Chapter 14

There was a lot about the night's events that Frank was certain he'd never forget, and a lot that he thought was just plain insane, and even more that he had no way of comprehending; but at the moment, nothing confused him more than David Martin. In fact, as Frank sat on the ground at the bow of the boat, his arm around Oliver as they tried to get his nose to stop bleeding, Frank decided that he was tired of trying to figure David out.

David was crazy. End of subject.

Made perfect sense. But not really.

The last long minutes of Frank's life hadn't made sense at all, because no one had seemed more shocked to see David on that boat than Brian Martin. In fact, Frank was under the impression that Brian had never expected to see David again, but now that he'd figured out that wasn't the case, Brian seemed overly pleased with the more unstable of his two sons. He'd even produced a second weapon, and disturbingly, David seemed to be very comfortable with it in his hands as he watched over Oliver and Frank.

Braving a glance over his shoulder, Frank saw his father watching him from above where he was seated next to the wheel. Brian was now in charge of navigation, and both of them looked irritated, but then, both of them had faces swelling in places due to badly aimed punches.

And it was quiet. Except for the sound of the engine, the water hitting the sides of the boat, it seemed too quiet. The tension was suffocating, and the fear... Frank didn't really want to think about the fear.

"What are you doing?" Frank whispered. He didn't know exactly why he was talking to David, but it was likely out of desperation.

David smiled at Frank, much like a parent amused by a confused child. "I'm surviving, Frank."

"You're out of your mind," Frank retorted. "Look what your parents did to you... Your mom's dead, David... and your dad... you're helping your dad." Nothing about the notion was comprehensible for Frank. "He was going to go to jail for a very long time. Now what do you think is going to happen to you? Neither of you will get away with this. Jay called people from your house... someone's gonna know what happened. And what about your brother, David? What happens to Oliver?"

Oliver frowned at Frank, as if he'd really rather not think about that himself.

"If I were you, Frank," David replied, "I'd be more worried about myself. See, it doesn't really matter when it comes to anyone else. Think about it; if you don't survive, and let's face it, there's a good chance you won't, then what does it matter what happens to everyone else after you're gone. They're their own problem. It's out of your control... I mean, unless you take control."

"And is that what you're doing?" Frank replied.

David shrugged. "Maybe. I might as well have it, right? I don't trust anyone besides myself... and lately I've been thinking that it was stupid to think I could." He seemed to direct this last remark at Oliver, who became visibly upset by it.

"I don't want you to be in trouble anymore, David," Oliver said.

"I know you don't," David replied. "But the thing is, that just isn't up to you anymore, Oliver. Never was."

"David!" Brian suddenly called. "Stop playing around with them and help me look for a good spot."

David looked in his father's direction calmly, right before he held his middle finger up in Brian's direction. Brian snorted, and David rolled his eyes as he stood from the railing he'd been leaning on and flicked the barrel of his gun in Frank and Oliver's direction. "Don't go nowhere," he remarked. "You won't wanna miss what happens next."

Above them, Sam released a frustrated breath that he hoped covered his nervousness and looked at Brian. "This is ridiculous. Why don't you just let the boys go, alright? We can settle this ourselves."

Brian laughed. "Sorry, Sammy. I just can't bring myself to do that."

"They're just kids!" Sam snapped.

"I know, and trust me, we wouldn't have nearly as much fun without them."

...

In the sixth grade, Jeremy Flaskis tried to join the football team at school. Twenty minutes into his first practice, he was tackled during an exercise and fractured his collarbone, and learned exactly why an athletic cup was invented. So after careful consideration, he decided that he wasn't one to do pain and took up photography instead. But he'd always wondered if giving up on becoming the school's most popular jock, perhaps the future homecoming king and maybe even superhuman babe magnet, had been worth abandoning just to avoid a long series of injuries that he would likely endure as a result of following those dreams. Waking up in the Seaberg's bathroom with broken glass stuck in his hair only convinced him that he had, indeed, made an appropriate decision.

"Jeremy? How many fingers, Jeremy?"

Jeremy opened one eye, then the other as he stared up at the woman talking very loudly over him. "You're pretty."

