Chapter 7

Thanks to Jim for editing!

Honey, just have a glass of milk and try to go back to sleep. No more sugar before bedtime, m'kay?

That's what Frank imagined he'd hear from his mom if he woke her up to tell her about the phone call he'd just gotten. That's why he didn't. Instead, he dressed, snuck into her purse for the car keys, and as quietly as possible, pulled the Subaru away from the house, hoping not to wake anyone.

It was still dark, his headlights casting deep cutting shadows as he took the dirt road slowly, unable see beyond what was in front of him. The windows were up, keeping out the cool air, which might have been comfortable any other time.

Frank felt like he couldn't breathe, but he was wide awake, even while his mind was oddly numb of all the thoughts that should have been running through it. The truth was, Frank didn't want to think. He didn't want to think about the last moments of that phone call before the line went dead--the pleading in David's voice, the suspicious sounds of a scuffle, and the rush to hang up on him. He didn't want to think about what he was about to do because of that call, either, because Frank knew that as soon as he started thinking about it, he'd realize how incredibly foolish charging out in the early hours of morning to launch a rescue with no backup really was. He just needed to get there. Through every wrong turn before he reached the Martin house, Frank just wanted to get there, and when he did, he found himself somewhat grateful that he didn't lose confidence at the door.

He'd left the Subaru headlights on, aimed at the house. It was too dark, otherwise, and he wasn't interested in any more surprises. This time, Frank wanted to be the surprise, which is why he hardly hesitated before lifting his fist to relentlessly pound on the front door. No tapping this time. He wanted to be heard, and he wanted to be heard quickly. He wasn't disappointed when he saw a light inside come on just before the door cracked open, and was further relieved when he found that it wasn't Oliver's dad he was facing. Mary Martin wasn't as nearly as intimidating, especially in a fluffy purple nightgown. She looked more frightened than surprised when she saw Frank, which he immediately used to his advantage. He really wasn't in the habit of intimidating women. His mother would have made a point to tear him a new asshole if he ever had, but this time, he was willing to make an exception. "Where are Oliver and David?" he demanded.

Mrs. Martin was quite the actress, Frank decided, when she appeared to be outraged through the thin crack in the door she was standing behind. "They're sleeping, and you should be, too. Obviously your mother has no idea you're out at all hours of the night or I'm sure..."

"I just got a phone call from David," Frank cut her off. "He's not sleeping. Get him."

Mrs. Martin narrowed the one eye that Frank could see on him. "Go home, or I'll call the police." She started to slam the door, but this time Frank was quick to get a foot in.

"And I'm sure that'll do you a whole lot of good," he said sarcastically. "Where is David?"

When Mrs. Martin didn't answer and attempted to shove her door closed on Frank's foot instead, he'd finally had enough. With both hands on the door he pushed his way by it and Mary Martin, into the house.

"That's it!" Mary huffed, stepping back. "I'm calling the police!"

"Go ahead," Frank replied as he looked over the perfectly normal living room for anything not-so-normal. "I was gonna get to that, anyway." He glanced challengingly towards Mrs. Martin, and as he'd suspected, she stopped short of picking up the phone. But what he hadn't expected, was the swollen purple blemish marring her left eye. That definitely hadn't happened from being clumsy, which is exactly the explanation Frank thought he'd get if he asked. "Where's your husband?" he asked, finally recalling that forcing his way into someone else's house wasn't the safest scenario in the world. Mary must have seen that the idea of running into Mr. Martin made Frank nervous.

"He had to run out for a minute. You better not be here when he comes home. I'm warning you..."

"Ran out at three in the morning?" Frank mumbled skeptically under his breath before he decided to focus on the task at hand. If Brian Martin was gone for the time being, then he thought it was best to hurry. "David?" he called, moving further into the house, cautiously making sure that the door stayed wide open behind him. "David!" He raised his voice as he neared the hallway and Mary stepped into his path.

"I told you, he's sleeping!"

Frank ignored her and brushed by, opening the doors of two rooms, an office and a master bedroom before he found the one he was looking for. He paused in the doorway for a long moment, taking in the simple space. Tidy, but cluttered. And, there might as well have been a taped line down the middle of it.

There were two twin beds, one on each side of the room. One was neatly made, looking like it hadn't been slept in tonight. There was an old car magazine at the foot of it, right next to a red lighter. On that side of the room there were photos tacked over the walls, mostly of objects that most might find meaningless. A wilted leaf, a fish on the end of a fishing line looking rather unhappy to be there, the shadow of a tree and a bird guarding over its fallen nest. The effect seemed dark to Frank. Angry and sad all at the same time. And all of it, the pictures, the bed, the worn black sweater on the floor--it wasn't Oliver's. That was easy enough to see.

