Note: There was some sort of bug going on this week on this site. I am pretty sure people did not receive notifications about the last chapter being posted or notification of updates. I, myself, missed updates on some great stories. So, if you missed it, please check out the last chapter before you read this one. Thanks for everyone reading, following the story, and making comments. Your feedback is very kind and much appreciated. Thus, special thanks to Erin Jordan, Red Hardy, Tin Dog, hlahabibty, Paulina Ann, ulstergirl, hbndgirl, Evergreen Dreamweaver, max 2013, SnowPrincess88, and Hero 76 for your feedback- it meant a lot! Only five chapters left after this one.
The Secret Spaces
Chapter 22
Frank ran as fast as he could, heart pounding as he sped in the direction of the fire. All around him, he could see and hear officials shouting orders; it was a sort of organized chaos. Apparently, Agent Clara's signal had been activated and, almost minutes later, smoke had started to appear in the distance.
Somehow, he had become separated from the fellow officers and agents responding to the scene, but he didn't care. He knew he had to reach his father, who HAD to be in that building. Frank swore under his breath as branches cut against his face; as he tripped and almost fell more times than he could count. It was cold and dreary and, though the blizzard had thankfully held off, a light snow had started falling. Still, he wasn't cold- in fact, sweat was pouring from from his forehead as he ran for his life, acutely aware of the profundity of the moment.
"Damnit," he uttered as he approached the building. Where was everyone? How was he going to get in? The building was burning quickly, plus it was big- he would only have a limited time to get in, and, if he entered via the wrong area, it would literally be a matter of life and death.
Before he could think about it, a window imploded nearby, causing him to jump. Knowing his time was limited, he started calling out. "Dad!" he screamed. "Dad! Are you in there?!"
Nothing.
He stared at the building and saw a half-open door. Frank closed his eyes for a brief moment. This was it- there would be no turning back. This door could determine everything, and he could lose his own life and his father's if he got it wrong. Then again, if he didn't go now, then he could pretty much guarantee his father's death. That thought did it- there was no choice; not really.
He opened his eyes, ran as fast as he could, and burst through the door, adrenaline coursing through his blood. Immediately, he began coughing and his eyes started to burn, already beginning to tear over. Forget calling for his father; it was hard enough to breathe, let alone talk.
Frank dropped his coat and lifted the bottom of his shirt to his mouth, struggling for breath.
Where do I go? I can barely see! he cried out mentally. In the distance, he saw flames and, fighting every bit of logic and common sense he had, he headed in that direction.
The smoke was so overwhelming and, before he knew it, he was gasping for breath. The flames were getting closer, and he tried to fight back the panic as he realized that, very soon, he would be trapped. It was getting hot as hell and scary. Dad- where ARE you?! A sudden, horrifying thought crossed his mind- what if his father wasn't here at all? What if it was a trap?
At once, he started gasping for air, sweat pouring down his face, mixing in with the tears from his burning eyes. His visibility was almost zero and he couldn't think.
If he didn't turn to leave, he would die- that was a certainty. If he did leave, and his dad was inside, he would never forgive himself. A crazy vision appeared to him at once. Iola. Flames and unbearable heat. Jumping on his brother, trying to hold him down, desperately fighting Joe to save him from the death he would certainly meet if he dove into the flames. God, he was stuck in time, complete deja vu.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he mentally agonized as he saw the building edge start to collapse. "Forgive me."
Lungs on fire, he took one last glance off to the corner-
And saw his father, inert, on the floor.
Frank struggled with every bit of strength he had left as he fell to the floor, gasping for breath, and crawled to him. He saw at once that his father's arms were tied behind him, and that he was barely breathing. Frank struggled to his feet and bent down, wrapping his arms around his father from behind in an attempt to drag him towards the exit. But at once, the sobering reality that he had no idea where the exit was hit him. He could barely breathe, gasping now as it was, and he was becoming disoriented, slowly beginning to realize that he simply wouldn't have the strength or the time to get his father to safety. He sure as hell wouldn't leave him.
The flames edged closer as the room began to spin. He mentally bid goodbyes and apologies to Callie, Joe, his mother. There was no way out of this. His knees began to weaken as he struggled with what to do, how much longer he could literally survive. He felt his eyes start to roll.
"Can you help me grab him?" a voice choked out.
Frank forced himself back to consciousness. A man had appeared out of nowhere, and he heard his voice, but couldn't seem to process what was being said to him. Within a moment, though, something in him snapped as he saw the man motioning at his father, and, all at once, the numbness that had been threatening to engulf him gave way to an overwhelming cacophony of sounds and hypersensitivity to feeling and vision as he was hurled into the present.
He nodded.
Somehow, as the room burst into flame, he, along with the man, half-carried, half-dragged his father across the wide expanse of room. Before he knew it, he was exiting the building and felt someone grab him from behind and help to get him to safety.