Jessica Seaberg liked to think that she had a sense of humor, but this didn't seem like the time to display it. "Can you get up?" she asked.

Jay thought about it for a minute, among other things. He thought until he remembered exactly how he'd ended up on the bathroom floor with sore places that he hadn't even known he had, and then he answered her question by bolting upright, looking around as if he half expected to be assaulted again.

"Are you alright?" Jessica asked. "Do you know where you are?"

Jay gave a short nod, partly in response, and in part to test his stiff neck before his eyes settled on Rudy, who was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, looking pale in the face. Suffering a moment of confusion, the redheaded little girl he saw was his sister and his concern was immediate. "Stephanie?"

Both Rudy and Jessica looked at him oddly, and he shook his head, attempting to pull himself together. "Rudy," he corrected himself. "Are you doing alright?"

Rudy sniffed, wiping away invisible tears. "He took Oliver."

Jay looked towards the door, and with Jessica's assistance, found his feet.

"We think they left the house," Jessica explained. "Jay, what's going on?"

"We have to get out," Jay replied, moving to try the doorknob."

"It's jammed from the outside," Jessica said, but she'd hardly finished the sentence before the bang of Jay's body hitting the wooden door echoed through the room, and then again, and again as he repeatedly rammed the side of his body against it, and then for good measure, he started to kick.

"Jay..." Jessica started to object, but realizing that the boy's idea was better than any she currently had, she ended up next to him, the two of them attempting to knock the door in.

"Mommy!" Rudy objected, covering her ears.

"Maybe we should wait for help," Jessica suggested, causing Jay to pause and look at her.

"If they left the house, I don't think there is help coming," he replied. "Brian killed his wife... he knows we know it, and if he doesn't already have Frank, I think he'll be going after him next."

Jessica took a moment to digest what she was hearing, and a moment later she was kicking at the door with Jeremy again.

Down the hall, past the kitchen and in the living room there was a coffee table wedged up against the back of the sofa. A keepsake Jessica had acquired from her late grandfather. Unbeknownst to her, someone had carelessly left a pile of old receipts and pages from one of Rudy's many coloring books scattered over the surface, beneath a low-burning candle that had recently been standing decoratively atop the dresser in her bedroom. A stray cat that Frank had refused to place outside sat on the floor, wagging its long tail as it watched the shadows from the flame with interest, releasing a loud mew as a colored picture of a horse caught fire and went up in flames; and as the small fire slowly spread the feline's instincts did exactly what they were supposed to do as the animal fled out a crack beneath the kitchen counter, into the woods, and away from the danger.

...

"How long was I down there, Frank? How long was I... nothing."

It had started sprinkling again, the raindrops tapping the trees, water feeling unclean as it dripped down from above. Frank's shoes were soggy, his pants drenched from tracking through waist-deep water as they made their way into a little cove, away from the boat. No porch lights in the distance, no lights from the dock. He felt disoriented as he looked over his shoulder at David, who trailed the line Brian Martin led with Frank, Sam and Oliver somewhere in the middle.

"You weren't nothing," Frank replied, insisting to himself that now was not the time to say anything cruel, anything provoking.

"Just answer the question," David responded.

"Nine days. I think."

David released a bemused little sigh. "That's all? Felt longer."

"I'm sor—"

"Of course you are. Now," David interrupted.

Frank continued walking, sharing a glance with Oliver, who was in front of him. It was meant to encourage each other, but if that was the purpose, their efforts failed miserably.

"Do I get to ask a question now?" Frank asked David.

"You don't have to," David replied. "I already know what you're thinking."

"I doubt it."

"It's not that hard to figure out. You're wondering the same thing that I was wondering for... what was it? Nine days."

"David..."

"You want to know what's going to happen to you," David continued. "You want to know if this is really happening, if you're going to die before the sun comes back up. Bet you're wondering if it's gonna hurt."

"Okay. Just stop," Frank stated.

"Wouldn't that be nice? If we could all just stop... wake up in our beds tomorrow and know..."

"Know what?" Frank asked.

"That we're somewhere better."