The other side of the room was much more chaotic. But it seemed comfortable. The bed was a pile of tangled sheets, clothes were folded on a chair, waiting to be hung. There were a few aquariums full of caught crickets and frogs, and a wedding photo of the elder Martins right next to a framed poster of a cartoon chicken that was smiling unnaturally. There were old action-figure toys arranged over a dresser and a World's Greatest Son trophy, likely purchased in a dollar store. But none of that was what Frank focused on as he moved to the unmade bed and lifted up a familiar picture of himself on a bicycle that had been partially tucked beneath the pillow. He stared at it for a long moment before placing it back where it had been, and when he looked up to face Mrs. Martin, she looked like an animal who'd been suddenly caught in the sight of a predator.

Frank simply felt stunned. It occurred to him that before walking into this bedroom, he'd actually expected to find at least Oliver in it. At this hour, someone should have been sleeping in those beds. It was possible that since Mr. Martin wasn't there, he could have taken them somewhere; but if he had, Frank doubted that it was your average father-son outing, otherwise, Mary would have simply told him. Instead, she'd chosen to lie, and every warning bell Frank had seemed to be going off in his ears.

"Where are they?" he asked again, but the question seemed rhetorical when he didn't bother waiting for an answer. This time as he pushed past Mary to get out of the room, he was calling more than David's name, his voice sounding slightly panicked in his own ears. "Oliver? Oliver? Oliver!"

"That's enough!" Mary shouted as she followed after him, making a grab for Frank's arm only to have him shake her off. "I want you out of my house! Now!"

Frank wasn't listening. He was too busy moving through the Martin residence as if he owned the place, leaving no door unopened in his wake. Closets, bathrooms, even a three-foot-tall chest used to store blankets; he checked it all, calling for Oliver in the process, and occasionally shouting out David's name. But nothing. Nothing. Surely, Frank thought, if they were there, someone would have called out. Someone would have responded. He would have gotten something. Frank rounded on Mary as he backtracked to the kitchen and she followed him in, flipping on a light that momentarily assaulted his eyes. "Where are they?"

She crossed her arms, pursed her lips. Nothing. Frank released an exasperated sigh and headed through the kitchen, towards the back door. He only had the garage left to check, or so he thought. He had his hand on the back door, knowing full well that Mary Martin planned to lock him out as soon as he went through it, when he spotted another door off to the side. It looked like another closet, but Frank still reached for it, knowing he'd found something important when Mary shouted out for him to stop, even as he yanked the door open and looked down a steep staircase in front of him that led down to a thick door. He was there in a moment, surprised by the bluntness of the surface as his fists began to meet it after he found it locked. "Oliver! Oliver? Answer me! David?"

No response. Frank spun around, jumping slightly when he found Mary Martin behind him once again, this time appearing more upset than angry. She almost looked like she was going to cry, but Frank found himself completely insensitive to it. "Unlock it!" he ordered, startling the woman with his tone. She shook her head at him, and in response he turned and aggressively began to move back up the stairs. He was surprised when two steps later, Mary changed her mind and rushed down them to do what he'd told her to do. Frank didn't consider himself a very intimidating individual, especially one capable of intimidating adults, but when it worked this time, he wasn't about to apologize for it and watched as Mary Martin removed a key hidden beneath a piece of worn carpet on the floor. With shaking hands she brought it to the lock, and when she appeared too upset to make it work on the first try, Frank snatched the key out of her hands and did it himself. He heard the lock click, paused momentarily, and shoved the door open.

And then he stared. There. In the strip of light provided from the open doorway a boy he knew lay seemingly unconscious, knees curled into his chest, on the cold cement floor of a windowless basement.

"Please," Mary suddenly said. "You have to understand..."

Understand? Frank took the time to flash the woman a disgusted look before he was in the room, kneeling down to the form dressed in a t-shirt and loose jeans. Frank touched a cold arm, and then slid his hand around to the back until he was satisfied that the other boy was breathing. When he glared back at Mary Martin and saw that she was crying, he felt like doing a little crying himself. "How could you do this?" he demanded. "Why would you do this?"

Mary Martin choked back a sob. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Frank was on his feet before she even started to close the door, but by the time he got there he was hearing the click of the lock, and suddenly David's strange message made sense as the light went away.