And then, everything went black.
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Joe groggily opened his eyes as he heard commotion around him and realized that he was in an ambulance. He tried to move, but moaned in agony with the effort. He was half conscious, but almost wished for the blackness again. What the hell had happened?
"Settle down, son," he vaguely heard someone say. "The less you move, the better. We're on the way to the hospital."
Joe fought the weakness, the smell of blood. He felt sick and knew he was shaking. He tried to concentrate. "What…" he began, but the effort was almost too much.
The EMTs kept working on him. He wanted answers, but couldn't phrase the questions. The shooting pain, the dizziness…
"Help," he managed.
"I got you, man," he heard, and then saw Pat come into view, felt him squeeze his hand.
Joe could barely focus, though he wanted to so badly. Pat kept talking.
"You were shot, Joe. You're hurt. We'll contact Vanessa and your family at Bayport General Hospital and tell them what's going on. We need them to stay put for right now, but I won't leave you."
Joe tried to even his breathing and fight the darkness. "Okay," he mouthed.
"Don't die, brother," Pat said calmly. "You've made it so far. We got him."
Joe managed to open his eyes a bit more. "Who?" he asked weakly.
"David Cotnig," Pat replied, still holding his hand. "The bastard shot you. Got Gold, too. He's okay."
Joe gasped, then cried out in pain. "Fr-"
"Frank's in a separate ambulance, also on the way to the hospital. He got smoke inhalation real bad. We have your dad, too. I think he's going to be okay. Just hang in there, buddy. Don't quit now. Vanessa would kick my ass, man, if I let you die."
Joe managed to smile. "They're okay?" he whispered.
"Yeah- as long as you'll be okay. So don't freaking die." Pat released his hand and squeezed his forearm.
Joe managed the smallest of thumbs up, and then allowed himself, finally, to succumb to the exhaustion and the temporary release from pain.
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Hours and hours later, Frank sat in the waiting area of the hospital. He felt like hell: his chest hurt, he had a massive headache, and his body was way beyond spent. But Joe had come out of surgery okay and was resting in his room, and Frank had to see him. He was also still waiting to see his father.
"You okay?" Agent Clara asked, sitting down next to him.
"I'm sick of hospitals," Frank responded simply.
Clara chuckled softly. "I'll bet you are. You're a brave kid."
Frank gave a small smile. "You're not that much older," he said in a raspy voice, his throat still hurting.
Clara stretched. "I have a few years on you yet," he answered, his own voice sounding hoarse. Earlier, he had filled Frank in on the almost week that he had spent with Fenton, explaining in depth the necessity for secrecy, what he had found out about Cotnig and the gang, and apologizing for his behavior towards Fenton, acted simply out of necessity. He had concluded with a statement very similar to what he had just told Frank-how very brave his father was.
"You're the one who saved both of our lives," Frank croaked.
"I couldn't have done it without you," Clara said. "The stars aligned for that timing. Do you know the whole section of the building we were in came down less than five minutes after we got out?"
Frank shuddered. "You guys were all great. Thank you so much for everything."
Agent Clara sighed before speaking. "I wish I could tell you it's over, Frank. It's not. We have Tobias and Alan Cotnig, the mastermind behind this whole ordeal, still out there. But we have three down. We'll get them." He stood up, as did Frank.
Frank extended his hand, which Clara grasped. "Thank you," Frank repeated. "I owe you a very big one."
"Take care of your dad- of your family. That's my thanks," Clara responded earnestly, and Frank smiled, grateful.
"I think your brother is about ready to see you." Frank turned to see Pat Merkel walk in the room. "We just got word. He's in his room- 304."
Frank breathed a sigh of relief before bursting into a cough and waved his thanks to both men as he headed towards the elevator. He was so thankful to be surrounded by these competent, brave, and heroic officers who had stopped at nothing to help him and his family. Even Pat had volunteered to, as he said, "Take one for the team," and had been the one to call both Vanessa and his mother initially to fill them in on what was happening. Of course, that had led to about 20 phone calls anyway from both of them to him, and he was fine trying to explain what he knew, but dealing with their worry and panic, justified though it was, was sucking the last bit of life he had left out of him. But at least Pat had suffered the initial blow!
There were two madmen still on the loose. He still needed to see his dad and brother. He was worried sick about Callie. It wasn't done yet, but it was a start.
It only took a minute for the elevator to reach the third floor, and, as soon as it did, he found Joe's room right away. He entered quickly, and took in a quick breath when he saw his brother's pale face. He stared down at him as he took a shaky breath and ran a hand nervously through his hair.
Only minutes later, as though sensing his brother in the room with him, Joe's eyes fluttered open. He tried to focus, the pain medicine making him light headed and dopey… but he didn't feel any real pain as long as he didn't move. "Hey…" he drawled.
Frank shook his head. "Oh, Joe," he sighed. "Are you okay, little brother?"