"You can stop this," Frank whispered, his voice becoming a little more shaky than he was comfortable with. "David, you can..."

"You're not listening," David cut him off. "You can't ask for my help. You have to trust yourself... you're the only one out here you can trust. So... aren't you going to ask?"

"Ask what?"

"What's going to happen to you."

"I would... if I didn't think you were going to tell me it was up to me."

"You don't think it is?"

"I don't know, David," Frank responded irritably. "If I had a choice I'd run... but then you'd shoot me in the back."

"So don't run, it'd be a bad choice."

"David..."

"It's all about choices," David said. "You'll see... and if you let him in your head, you'll probably make the wrong one. But it'll happen, Frank. He'll be in your head. He'll put you in the dark."

"Is he in your head, David?"

"D'you think so?"

Frank simply shook his head. "What I think... is that you're all a bunch of fucking lunatics."

David laughed something that was so void of humor that it only proved as another reminder that he was definitely not Oliver, and thinking of Oliver had Frank picking up his pace to catch up to him. Oliver, who had no place out here. It was a mystery to Frank as he wondered how Oliver could have turned out the way he had with a family like this.

"I wanna go home, Frank," Oliver whispered.

"I know you do," Frank replied, lifting a hand to squeeze his friend's shoulder.

Up ahead of them, Brian Martin suddenly looked back, his eyes settling on Frank. Sam saw it, and purposely moved in front of his son, but it did little good as Brian shoved him aside and grinned at Frank again.

"Why don't you come up here with me, boy," Brian said. "We'll get to know each other better."

"No," Frank replied. "That's okay."

Brian frowned and looked at Sam. "Nice boy you've raised," he remarked, and then pointed his rifle at Frank. "I wasn't asking."

Frank looked at Oliver, who shook his head. Frank couldn't tell if Oliver was telling him to follow orders or to ignore them, but having a gun aimed in his direction didn't really give him any desire to be disobedient. He glanced at his father, who had paled over the last few moments. Maybe, Frank thought, if he could keep Brian distracted then his dad and Oliver could get away. Maybe they could get past David. But then, the look on his father's face was enough to tell Frank that that wasn't going to happen. His dad wasn't going anywhere. There was something funny about that; the fact that he had to be in mortal danger to get the old man to stick around. Something about it made Frank angry, and he found himself moving towards Brian Martin, now not only to avoid getting shot, but also in a blatant display of disobedience towards his father. He just wasn't sure if it was worth it when Brian Martin threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him against his side.

Walking stiffly, Frank tried to ward off a sudden burst of nausea as they continued forward.

"Nice out here, isn't it?" Brian remarked, as if they were supposed to be on a peaceful nature walk. "I've been taking my own boys out here since the day they've been able to keep up. It's good for fathers and sons to do things like that, don't you think?"

Frank found it in his best interest not to answer.

"I bet there was a time when you and your dad spent a lot of time together," Brian continued. "But that was a while back, wasn't it? Now you don't want to listen to him, do you? That's disobedience, boy. A sin, you know. But, I'm sure you shouldn't blame yourself, Frank. 'Cause it's not your fault, is it?"

Frank found himself glancing back at Sam, wondering how he found the energy to be irritated with his father at a time like this.

"Why don't you tell me what he did, Frank. I know you don't get along with him. But what did he do to make you so angry. You are angry, aren't you?"

Frank continued on in silence, but only until Brian Martin seemed to squeeze him harder. Something about it was smothering, warning Frank that he couldn't get away with allowing this conversation to pass him by, and that was an irritation in itself. Not only had Brian Martin kidnapped him, now he was forcing him to think about festering wounds that Frank wasn't yet willing to deal with, let alone during a crisis.

"Is there a reason why I shouldn't be angry right now?" Frank finally responded, causing Brian Martin to laugh out loud.

"Of course you're angry right now, but we're talking about the old man, Frank," Brian responded, lifting a fist and rubbing his knuckles against the top of Frank's head in a way that caused him to wince.

"Hey," Sam said, "leave him alone!"

"Is that what you want Frank?" Brian asked. "D'you want me to leave you alone, or do you want him to leave you alone?"