Jenny Woodmoore was an early riser. She always had been, a habit she believed she'd inherited from her mother, who'd always said that the sky looked its best just before the sunrise. Jenny agreed. Most mornings she could be found out on the docks with her camera in the dark, waiting for those first few perfect moments of the sunrise.

This particular morning was a cool one, and as she sat on the edge of the docks it didn't stop her from slipping her bare feet into the icy water until her toes nearly ached. Looking up at the sky, still cluttered with a few visible stars, she once again thought about how she wouldn't mind spending the rest of her life right where she was. Their little town was a peaceful one, and she couldn't think of any place better. I wish Jay could feel that way, she thought wistfully as she heard soft footsteps coming up behind her.

Jenny didn't bother turning to see who else would be out that early on a Sunday morning. Instead she just waited as she felt a warm body kneel down behind her, and leaned back onto a comfortably firm chest as loose arms wrapped around her body from behind.

"You're late," she grumbled, leaning her head back on a shoulder to look at the pale face and chocolate eyes watching her.

Jay shook his long blond bangs out of his face and smiled. "Next week, you let me sleep in," he informed her.

Jenny rolled her eyes. "Whatever. You know you don't sleep in."

Jay let out a breath and turned his attention the shining dark water while Jenny continued to watch him.

"What're you thinking?" she finally asked.

It took a moment for him to respond. "He knows it was us."

Jenny frowned. It felt like they'd been having this conversation repeatedly since the day before. "Don't you think he would've said?"

Jay shook his head. "Yesterday wasn't a coincidence. He wanted you to invite him into the group today. Bet the guy's never taken a picture in his life."

Jessica fell silent for a long moment. "Isn't this what you wanted? If he shows today, you can ask him..."

"I can't just ask," Jay stated. "Don't know if I can trust him."

Jenny sighed and leaned closer to him, causing him to tighten his grip on her. "I wish you could let this whole thing go," she whispered.

"I can't."

"Why not?" she asked, annoyed. "It's getting to be too much for you, Jay. Let it go."

He shook his head again, and then rested his chin on the top of her head. Jenny sighed. She wouldn't get anywhere with him. He was too determined.

"He has to know something, Jenny," Jay insisted. "He's spending time with the Martins."

"That doesn't mean..."

"It has to."

Frank rubbed at his eyes with his swollen fists, becoming frustrated as he began to realize that it didn't matter how much time passed, his eyes would never adjust to the darkness. No light. It was suffocating. To make matters worse, he had no idea where the door was. He'd quickly realized that there was no handle on this side of the wall, and everything felt the same beneath his fingers. For all he knew, he'd been screaming at walls for at least a half hour.

Sliding down against the wall until he was seated on the cool floor, Frank tried to remain calm. He was most definitely in trouble, but he was confident that he could still get out of it. He guessed that Mrs. Martin was waiting for her husband to get home. Frank didn't even want to think about what might happen then. He chose to think about his own mother, instead. She'd be waking up in a few hours, and as soon as she realized that both he and the car were gone, he had no doubt that she'd be sending up smoke signals. She'd find him. She had to.

A soft groan reaching his ears pulled Frank away from his own troubles as he remembered that he wasn't alone; and feeling guilty and foolish, he felt his way across the floor on his hands and knees until he felt a sock-covered foot and inched his way closer to the body, realizing that he still didn't know who his company was.

"Head hurts," a voice mumbled, and Frank immediately felt his way to the boy's hair, remembering that there was one simple way to figure out who the voice belonged to.

"Oliver," he whispered as soon as he felt the familiar stretch of scar tissue. And with that out of the way, he quickly began to search for the cause of the pain Oliver was experiencing. Only, a lump on the head proved difficult to feel against the already uneven skin. "Don't move," Frank insisted when Oliver attempted to sit up. Gently, Frank shifted and lifted Oliver's head onto his knee, hating that he couldn't see him.

"Frank?" Oliver asked, sounding surprised. "Frank?"

"Shhh. Yeah. It's me."

Oliver was silent for a long moment, and Frank jumped a little when he felt the other boy's finger's touch his cheek. Frank took the hand and held it over Oliver's chest, where he could feel the other boy's steady heartbeat. "I don't like it in here, Frank. It's too dark."

"Yeah," Frank agreed. "Listen, Oliver. We're in trouble, okay? I need you to tell me what happened. Please, it's important."

"What happened?" Oliver repeated, sounding dazed.

"How did you get down here?" Frank asked.

"I don't know, Frank."

