J.M.J.
Author's note: Thank you for reading and reviewing! Thanks for your patience also in waiting for this chapter! The next one won't be as long in coming. It will be here July 31. God bless!
July 28 – Friday
Frank gritted his teeth as he tried to balance his plate on his knees and run the fork with his good hand. He wasn't really hungry. Even after two and a half weeks, his broken arm hurt constantly. It was impossible to be really comfortable or to get much sleep, and the fear that he was going to mess it up and it would heal weird didn't leave him alone for many minutes at a time. His one consolation was that the others seemed to be recovering from the fright his accident had caused them. Only Joe still seemed concerned, so Frank was extra careful not to show any discomfort in front of his brother.
Not that he was very successful in tricking Joe. He glanced up from his plate and caught him looking at him with concern in his face, despite Joe's attempt to look away before Frank noticed. He must have picked up on Frank's poor appetite, so Frank tried to make up for it by taking several bites without pausing.
When he did pause, it was to say, "Guys, I've been thinking about something."
"That's nothing new for you," Chet replied teasingly. "Now if Biff had said that…"
Biff playfully kicked him.
"Okay, okay. Let the man speak," Chet said.
The boys all looked expectantly at Frank.
"What day is it, Tony?" Frank asked.
"It's Friday, July 28," Tony replied.
Frank sighed. "I thought it was the twenty-seventh. So we've been here over a month now. From the looks of things, we could be here a long time."
"Any other cheery news bulletins?" Phil asked.
"Actually, it might not have sounded that way, but that's the point," Frank replied. "We need to do more than just work and then sit around and not know what to do. The Fourth of July was fun. We should have some more holidays. The problem is that August is a little short on them."
"Not if you're Catholic," Tony commented.
"I'm open to whatever holidays we can come up with," Frank replied. "Maybe we shouldn't have too many, because then that would defeat the purpose, but we should have at least one a month and figure out ways to celebrate them."
"There's all our birthdays, too," Joe pointed out. "That's quite a few celebrations right there, although I hope we're not stuck here long enough to celebrate all of them."
"Yeah, especially since mine is in May and Tony's is in early June, so we would have been here almost an entire year before we get to them," Chet replied.
"Well, mine is in September, so we can probably put that one on the calendar," Biff said. "Not that I'd mind getting rescued before that."
"Okay, well since Frank's and Phil's birthdays are both in January and mine's in March, maybe we won't be celebrating too many birthdays here," Joe admitted. "At least, hopefully we won't be stuck here that long."
"We've still got to come up with some holidays for the next couple of months," Frank said. "There's Labor Day, but how do you really celebrate Labor Day besides camping?"
"Usually I'm down for camping, but just at the moment, it's not really any different than what we're doing anyway," Biff commented.
"Okay, well, we'll figure out something for Labor Day," Frank replied. "Phil, you got anything?"
"There are a few holidays in September," Phil said. "Rosh Hashanah is the big one. But, I mean, none of you guys are Jewish, so if you're not comfortable with it…"
"No, it's fine," Frank insisted. "At least, it's fine with us, if it is with you."
"I think it's okay," Phil conceded.
"All right, Tony," Frank said next, "what's your August holiday?"
"There are two big ones. The bigger one is the Assumption of Mary on August 15."
"Okay, then. It doesn't sound like we'll have much trouble coming up with things to celebrate after all," Biff said.
"And even in between holidays, we'll need to find ways to keep morale up," Chet pointed out. "We've already been having trouble with that."
HBNDHBNDHB
Laura Hardy had always loved old-fashioned things, and one in particular that she stubbornly refused to fall into step with the modern age on was photo albums. The boys—especially Joe—used to tease her about actually getting photos printed and putting them in albums, meticulously writing descriptions where needed on the back. She was glad now that she had kept it up, as she slowly turned the pages, taking out her favorite photos. She looked up at Fenton, who was going through another album. His eyes were red-rimmed and Laura thought there was more gray at his temples than there used to be.
Laura glanced back down at the photos of her sons in her hands. "It isn't right."