"I want both of you to leave me alone!" Frank snapped, and with no further regard for his current situation, he found himself furiously pulling away from Brian Martin until Brian suddenly shook him, and Frank found himself face to face with Oliver's father, the barrel of a rifle pointed at his chin. He stilled, his eyes intensely on his captor.

"It's time to calm down, Frank," Brian warned. "I'm just trying to help you here."

"Go help someone else," Frank retorted.

"I would, but I think I'm better with solving father-son dilemmas," Brian said thoughtfully.

Frank raised an eyebrow. "If this is an example of your credentials, it's not that impressive."

"Frank," Sam warned, as if to say don't antagonize the guy holding the gun.

"You stay out of this, Daddy," Brian growled, glaring at Sam. But his warning only escalated the situation when Sam took a threatening step forward, wanting nothing more than to separate his child from a threat. He was stopped short, though, when he found the rifle in David Martin's hands aimed in his direction.

"Don't!" Frank shouted, speaking to David this time. He looked at Brian. "I'm angry, okay? Now just stop... please, just stop."

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Brian asked, giving Frank a pat on the back that the boy visibly shied away from. "So let me ask you something, Frank. Why are you so mad at your dad, huh? Your parents got divorced, did they? I bet your dad didn't work hard enough to keep the family together. Keeping your own together's important, you know."

"Is that why you killed Mom?" David suddenly asked, drawing attention from everyone and a dirty look from Brian. David seemed pleased with himself, but nonetheless, shrugged and added. "I don't really miss her or anything, I just think it's funny... you talking about togetherness and all."

"You getting bored, son?" Brian asked him irritably.

"A little," David replied unapologetically. "But go on, maybe we'll get this done sooner."

"Look," Sam interrupted. "Why don't you just tell us what you're planning to do... better yet, just take us back home; no one has to know anything, I'll take my family and..."

"Now you want your family back?" Brian cut him off. "What do you think about that, Frank? Kinda highhanded of him, ain't it? I mean, the nerve of this man, right Frank? First he leaves, now he wants you back? I'll bet he's already got that little sister of yours won over."

"Don't talk about Rudy," Frank snapped, his stomach knotting as he wondered where she was, and his temper flaring as he thought about his dad having lost track of her. Frank knew it was a mistake the moment he divulged those feelings to his father with one look, but it was too late. Brian Martin had already seen it.

"Why don't you just tell him, Frank. Tell him you don't want him anymore. I can see it in your face... this bastard had the nerve to hurt you and yours, and now he's back to do it all over again, ain't he?"

"That's not true," Sam insisted, looking at Frank as if he was losing him, but again, the look on Frank's face told him he might have already. "Look, just leave my son alone!"

"You don't have a son anymore," Brian replied. "Ain't that right, Frank? Why don't you tell your old man to get lost... then you and I can talk about things. What d'you say?"

Frank stared at Brian Martin for a long moment, trying to understand the meaning behind his words before he gave a slow, careful, nod. "Okay," Frank said quietly. "I don't want him here."

"Because you're angry," Brian said.

Frank looked at Sam. "Yeah," he agreed. "I am." And he meant every word.

"Good," Brian said gently. "Now you've just gotta show him, Frank. Make it all better... I can help you do that."

Frank wasn't sure when it happened, but suddenly Brian Martin was turning him, turning him to face his father, and there was something cold and hard beneath his hands. "What are you doing?" Frank demanded, a panicked edge entering his voice as he looked down to see the rifle in his hands. "What are you doing?"

"Shh. Shh, Frank," Brian insisted. "It'll be okay. I just can't do this for you."

"Do what?" Frank shouted, but the answer to his question came when he found himself with a gun aimed at his father.

...

Andrew Dron opened his eyes. He'd done that a few times before, too, but each time he'd considered keeping them open just damn inconvenient. This time was different, though. Perhaps he was slow to realize it, but Mr. Andrew Dron was pretty sure that not all was right in the world. He was also pretty sure that when this was over, he'd be grounding a few members of the town's youth himself, if he couldn't get their parents to do it first, and at least one of them would be working off any damage to his truck.