"Oliver," Frank started, quickly becoming frustrated. But, he managed to check himself when he felt Oliver become tense over his tone. "Oliver, do you know where your brother is?"

It seemed like an important question to Frank. He felt relieved that one brother was accounted for, especially since it was Oliver, but David was still missing, and despite the danger of his own situation, Frank couldn't help being worried for the other twin.

"He was here," Oliver said groggily. "I thought he was here with me... it was dark, but... I don't know, Frank. I don't remember."

Frank paused for a moment, wondering if it was possible. "David?" he called out. When there was no response, he carefully eased Oliver into a sitting position. "Stay right where you are, okay?" he said, but as soon as Frank began to move away from Oliver, Oliver reached out and clutched his arm.

"Don't go, Frank!"

"It's okay," Frank promised, reaching out to touch Oliver's face for reassurance. "I'm not going anywhere. "I've just gotta find out if your brother's here."

Oliver released him then, and Frank slowly crawled away, allowing his hands to search the floor for him until he came to a wall. Back and forth he moved, feeling for any sign of David. As he searched, he listened to the sound of Oliver's breathing. It became shorter and strained as Frank grew further away, and finally, Frank made a point to talk to him.

"We'll get out of here, Oliver."

"Okay, Frank."

Frank froze in one corner of the room as his fingers brushed against something other than the hard floor. A soft material, coarse in texture. He slid his hand up it. "Has this ever happened before, Oliver? Have you ever been stuck in here before?"

Oliver was silent for a moment, and Frank heard him release a frustrated sound before he answered. "It's the blackouts, Frank," he replied miserably. "I don't remember."

"You don't remember if you've been trapped in here before?" Frank asked as he lifted the object he was touching. It seemed to be just a blanket. He lifted it to his nose, deciding it was clean, if not a little dusty. David wasn't there as far as he could tell.

"No," Oliver groaned. "I... sometimes I come down here on my own, and the door accidentally locks. My mom has to let me out."

Frank turned his head in the direction of Oliver's voice and shut his eyes. The blackness of the room was beginning to get to him, causing his head to spin. "That's not possible, Oliver. The door locks from the outside--with a key. It was never an accident. It sure as hell wasn't an accident that I got locked in here."

Frank heard Oliver sniffle and started to crawl back with the blanket. "I don't know why I'm in here, Frank," Oliver said as Frank found his knee in the dark.

Frank moved so that he was behind Oliver and pulled the other boy back to rest against on his chest as he draped the blanket over him. "Try to remember," he insisted. "Look, your mom was hiding you when I got here. If I hadn't seen the door... shit, Oliver. She locked us both in here, okay? I need to know why. When that door opens again, we're both gonna have to fight, you got that? My mom's gonna figure out that something's wrong when she wakes up, but until then... shit."

"My mom will let us out, Frank," Oliver insisted, obviously not seeing the situation as dire as Frank did.

"No, Oliver... you don't get it..." Frank paused to collect his thoughts, and found himself pulling Oliver closer against him, as if it would help him to convince his friend that they were in trouble. "Okay. How 'bout this... do you know what time it is?"

"I don't think so, Frank."

"Early," Frank informed him. "So early that it's not even light out yet. Think, Oliver. You're usually sleeping in your bed right about now, aren't you? So how did you get here?"

"Are you usually sleeping in your bed right now, Frank?"

Frank released an exasperated sigh. "David called me. He wasn't making any sense. I knew something was wrong, so I came over here. Your mom locked me in here with you, and I still don't know where your brother is. Your dad was gone, too... do you think David's with him, Oliver?"

Frank felt Oliver shake his head. "Dad says David's bad," Oliver said quietly. "I don't want him to get in trouble anymore."

"Neither do I, Oliver," Frank said honestly. "They keep him down here when he's in trouble, don't they? They keep him in the dark."

Oliver sniffled again, and Frank lifted his hand to Oliver's cheek, dismayed to find it wet with tears. "No, don't cry," he insisted. "Not right now, Oliver..."

"He tries to be good, Frank!" Oliver suddenly said. "He tries. He tries. It doesn't work, Frank. He gets angry. He doesn't like the dark, Frank!"

As Oliver burst into tears, his body shaking, Frank was at a loss, unable to provide much more support than the way he hugged the other boy to his body, gently shushing him. He wanted to scream, wanted to get up and find the door. It was hopeless, but it didn't stop him from shouting out once more to be let out. It only seemed to aggravate Oliver more. But suddenly, the sobs stopped and he became still in Frank's arms.