after I've finished with Joe and everyone else, I'm going to entertain myself with Nancy."
Frank's feet swiped the grass, but couldn't find traction.
The man's head came even closer to gaze. "I'm looking forward to a rematch as I take what I want. She fought hard the last time, but she couldn't stop me and she won't stop me again. I like it when they resist, don't you?"
Frank had reached the edge of his tether, he wanted out. He wanted to scream, but couldn't. 'I'm sorry Joe, I'm sorry to leave, but I've got to do this.' He shut his eyes and allowed the darkness to roll through and sweep his psyche aside. Quickly, he retreated into the back of his mind and crouched to observe from a distance.
The darkness protectively enveloped and shut down the all-feeling Frank Hardy. It removed all outward signs of emotion. Then, it opened Frank's eyes and looked right back at the Red-Headed Man in defiance. 'GO SCREW YOURSELF!'
The man blinked and stared in confusion. He growled and pulled harder on the rope to try and bully some authentic human reaction from Frank, but could only force physical responses…nothing else…nothing satisfying. The Red-Headed Man wasn't going to get his pleasure from Frank tonight, not from a man whose dark stare was as rock solid as his own dead one.
From his hunkered position in the back of his mind, Frank felt no longer in the here and now. The Red-Headed Man's face distorted and everything droned. A gradually dimming light started to blink on off, on off, on off. Frank fancied he saw someone standing in the trees behind, an arm extended and beckoning. Then he recognised it as Death's welcoming hand before his mind imploded and he fell into the soft abyss, the psychopath's nightmare eyes gone.
-o0o-
Con and Fenton burst through into the clearing from opposing angles, their instinctive attack superior to Joe's haphazard one. They approached with years born of experience, not through the frantic panic Joe had felt at what he'd probably witnessed. They stalked up to the man dressed in full combat gear, who had one hand on the back of Frank's neck, and a wicked looking knife in the other. Frank lay on his front, on the ground.
They held their Glocks exactly the same way Joe had - gun arms rested on top of left wrists, flashlights gripped tightly under the muzzle. They aimed their lights directly into the man's face, the combined beams effectively blinding him.
Con passed Joe, but didn't look, didn't want to give the Red-Headed Man any excuse. Whatever had be done to Joe, it would be either too late to do anything about it, or it would wait for later. Frank's precarious position ensured he took priority for now.
The man looked up, and his hands came away from Frank's body, his eyes on Fenton.
Con ordered in a low, menacing, but steady voice, "Drop the weapon, place your hands over the back of your head and interlock your fingers, get up and move away. No sudden moves. Trust me; I'm itching for an excuse to pull this trigger." He stepped a few paces so Joe lay behind him.
The man did as ordered. He let go of the knife, stood and raised his hands until his palms came to rest on the back of his skull. He locked his fingers and took two long steps away. His eyes continued to follow Fenton.
Fenton circled around to the back of the man to reduce the possibility of a surprise attack. He nodded at Con, sheathed his flashlight and reached to lift the man's gun from his holster and tossed it behind him. At no point did Fenton drop his guard with his Glock. Fenton then moved further until he stood literally over Frank, and to the side of the man.
The man waited for Fenton to finish his move before saying coolly, "Take it easy, Mr Hardy." He directed his next comment at Con, "Look to your right."
"Happy to do that, but if you move, if you try anything with either of us, the other shoots."
Fenton levelled his arms, and balanced his feet even more in preparation.
"I understand, boys, I really do. I won't mess you around. I don't want ya firin' on me. I appreciate the position I'm in."
Con took two steps back, distancing himself. His eyes flicked to the right, and then back to the man. Something lay there all right, but he didn't trust what he thought he'd seen. He took a longer glance this time…and then an even longer one. He saw a corpse, laid out in the grass at the foot of the nearest tree, in the shadows. He observed a big man, bigger than the guy he and Fenton held in abeyance, probably more Con's height.
"Look at my hair," their prisoner said next.
Con took another good look and noted brown hair, not red. He narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
"A friend; and I'd appreciate if you'd remove your guns from my head, an' stop blindin' me with your light. I don't want ya'll gettin' gun happy when I'm tryin' to help Frank."
Con lowered his aim. "He's not the Red-Headed Man, Fen, check it out." He directed the beam of his flashlight to spotlight the corpse. Obviously the body belonged to the psychopath, his red hair evident - along with the hole in his back where his heart had been, if he'd ever had one.
Fenton came to the same conclusion, made a strange noise and holstered his weapon.
No longer in immediate danger of being shot, the man stepped by Fenton and knelt down next to Frank. "Help me!" He pulled the noose from around Frank's neck.
Fenton dropped. "Go and see to Joe, Con. I'll be over soon."
The man used his hunting knife to cut the bindings and free Frank's arms, then stabbed the knife out of the way into the soft earth. They turned Frank onto his back.
Con realised he hadn't holstered his weapon, so he did and went to Joe. As soon as his flashlight picked out Joe's face, he urgently dropped to feel for a pulse. "Uh oh!" He looked toward Fenton and their friend, but they had their own issues, having the same problem. So Con positioned his cheek over Joe's mouth as his fingers continued exploring for a pulse. He couldn't sense either…but then with relief his travelling fingers found what they'd been seeking - the steady beat of Joe's heart. "Whoa! Don't do that to me, kid!" Con complained and mentally noted to book himself on an advanced first-aid refresher course.