He wanted to get up and see how bad it was; of course, that would have been made if easier if Andrew Dron had actually been in his vehicle. But he seemed to be in someone else's. Looking up out the back window, he found it difficult to conclude where exactly he was, too, but there seemed to be something wrong with the sky. It was glowing crimson, and dark clouds seemed to be covering the sky, swirling about in unnatural patterns. But then, he wasn't seeing it right, because as Mr. Dron slowly pulled himself upright he realized that he wasn't seeing clouds at all, but a mass of smoke beneath quickly growing flames spreading through a structure that looked an awful lot like the Seaberg house.

Fumbling for the door handle, Mr. Dron forced his way from the vehicle, catching himself on wobbly knees that didn't feel as strong as they used to be and he stared up at the house, mouth agape and eyes wide before reflexes took over and his gaze drifted around him, taking in the family's vehicles, the occasional fleeing cats, and most importantly, what he couldn't see. He didn't see the Seabergs, and common sense would dictate that if Andrew Dron could see a black cat disappearing into the woods fifteen feet away, then he'd likely see people fleeing a burning house, and anyone with the slightest bit of common sense would most definitely be retreating from the house in front of him.

But, what Mr. Dron didn't know was that behind a narrow bathroom door jammed with a chair and barricaded with a heavy dresser full of keepsakes, Jeremy Flaskis was trying very hard to get out as Jessica Seaberg shoved a wet towel against the crack at the bottom of the door to keep out the thick smoke that had recently assaulted them.

"Jeremy, get away from the door!" Jessica screamed as she went back to her daughter, but didn't dare get between the adamant teenager and the wooden surface he insisted on assaulting. It had cracked in three places already, but unfortunately, it didn't seem to be enough.

"It's the only way out!" Jay retorted, coughing as he drew an arm over his mouth and nose, hoping to keep out the smoke that was already making him feel light-headed. He could hear Rudy crying, not the most encouraging of sounds, and as he turned to look at Frank Seaberg's family he found himself experiencing a strong sense of helplessness as he saw the look on Jessica's face and silently agreed with what she was thinking. Even if he got the door down, there was a still a chance they wouldn't get out. The thought made him nauseous, made him feel cornered. Sweat broke out over his face as once again he scanned the small room for another way out, all his hopes eventually moving back to the door.

"I don't want to die in here," he said decisively, and once again the side of his body felt the sting as it collided with the wood.

...

I don't want to die out here. Frank wasn't sure where the thought came from, but he was certain that he needed to have it. Furthermore, he didn't want to watch anyone else die out in the cold woods, either. And as he realized that those fears had been somewhere on hold in his mind since the moment they'd left the boat, he'd never once considered that he'd be the cause of any of it, and yet Brian Martin was forcing his shaking fingers into place, and there was nothing Frank felt he could do to avoid it. One wrong move, he thought. That's all it would take, and any number of things could go wrong. Things Frank didn't want to think about while he was the one aiming the gun at his father.

"What are you doing?" Frank asked again, his lips seeming incapable of producing a more intelligent question. He didn't even know who he was asking, what answer he expected. His eyes locked with Sam's, and Frank felt himself go numb from head to toe.

It all felt so strange. Frank Seaberg of all people knew how delicate a relationship between a father and son could be given the right circumstances. And this man, his father... just that morning Frank had wanted nothing to do with him. He hadn't wanted to talk to him, he hadn't wanted to look at him. Now, nothing could have been further from the truth. There was so much Frank wanted to say, all the things he wanted his dad to understand. But, now that Frank wanted it, he felt like it was already too late. Over. And so completely out of his control that all he knew how to do was shut down.

"Get away from him," Sam demanded, but there was hardly as much heat behind his voice as there was behind the look on his face as he glared at Brian Martin. "Just leave my son alone... Frank... Frank, it's okay."

