The banging on the door ceased and everyone exhaled at once.
Shane turned and walked over to the window facing the back of the house. He glanced out the window and saw someone walking along the perimeter of the side of the house. Keeping one eye on Hope and the Captain, he watched through the window to make sure the person was alone. When he was satisfied no one else was in the vicinity and lurking around, he quickly opened the kitchen door which led to the back of the house. He grabbed Dylan by the nape of his leather jacket, catching the boy completely by surprise.
“What the hell do you think are you doing, kid? Get in here.” He jerked him through the door; and as soon as the boy was safely inside, he slammed the door shut and locked the deadbolt. He shoved the startled teenager further inside and into the living area.
Once he got his balance back, Dylan lifted his head and saw Hope and the Captain sitting on the sofa across the room.
Stunned but angry, Dylan tried to turn to face the man who still had a tight grasp on him. He could feel the man’s knuckles pressing deep into his cervical bone.
“That’s my bike,” he said, as he tried unsuccessfully to shake Shane’s arm off, which was firmly holding him by the collar of his leather jacket. They were about the same height; but Shane, ten years older, had a lot more bulk on him and outweighed the lanky teenager by at least fifty pounds.
Shane glared at him. Even though a few days had passed since he saw the kid and that was for just a brief moment, he had no trouble recognizing the boy as the owner of the Harley. There was no doubt in his mind, this was the kid he had watched walk away from the gas pump and into the convenience store a few days earlier.
The blast of the ringing phone began again and caught Shane’s attention. He pushed Dylan towards the sofa, letting him see the revolver, as a way of keeping the boy in line.
“Pick it up and don’t say anything stupid,” he directed Hope.
Hope stood up and squeezed the Captain’s hand before she let go. She slowly made her way to the phone and was not surprised to find her captor was right there beside her.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Make it quick, tell whoever it is that you’re busy and you’ll call them back.”
She bit down on her lip, trying to calm herself and with a trembling hand, she lifted the phone off the receiver.
“Hello. Hi, honey. No, I’ve just been very busy trying to get everyone settled in. Can I call you back? Yes, I’m fine. I have to go now. Yes.”
Shane couldn’t hear the conversation that was being said on the other end and it made him nervous. He mouthed for Hope to hang up.
“Yes, Marty, we’re fine. I really have to go. I promise I’ll call you back as soon as we’re all settled in. I love you, too.” She said to Jean, just before she hung up the phone.
Hope prayed her nervous captor wasn’t able to hear the voice on the other end of the phone line and wasn’t able to tell by what was said that it wasn’t Marty she was having the conversation with but his partner, Jean.
They were still five minutes away and Jean still hadn’t been able to get Marty on the phone, so she called his home instead. The phone rang five times and Jean was about to hang up when Hope finally picked it up. By the way Hope was talking, it was pretty obvious to Jean that Marty wasn’t aware yet of the danger that was happening in his own home.
When the phone disconnected, Jean turned to Kathy, who had been listening.
“Shit. Try Marty’s phone again. Dammit, Marty, pick up!” She muttered aloud, as Kathy punched in Marty’s cell number. This time the phone stopped ringing and it didn’t go to voicemail. This time a successful connection was made and instead of a recording, she got the real thing.
“Hey, Jean,” Marty answered. “I’m right in the middle of some—”
She interrupted him. “Marty, you need to listen.” She tried to choose her words carefully. She didn’t want to panic the man, but she knew that there was no way to minimize the consequences of what she was about to tell him.
“We’ve got a serious situation over at your house. I just got off the phone with Hope; and I believe our suspect is in your home, right now.”
She heard a strange noise and suspected it was the air escaping from Marty’s lungs—and then nothing.
The silence at the other end seemed to go on for a long time, but it was barely three seconds before he responded. His demeanor was cool and cautious, but she was skeptical that he would react accordingly.
“Are you sure, Jean? I’m fifty yards away. Fill me in.”
He punched in the speaker icon and he quietly walked toward the front of the Kolakowski home and opened up the front door. He walked a few feet down the front path, just enough to be able to get a visual of his own home. He could see Hope’s red Toyota parked in the driveway. From the angle he was standing, he wasn’t able to see anything else, but he did feel the pumping of his heart increase in velocity. Then, a short distance away, he recognized the familiar figure of Jean’s daughter, Bethany, briskly walking towards him.
The minute the teenage girl caught sight of her mother’s partner, she stopped walking and broke into a run. When she reached Marty, he grabbed ahold of her and immediately led her to safety, off the sidewalk and into the house while she relayed the same story to him she had told her mother.
For the next three minutes, Jean filled her partner in on whatever knowledge she obtained, and relayed the cryptic message that Hope had supplied her with. When Jean would ask a question, Hope was sharp enough to answer with a yes or no, but added some superficial answers, trying to keep Blakey in the dark. When Jean asked her if Blakey was armed, Hope’s answer was ‘yes, I’m fine.’ When she asked if anyone was hurt or needed medical care, Hope replied by saying, ‘no, I’ve just been very busy trying to get everyone settled in.’
