"Charlie! Charlie!"

Yelling at the top of his lungs, Frank tore out of the basement and up to second floor. He skidded to halt, nearly slamming full-tilt into Charlie as the man came running back. Charlie grabbed Frank to stop him from falling, then got right in his face.

"I told you to get out!"

"I know where he is! I mean, I know where they are — where Kris's dad has them, in the basement, and I know how he did it!"

Charlie stared, then shoved Frank ahead. "Show me. Move!"

Frank ran up to third floor, Charlie at his heels. It was the only thing that made sense, it had to be, it had to! Joe had been up here, and the old chimney flues in these places ran the whole height of the house to heat all the floors. Mrs. Bell had covered all the old brick with pine wainscot to better insulate the place — it had to be!

The middle of third floor, about where Joe had thumped the wall down in the basement, Frank stopped — there, against the outer wall. A squared-off section of wainscot jutted into the room, bookshelves on two sides, an overstuffed armchair slightly askew on the third. "There," he said to Charlie. "That has to be it. They're in the basement. There's a crack in the wall seams, and Joe's down there. He said that…that…cockroach brought him down a shaft along the old chimney."

"Enough." Charlie gripped Frank's shoulder, shook him for emphasis. "Stay here. Don't move. Stay in sight."

Another high-pitched yelp and an outraged roar echoed through the room. Frank backed up, trembling with fear — for Joe, for Kris, for Charlie…for himself. What was that man doing to Joe and Kris? What if he got past Charlie? Frank watched as Charlie went over to the panelling, thumped once or twice, then forced one of the panels open…

Then Charlie pulled his gun, aimed down into the dark. "Stop right there, Randall. Let the kids go, and you just might make it out alive."

# # #

Sweating, trembling, holding onto the table leg as best he could, Joe clambered up the spikes. They were far enough apart to make climbing an effort, but Joe had climbed icy trees and wet rocks and could get out of his room through the window without Aunt Gertrude hearing him. In the dark, these spikes would be a fun challenge, if…

Yeah. If.

From the thin light filtering through the wall-joints, he could just see Randall above him, a bulky shadow past second floor, if Joe judged the distance right. Kris had come to and was squirming and kicking — Randall cursed and slammed her back against the bricks. Kris yelped, and Randall mashed that cloth against her face, then pressed right up against her and growled something that made Kris whimper.

Randall wasn't paying any attention below him…

Jaw clenched, Joe braced himself. The space was barely wide enough for someone to get through, so it was easy enough to set his feet against the spikes and his back against the wood wall and insulation. He didn't have to beat the cockroach, after all — he just had to delay him. Randall couldn't strike back, not in this narrow shaft, not with Joe directly below him. Hopefully, anyway.

Yelling the Indian war-cry he'd heard in all the Westerns — a loud, ululating whoo-whoo-whoo — Joe shoved the table leg up, sharp pointed-screw-end first, right into Randall's butt…the spot that Uncle Jack called "where the good Lord split you."

Randall's hands slipped. Kris yelped, grabbed hold of something on the wood wall as Randall roared, kicked out, and nearly tore the table leg from Joe's hands. "You little —"

Suddenly, above them, light. Wood cracked and wrenched away, and Charlie's voice rang through the shaft. "Stop right there. Let the kids go, and you just might make it out alive."

"Let Kris go," Joe said, through gritted teeth, and jabbed the table leg back up. "Or you'll have a big hole in your —"

"Joe," Charlie snapped. "Let her go, Randall. This 'Nam soldier's got no qualms about blowing your brains out in front of the kids, if I have to."

"Oh, you will, huh?" Randall sneered, and yelled, kicked back at the table leg as Joe jabbed that sharp, pointed screw right into that spot again. But then Randall yanked Kris in front of him. "Don't wanna hit her. No, you won't shoot ol' Randy…"

But then Kris squirmed, kicked. Joe didn't see exactly what happened, but Randall yelled and jerked —

— and dropped Kris.

Flailing, she slammed into Joe. He lost his grip on the table leg, slipped on the spikes, and skidded off the wall. Yelling, he grabbed for anything he could reach, as Kris twisted, grabbed, held on, and somehow, someway, they both got hold of the spikes. Joe got his footing back, but then Kris stepped on his feet, twisted the wrong way in trying to get her balance back and nearly pushed Joe off again…then lost her grip.

Joe body-shoved her back against the wall, wedging her against it; she grabbed the closest spike and hung on. Both clung there, panting, gulping, trembling. Somewhere above them, Charlie's voice snapped something out.

"Joe? Kris?" Frank's voice floated down.

Joe didn't want to open his eyes. He really, really didn't. His hands wouldn't let go of the spikes.

"Joe. Kris." Frank's voice sharpened. "Answer me. Can you move?"

"Yeah," Joe breathed, and opened his eyes. Randall wasn't above them any more; Frank's pale face peered down at them. Next to Joe, Kris clung to the spikes, trembling, whimpering, and Joe nudged her. "Tag. Go ahead, climb up."

"It's a trick." Kris hadn't opened her eyes. "He's still up there. He's still up there!"

"It's okay, Tag. Trust me." Joe glanced up; Frank was watching them. "Frank wouldn't co…co-operate like that. Big brothers don't do that."

Silence.

"Want me to go first?" Joe said.

Kris shook her head hard.

"Tag, come on," Frank said quietly. "It's okay. It really is. Charlie's got him."

Silence again, then, slowly, still trembling, Kris started moving.

It took a lot of shifting around so she wouldn't crunch his hands by accident, but finally, Kris made it up, Joe following, one slow, careful spike at a time. Frank grabbed each of them in turn, hauled them out. Once on the solid wood floor, surrounded by normal, everyday, safe bookshelves, Joe's legs gave out, and, panting, shaking, he sank to the floor. Beside him, Kris had collapsed.

"Holy cow." Frank squatted by Joe and tentatively touched Joe's face, right where Randall had hit him. "You okay?"

Joe shook his head, instantly regretted it. His whole body hurt, his face ached, both his hands were raw and bleeding from scraping the metal and wood, the bad headache and nausea from that wet cloth were making him even sicker, and every breath caused his chest to stitch and throb. Kris didn't look any better, curled around her belly and shivering.

Randall was seated against the wall near the chimney shaft. Charlie stood just out of arm's reach of him, gun out and aimed. Randall cradled his bloody hand against his chest and kept squirming as if unable to sit, pulling at his pants with his other hand, though his gaze never left the gun aimed at him.

"What'd you do, anyway?" Joe said to Kris. "Why'd he drop you?"

Gulping air, Kris said nothing for a long moment. Then, finally, "I bit his finger. Hard."

"Good," Joe said fiercely. "I hope he gets girl cooties."

Frank snorted. Kris just stared at Joe for a long moment…then choked back a sob, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Little whore," Randall spat. "Little lying whore, you and your —"

"Shut up," Charlie snarled. "Or I'll fire right now and make the world a lot cleaner, and I've got three witnesses right here who'll swear it was self-defense."

"Could you scalp him?" Joe said hopefully; he should get something good out of getting kidnapped, after all. "Frank's got his jackknife, and Mar said she's got a collection, and —"

"Joe," Charlie and Frank said, at the same time.

"Bayport police!" It rang out from downstairs.

"Frank," Charlie said, not taking his eyes off Randall, "go down and lead them up here. And please let them know I'm the good guy, okay? I really don't want to spend the night in jail."