As Con came up he found Joe's confused eyes panning. The younger Hardy Brother had regained consciousness as Con was leaning over him. Con put his palm on Joe's shoulder. "Champ, you with me? You compos-mentis?" He could see Joe had sustained a pounding. Bruises were developing around his forehead and temple, along with a deep cut above his eye which ran with blood, and would likely leave a scar.
Joe's eyes rolled and circled back to look steadily at Con. "Huh?" He tried to move.
"How many fingers can you see?" Con raised his hand.
"I don't…am I tied up? Can you untie me?"
Joe rolled over and Con loosened and pulled the twine from around his wrists, and moved to his ankles to do the same thing. By the time Con finished, Joe had turned immobile again. "Joe?" Nothing. Con raised his voice and ordered forcefully, "JOE HARDY, WAKE UP!"
Joe twitched and flopped over onto his back. His eyes shot open and he lunged at Con in a clumsy attack that Con effortlessly held at arm's length.
"It's me Joe…JOE! You're trying to hammer the wrong guy. I wish you brothers would quit beating me up."
Joe stopped almost as quickly as he started. "Uh? Sorry." He settled back. "Frank?"
"We got Frank back, he's just over there."
Joe went to look, so Con moved to block his view. Joe didn't object. Instead he groaned and moved his hands to cup his head. "My head's spinning."
"I'm not surprised." Con re-raised his hand. "Try to concentrate. How many fingers can you see?"
Joe let his arms drop beside his head and squinted. "Trick question. Two fingers…one thumb."
"Good Lad. Stay there and collect yourself, I'm going back to your brother. Put yourself into the recovery position." Con encouraged him onto his side, faced him away from Frank and the frenzied activity. "Don't lie on your back. Don't go to sleep. Don't roll over. Basically, don't move. Okay Champ?" He slipped off Collig's jacket and dropped it over his charge. Con shivered as the cold enveloped him. "Try to stay warm...as I'm doing. I wish I could keep a jacket for longer than two minutes."
"'Kay. Too old for Champ."
Con returned quickly to Fenton and the stranger. He saw Frank's condition erred on the closer-to-death, than life, scale. "Talk to me, what's happening? What can I do?"
"We're strugglin' to find a pulse," the man admitted.
Con observed the stranger and Fenton as they eyeballed one another, lost, trying to think of something else to try. "Did you check out the gunshot wound? Wouldn't he still be bleeding if his heart's going?"
Fenton's eyebrows shot up. He reached to rip open Frank's shirt and buttons flew. He played the flashlight urgently over his son's body and grimaced at the livid bruises on Frank's rib and chest area, but then he pulled the shirt open wider and pinpointed the bullet hole. Blood churned from the wound feebly, Frank's heart still active.
"Alive," the man announced. "Must've gone into shock. Everythin' can slow if that happens – heart, breathin', the lot."
Fenton shuffled close to Frank and pulled his head back. He blocked Frank's nose, clamped his lips over his mouth and blew air in. When he backed off, Frank gasped, the bleed became heavier - running rather than churning as his heart picked up. Fenton patted his son's cheek in relief.
Alarmed at the rate of blood loss, the stranger asked, "How long's he been bleedin' out for?"
"Too long," Con answered.
"Get him on his side again."
They rolled him and the man quickly pulled Frank's shirt down to look at the back of his shoulder. "No exit wound." The man got up and started to run. "I got a medical kit," he shouted back as he disappeared into the trees.
Fenton and Con tipped Frank back and on a whim Fenton slid his palm under the fabric of his son's shirt and pressed it to the wound to plug the hole. "How's Joe?"
"Awake, taken a beating, but talking sense."
"Bad?"
"Consider the state of your oldest. The guy didn't hold back."
The man returned with a backpack, from which he produced a medical kit, and pulled out a small object wrapped in plastic - a cotton sling which he threw at Con to catch. "Fold it into a compress." The man ripped the other object out of its wrapper, batted Fenton's hand away and shoved it in the bullet hole - a rolled bandage. Its bulk filled the space and slowed Frank's blood loss. Fenton returned his palm. The man found another cotton sling, and went to work doing the same as Con.
"Here." Con offered the compress to Fenton who moved his palm to lay the compress on top of the bandage. He leaned his weight down, but red continued to creep around the sides and soak the cloth, so their new friend added the other on top and it did the trick.
"Don't let up on the pressure." The man advised and returned to his medical kit. He extracted a pouch, from which he produced a foil blanket. He unfurled it and he and Con cocooned Frank up in it. "Hopefully it'll help stabilize his temperature." He put his fingers on Frank's carotid artery. "Good, strong beat."
"Thanks," Fenton said. "I'm glad you were here, whoever you are...WHO are you?"
"A friend o' Franks."
"That didn't answer my question."
"That's all the answer you're gettin'."
Con rose. "I'm going back to Joe," He took a few steps, and stopped to throw a dark look at the Red-Headed Man's corpse. "Dammit, I wanted to kill him," he complained. Con took another couple of strides, paused to reconsider the body thoughtfully and then finally half turned to address the stranger. "I know you…in fact, we all do."
Fenton gave the man a critical look.
The man's head tipped. "You're Constantine Riley aren't ya? Claudius Riley's brother?"
"Brother by blood only. Fen's more a brother to me. So…you spend a good part of your life squatting in trees?"
Fenton worked it out too. "Hello, John. John, the assassin."