Frank blinked, and quickly decided that he couldn't have disagreed more. But then, he was having trouble giving his father any response at all with Brian Martin so close behind him, holding him in place. The man smelled like mint, and Frank had never been more disgusted by it. "All you gotta do is squeeze right here and this all goes away," Brian said as he adjusted Frank's fingers, which Frank had managed to paralyze somehow, as if he were willing one little digit to be stronger than Brian Martin's entire body. "Take your time now, son. There's no hurry. D'you feel it? D'you feel it, Frank? You're in control now. You just do what you know's right. This is the way it's gotta be. You just let your old man know it now."

Frank would have attempted to look over his shoulder in disbelief at Brian Martin just then, if he wasn't already eyeing David in the same fashion. David, who was suddenly avoiding his eyes, but still looking obnoxiously relaxed. And looking down at the rifle in his hands, Frank realized that he was in control. It didn't matter that apart from the water gun he used to torture his sister with, he'd never had one in his hands before, or that Brian Martin was right up on him, ready to stop Frank from doing something that he would disapprove of. And for the briefest moment as he considered it, David Martin made sense to Frank.

"Dad?" Frank said, so quietly that he swore the entire woods became still and a few people stopped breathing just so he could be heard.

"Frank," Sam replied, and Frank met his eyes again, his tired, red eyes that looked so much older than they had during past father and son talks, late night basketball games and unplanned weekend vacations that Frank had once been accustomed to. "Frank, you don't have to do anything that..."

"Yes I do," Frank cut him off, causing not only Sam, but also Oliver to start looking very worried. "I have to say it. I am mad at you... I mean, I am really... just, pissed. And I didn't want you to come here, and I don't want to listen to you. I don't want to hear what you have to say, because it won't matter. It won't change that you left."

"That's right," Brian interrupted. "You let him know, Frank. Tell'im you don't need him anymore."

Frank's brow creased, his grip on the rifle becoming increasingly nervous as Brian Martin's grip tightened, as if he were becoming excited over what was supposed to happen next. Frank took in a deep breath, released it, and then found himself with half a smile that found very odd on his mouth given his current predicament. "I can't do that," he finally said, still looking at Sam. "Because I don't want you out of my life. I never did."

Sam nodded. "I know," he said, while his eyes begged Frank not to do anything stupid, and he didn't mean by shooting him. As it seemed, Frank realized, that was the least of his father's concerns. But, that didn't change that Frank's finger was still way too close to the trigger, or that he was entirely unsettled by it.

Frank moved his hand carefully, hoping that Brian Martin wouldn't notice. He moved it away from the trigger, his forearm over the top of the long gun, and pushed down. Brian Martin still had control over where the rifle was aimed, but from the current position, neither of them would be getting a shot off, and as Frank stiffened his posture, and Brian tightened his grip, it became clear that if either one of them tried to make another move they would be inducing a struggle, and while being on equal footing with Brian Martin for the moment did tend to ease a little of Frank's nerves, the fact that David was still holding a weapon simply did not.

"Oh, Frank," Brian said, sighing heavily. "I'm afraid that this isn't going to work. Obviously, you're a very misguided young man. I'm disappointed. And, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask, one more time, for you to do the right thing here."

Frank swallowed hard, adjusting his grip on the weapon in front of him as Brian did the same thing. "I already did... why don't you just give it up, alright? No one's getting shot."

"Frank..." Brian warned.

Sam glanced sideways towards David, his hands becoming loose at his sides as he contemplated his next move, but the boy seemed to sense it, and suddenly Sam found himself standing between two rifle barrels instead of one. "Frank," he called. "It's okay... it's okay, Frank... you just... Frank..."

"They'll kill us all, anyway," Frank said, matter-of-factly, his voice becoming strained as he turned slightly to eye Brian Martin. "But I swear you're not gonna get away with it."

For the first time since Frank had found himself with his hands on the rifle, he looked at Oliver, who'd not only been silent, but had also managed to effortlessly fade into the background. He hadn't left, though. In fact, he seemed to be taking in every detail, every face, and every terrible moment as he became torn apart inside. And now he was looking at Frank in a way that seemed so helpless that Frank decided that he wanted to be anything but that. He tightened his grip on the rifle, looked to see where David was, and then spoke to Brian Martin one more time. "Get your hands the fuck off me."