She explained to Marty a call for backup had already gone out. Before she even finished her last sentence, she slammed on the brakes as she came to a screeching stop in the driveway of the Kolakowski home.
The minute she entered the house, she caught sight of Bethany and grabbed ahold of her and hugged her tightly to her chest.
“Kathy is outside waiting for you, she’s going to take you home.” She began to nudge her daughter towards the door.
“No, Mom, Dylan’s in there, I don’t want to go.” Bethany protested.
“Don’t argue with me, Bethany, I have enough to worry about without having to worry about you. You’re going home.” She led her outside and towards the waiting car.
“Mommy, please” she cried. “Let me stay.”
“Bethany, please, I promise you Dylan will be fine. I’ll make sure of that.” She wiped away a tear from her daughter’s cheek. “Please. I do not need to be distracted worrying about you. There is a man over there with a gun, and he has already shot and killed one man. I need to know you’re out of the line of fire. I need to focus on that to get them out safe.” She ran her hand down the length of Bethany’s long blonde hair and gently pushed her into the car where Kathy waited to take her home where she would be safe. As soon as it took off, she went back into the Kolakowski home.
He began to chew on the fingers on his left hand and then heard the voice of the old man as clear as if he was right there in the room with them. ‘Get your fingers out of your mouth! What are you, a baby? Sucking your thumb?’ He shuddered as he drove the vision from his mind. He looked down at his now empty plate.
The Lasagna was good; so good, he felt as if he may have eaten too much. He had been living on takeout and junk food for the past week; and except for that meal he ate at the pub the day after Troy got shot, it had been a while since he had eaten something substantial. He noticed that no one else, except for him, seemed to have much of an appetite. After a bit of cajoling, he managed to convince Tristan to take a few bites; but the other three just sat there staring at him. For a brief moment, he was suspicious that maybe the broad had poisoned the food; but it was all in one casserole dish, so
he ruled that out. Even the iced tea beverage was in a large pitcher, so there was no way they could poison him without getting ill themselves. He was tired. The upper lid of his left eye was beginning to droop; he could actually feel it happen. He hated when it the eye droop became obvious, because even he thought it gave him a more sinister appearance. And then there was the noise. The sound of the old man’s voice seemed to be everywhere. Shane closed both eyes hoping it would help to shut it out.
He didn’t want anyone to think he was getting tired or he was losing the fight against fatigue. He couldn’t take that chance. And now, this kid had to stick his nose in something that was none of his damn business and it all got so much more complicated. He needed to talk to Troy. He needed his brother to tell him what to do. He needed to figure out how to get out of this mess he was in.
Hope stood up and began to clear away the dishes, hoping the activity wouldn’t cause the stranger to become any more agitated than he already was. She didn’t want him to feel her own fear, so she made a point of keeping eye contact whenever she could. She began to notice a slow change, as his left eye appeared to have difficulty remaining open. It gave Hope the impression he was getting weary and perhaps sleepy. She watched as the man’s left blue pupil appeared to drift towards the outer corner, as if he had completely lost muscle control of that eye.
She knew by now Marty must be aware something was terribly wrong, and she wasn’t sure if she was comforted or bothered by that. She glanced over at Dylan who was seated across from the Captain. The dark-haired, blue-eyed teenager had his long legs stretched out under the table, each hand tensed into a fist angrily rubbing his jeans against his thighs. His eyes never drifted, never left the man with the gun, and it worried her that the man was not happy about it. She didn’t know the boy well, but her years of working with troubled youth gave her some insight into his expression. The kid was seething and she didn’t know enough about the boy to predict how he was going to react. The only thing she knew about Dylan Silver was what she surmised from Jean’s attitude towards him; and Jean herself was ambivalent about the kid. According to Jean, the boy was quiet, often very sullen, but well-behaved and respectful towards adults. He was a leader among his peers, and Jean’s daughter idolized him. But Jean confessed to Hope, she felt the kid was troubled and may be a ticking time bomb. The uncertainty of how the boy was actually capable of reacting gave her the courage to be proactive.
She turned to her captor.
“Would it be okay if Dylan helps me clear the table?”
Shane nodded. “Yeah, help her, kid. Just don’t do anything stupid.” He glared at Dylan. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, I heard you.” The teenager pushed his chair out from under the table using the heels of his boots and stood up. Without another word, he went around the table picking up dishes.
When Dylan brought the dishes to her at the sink, she took the opportunity to speak to him.
“Dylan, I need you to remain calm and not do anything to upset this man. Okay?”
He took a few seconds to consider an answer. “I understand, Dr. Rubin. I know if I lose my cool, I could be putting everyone in danger. I don’t want to, but I promise I won’t do anything stupid to piss this guy off.” He grabbed the dishtowel and began to dry off the few dishes she managed to wash.
“But Dr. Rubin, if you give me the opportunity, I will try to get you guys out of here safely.”
She smiled. Had to give the kid credit.
The teenager was conscious of the fact that any move he might make could endanger the lives of all of them, and he was determined not to put any of them at risk. Hope was grateful the teenager was mature enough not to try and show any delusional bravado and try and engage Shane in any confrontation. Hope didn’t know for sure just how unstable the man was, or what he was capable of, but what she did know was that he was sweating and nervous and in the possession of a deadly weapon.