Fenton looked up at her. "I know."
"They weren't there on some case," she went on. "It was just by chance that they saw anything. Why did they have to kill them?"
Fenton shook his head wordlessly. He knew the reasons; they just weren't any good. He'd heard hundreds of excuses during his career for how one person justified killing an innocent victim, but he'd never really understand how they could believe their own excuses, or whether they really did. He wished he could look the people responsible for this in the eye and ask them what excuses they were ready to give, but it didn't look like he'd have the chance. The men who had actually done the killing were dead now themselves, and Dallas Ermington, who was the one who bore the primary responsibility, had eluded capture so far. No amount of testimony would do any good if she couldn't be brought to trial. Fenton wanted to go after her himself, but it would have to wait a little while. He couldn't leave Laura alone again right now.
"I'm glad the Mortons and the Hoopers agreed to have one service all together with us," Laura said, trying to talk her way through by being calm and logical. "I don't think I could have borne to go to five services. I wish the Pritos and the Cohens would have agreed too, but I understand that they want to do things the way their faiths…" She stopped as she felt herself getting closer to tears with every word instead of further away, as she had thought she would. She looked up and saw tears standing in Fenton's eyes. She jumped up and bounded to him to throw her arms around him and bury her face in his chest. "Oh, Fenton, what are we going to do? You and my boys are my whole life. If they're gone, what are we supposed to do?"
Fenton held her tightly and gently kissed the top of her head. "I don't know," he admitted.
HBNDHNBHD
Iola felt like her hands were tied. She wanted desperately to be doing something, anything, to find the boys. She knew she was the only one who believed they were still alive. That was tough. She couldn't talk to anyone about her hopes or make plans or anything without just upsetting them more. And she understood that. They were all in mourning. They didn't want what looked like false hopes to them preventing them from ever healing. And maybe they were right. That thought haunted Iola. She had heard often enough that denial was a normal stage of grief. Maybe she was simply stuck in it, and the boys—her brother, her boyfriend, and her friends—really were dead. She would no sooner forbid herself from thinking such things when the idea that maybe she was right struck just as much a chill in her. If the boys were alive, then where were they? They had to be held against their will somewhere, and probably mistreated, too. Wherever they were, they must be wondering why no rescue was coming.
Iola paced around the living room, clenching and unclenching her fists. She was trying to devote all her emotion to anger rather than sadness. Maybe, if she could wind herself up enough, she would find the courage to do something about this, even if it was something stupid.
That was how Callie found her when she came into the room. Callie watched her for a few seconds and then she asked, "Are you doing okay?"
Iola jumped. She hadn't realized she wasn't alone. When she saw who it was, she relaxed a bit. "Yeah. I mean, as well as I can be. How about you?"
"No," Callie said bluntly but honestly. She dropped into a chair and looked out the window. "As long as we were playing detective and still trying to figure out what happened exactly, it didn't seem real, you know? But now that they're planning funerals and everything…"
Iola bit her lip. "You know what I think, Cal."
Callie looked at her hands. "I know. But honestly, Iola, would that really be better?"
Iola stared at her in horror. "How can you say such a thing?"
"I don't mean it like that. I don't even know how to describe how I'd be if it turned out they were alive after all. They're my friends, and Frank especially…But, Iola, think about what they would be going through if they were still alive."
"That's what I was thinking about," Iola said grimly. "I know it must be terrible, but it's better than if they were dead. This way, we can rescue them. There can be an end to it."
"But what if we can't? What if it goes on and on? And what if we did rescue them but it still wasn't the end of it for them? What if whatever they're going through is so terrible, that they'd be better off dead?" Callie stumbled over the words, hating to say them.
Iola turned her back to keep Callie from seeing her face. It was easy enough for Callie to think about such possibilities. It was probably comforting, in a way, to think that what she believed had happened wasn't really the worst case scenario, after all. But she didn't have to bring it up to Iola, who was willing to admit that what Callie was saying was a very real possibility. It was cruel.
"No," Iola said finally. "It wouldn't be better. Because I'm going to find them, if it's the last thing I do."