"I'm groovy," he said with a half-aware smile.
"You WOULD go and get yourself shot," Frank went on, beyond relieved at the fact that Joe was conscious.
All of a sudden, Joe found himself more aware. Okay-Frank was here. His brother was right in front of him, and, somehow, they were both safe. "Sorry about that," he answered. Then, he met Frank's eyes."You look like hell."
Frank snorted. "You don't look so hot yourself, but thanks," he retorted with an eye roll. "Good thing you survived," he went on, "because now you can deal with your wife and mother. They're a little concerned about your whole near-death experience."
Joe managed a weak smile. "Think Van will nurse me back to health?" he joked.
Frank gave him a disgusted look."Really, Joe?!"
Joe laughed but immediately moaned, squeezing his eyes. God, his side hurt. So much for the pain meds. When he opened his eyes, he saw Frank immediately beside him, eyes full of concern. Before Joe knew what was happening, he felt Frank's arm around his shoulders, hugging him. His brother, normally so reserved, looked at him with tears in his eyes. "Damn it, Joe," he said, in a painfully tight voice. "You're such an idiot, but I love you, okay? Take it easy!"
Joe sheepishly looked at his brother. "I know," he said, serious for once. "And I'm sorry. I really am," he went on in a low voice. "Pat told me what happened- how you saved dad- how you almost died." He choked back his own emotions. "I'm glad I wasn't conscious. I…" He was at a loss.
"It's okay," Frank choked out. "I get it."
Joe closed his eyes for a moment as the magnitude of the day's events closed in on him. He could not have been more relieved to have Frank next to him, to have felt his comforting embrace. He was reminded again of how much he needed his older brother in his life; what a steady and loyal friend and role model he had always been.
Weakly, he opened his eyes. "How's dad? How are you?"
"Alive," Frank finally replied, followed by a coughing spell that made him move his arm from Joe and sit up. When he finally settled down, Joe looked with deep concern at him.
Frank noticed as he caught his breath. "I'm better than I thought I'd be earlier. Don't worry." He leaned back and mussed Joe's hair quickly. "YOU, on the other hand, have to recoup. You're going to eventually need major PT on your leg. I have no idea how your knee wasn't hit, but otherwise your leg is a mess. Another bullet grazed your side. While it wasn't major, it's going to be sore as hell when you try to move. Join the list of family members with significant blood loss," he added, seriously. "Stitches, antibiotics, and therapy are the only things that'll help you. Oh-and time. You lucked out, Joe. Scared the hell out of me, though."
Joe ignored the ramifications, not wanting to think about them. He joked softly instead. "Too bad I don't have your new low, sexy voice. Then Van would really find me irresistible."
"Not funny," Frank replied, trying to avoid thinking, himself. If Joe had… no. He wouldn't go there. "It's really not," was all he could say.
"Lighten up, old man," Joe answered with a small smile, trying to break the tension.
"Speaking of old men… yours is finally here." Frank and Joe looked up to see their father standing in the doorway.
"Dad!" Frank said softly. If he lived through the absolute insanity of this past week or two, and his heart could still take it, he would consider himself blessed. He'd never been so stressed and overwhelmed in his life. He stood up and walked to his father, hugging him tightly. As his dad held him, Frank fought back his tears again. He felt like a little kid for a second, the briefest feeling of security passing through him as his dad seemed to silently assure him everything might just be okay. His dad quickly kissed his cheek, and, after he released Frank, he did the same with Joe, embracing him tightly as well.
"I have so much to tell you both. We all have so much to talk about," Fenton said quietly as he sat down on the chair beside Joe's bed, looking at his son with a mixture of fear and concern. He brushed back Joe's hair from his forehead. "We're going to get you transferred back to Bayport Memorial," he said quietly.
Joe nodded and closed his eyes, giving into the exhaustion at last.
Fenton turned to Frank. "Agent Gold filled me in," he said, squeezing Frank's shoulder. "I know what's true and what's not now. That picture I saw of Callie… I'm so sorry, son."
"I didn't see it," Frank answered in a shaky voice, avoiding his dad's piercing stare. "I don't want to."
"I'm sorry about John, too," Fenton went on, understanding. "Is Callie okay now? It- it looked bad."
Frank shrugged, trying to be strong. "She's hanging in there," he managed.
"Frank," he began, gently rubbing his back. "You saved my life. I want you to know that I am so proud of you. This week was hell for me, but you've been through worse. You AND your brother. Rest. We'll all need each other to end this."
"We WILL end it, though," Frank replied, a fierce determination in his dark eyes that cut through all else. "I promise, Dad. No one hurts my father; my brother; my sister in law; my friend; my wife." He bit his lip to keep it from quivering. "No one."
Father and son, together once again, stood weakly, but firmly, in unity. The end was close, and they would win this war; solve this case; avenge their wrongs.
Together.