Tristan began to fidget, and when he caught Shane’s eye, the little boy pointed to the television set off in the den.
“You know how to work that thing, Tris?” Shane asked, overwhelmed by the size of the complicated looking electronic device. At home, they still had a tube television set with an outside antenna.
Tristan nodded his head, curls bobbing up and down.
“Okay, go.” He looked at Hope, “You have kids’ channels here? None of the adult stuff?”
Surprised, but grateful the man asked the question, Hope told him, “yes, of course.”
Shane then turned his attention to the Captain.
“How long have you been living here, old man?”
It was the last thing the Captain expected for the man to ask. Although he was surprised at the question, he didn’t hesitate to answer. “About forty years.”
Shane stuck his free hand in his back pocket. He pulled out two pieces of paper and meticulously began to unfold them. Looking them both over, he handed just one of the papers to the Captain. It was a copy of one of the newspaper articles he found while going through the old man’s stash. The article was from the New York newspaper Shane first discovered in his father’s hidden papers, reporting the mysterious disappearance of three-year-old T.J. Kolakowski, of Sullivan County.
The Captain looked at the paper. Stunned, he turned to look back at the man standing before him.
“Where did you get this?” The Captain questioned him, grasping the paper in his hand. He had trouble holding his hand steady and made an overt attempt to control the slight tremor. He wasn’t successful. The tremor became worse and the Captain’s hand began to shake harder.
Feeling somewhat embarrassed and sensing he might be the cause of the man’s nervous trembling; Shane took the paper back, intentionally avoiding the Captain’s eyes.
“Do you know the kid in the picture? He used to live around here, on this street. It says right there.” Holding the paper up, he pointed to a line under the black and white photograph. “Did you know this kid?”
His answer was drowned out by the sound of the ringing phone on the wall.
Before Marty even turned around, three patrol cars sans sirens pulled up, responding to the call of a crime in progress. Chief Bergman, Marty’s supervisor, was among the group, and after asking for an update, he immediately informed Marty to remove himself from the equation.
“No fricken way! That’s my family in there.” Marty told him in no uncertain terms.
“That’s exactly why, Marty.” Bergman scolded him, as if he was a child. Chief Bergman was one of the few men in the squad who actually was bigger than Marty. The man had played defensive guard for the New York Jets twenty years ago and even with the added middle-age weight, he was no one Marty wanted to mess with.
Jean looked at Marty, her eyes filled with sympathy, but Marty knew she was agreeing with the chief.
“He’s right, Marty. We’re going to get them out safe, but you need to let the chief handle this. I’m going to go to the hospital and speak to his brother. Do you have a computer and Internet service in your dad’s house? Hope’s got a smartphone, right? Maybe we can get a video connection set up. Maybe the kid can speak to his brother and talk him down.”
She glanced over and caught sight of Marty’s neighbor, Mrs. Kolakowski, who was nervously sitting in the kitchen, not knowing what the hell was going on. Marty hadn’t had a chance to explain anything to her. The poor woman was clueless.
“Does she know yet?” Jean turned to Marty.
“No, I was just about to tell her when you called.” Marty didn’t know which way to look. He didn’t know what to do. He just wanted to do something, instead of just standing there, helpless.
“Look, we’ll take her with us and we can tell her on the way. Hopefully, we can convince Troy to talk to his brother and get him to come out—and this can all end without anyone getting hurt.”
Marty looked over at Sanders, who was standing by Bergman but listening to the conversation he was having with Jean. Sanders nodded in M
arty’s direction.
“She’s right, Keal. You need to get to the hospital and try and get Troy to connect with Shane. If you set up a video call, then you’ll be in a better situation to see for yourself how they are. I can try to speak to Shane from this end. I know the kid. He knows me. If we can get him to pick up the phone, I may be able to get him to come out. I think Troy is right, I really don’t see this kid hurting someone.”
Marty looked up at him in disbelief. “He murdered his father, he shot his own father.”
From under Sanders breath, Marty heard him reply. “It’s not quite the same thing, Marty. His father was not an innocent victim.”
Shaking his head, Marty turned away from him. He had to believe he was right.
Marty walked over to Mrs. K and put his hand on her shoulder.
She looked up at him, her face a mask of confusion.
“Mrs. K, can you come with us? I will explain all of this.”
She didn’t say a word, but got up and out of the chair. She followed them outside and Marty opened the passenger door of his unmarked car. She was silent as Jean and Marty buckled their seatbelts and Jean gunned it, taking off in the direction of the hospital.
Marty turned to look at her and he saw tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Marty, tell me, please. What the HELL is going on?”
The first thing that came to Hope’s mind almost caused her a panic attack. When the phone rang, she glanced up at the clock on the wall. The plastic yellow clock in the shape of a teapot displayed the time as four-thirty. It suddenly occurred to her that her mother was scheduled to return from her cruise today, and she hadn’t heard from her yet. She turned to Shane.
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