Joe climbed on a chair behind the counter, put two fingers in between his teeth, and let out a screeching whistle that caught the attention of everyone in the room, including the hysterical Mrs. Lawrence. Everyone stared up at him, wide-eyed and alert. “Everybody needs to calm down. We need your help. Bernard Kendricks, who we all know was an English teacher at Steeplechase, has kidnapped one of his students, Tristan Morrow. We all know the Morrows well. They need our help desperately. Jack Morrow is in critical condition over at St. Benedict’s. Not only did Kendricks take his daughter, but he shot him in a major artery in his leg. As community members, I am holding you all responsible in doing your part. Jack and his family have done all of us many favors over the years, and have been there whenever we are needed. Angus Morrow, Jack’s father, helped pay for my Maria’s funeral when I couldn’t afford it. Ted, do you remember when Bridgette stitched up your leg herself when you didn’t want to go to the ER? Herschel, you needed supplies to build a new barn after the fire… Jack gave you a truck load of timber. We need to do something. We are a small, tight-knit community, but there is a lot of ground that we need to cover.”
Frank watched as crowds of people began gathering in the gravel parking lot of Monte’s café, amused at how much traffic Joe’s controversial sign was pulling in. The diverse group included everyone from members of the HellRaisers motorcycle club, members of the Elkhart gun club, bands of hunters, soccer moms and their minivans full of kids, even Peggy and Edna from the General Store couldn’t resist the temptation. But while everyone else was preoccupied with the hubbub over at Monte’s, Frank was more concerned about finding Tristan. He had the whole family out at various posts throughout the community. He kept the younger boys with him, while Adam kept watch at the Gandy River Bridge. Meanwhile, Liam and Bridgette were driving westward down I-80 following a tip from Sunbury that the car was spotted driving westward.
Exhausted from a long day of standing post at the mouth of the Cavegat Pass highway, Frank leaned heavily against his pickup truck. He took off his hat, wiped the sweat from his furrowed brow and glanced up to survey the road. That is when he saw it. A gold Nova with a cracked windshield, swerving snake-like down Mountain Road. Frank grasped his gun, resting snug in his back jean pocket, as he watched the car approach. It looked as if it was in an accident of some sort. The front fender was dented, one headlight was out, and now that it was in better eye shot, Frank noticed that the windshield wasn’t just cracked, but portions of it were shattered and missing. He had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, a mixture of nerves and anticipation. His brain was telling him to keep his gun out, but his gut was telling him to put away his weapon. Something was telling him that it was not Bernard Kendricks behind the wheel of that car. Suddenly the car began to slow, right in the middle of Mountain Road. Frank ran forward, finally recognizing who it was that was driving.
*
Tristan brought the car to a screeching halt, distracted by the sign that stood outside of Monte’s café. Where the daily specials use to display, Joe and Cole had put out a plea for help, and they had put Bernard Kendricks’ on blast. Exhausted, running on no sleep in three days, Tristan’s emotions had gotten the best of her. Tears streamed down her face as she exited the car.
She could see someone coming towards her, but she didn’t have the strength to run anymore. Please let it be someone I know. Someone not mentally insane.
She grabbed the pocket knife just in case.
The closer Frank got, the more alarmed he became. It was definitely Tristan, but she looked as if she had been through a war. Favoring one leg as she limped forward, she had scratches across her face, a black eye and bruised lip from the altercation at the hospital, and she held her left side at her ribcage. Her bloodshot eyes had a faraway look, as if she didn’t understand where she was. Frank slowed his pace now, so that he didn’t frighten her.
“Tristan?”he greeted gently, “it’s Uncle Frank. I’m going to take you home.”
“Uncle Frank! Oh, thank God!”
Frank grabbed a hold of Tristan leaving the car sitting in the middle of Mountain Road as he escorted her over to his pickup truck. From the window of Monte’s café, Cole spotted her. Like a bat out of hell, he flew out of the restaurant and by Frank’s side in seconds, eyes wild, and in a state of utter disbelief.
“Tristan! Oh my God. Are you okay, what happened? Where is he?!”
“Give her a minute kid,” said Frank, as he watched his niece’s face, eyes dark-circled from her stressful ordeal.
“Is she alright?” Cole asked Frank in a panic.
“She’s exhausted. We need to get her home now.”
“Well, I’m coming. Tristan, where is Kendricks?”
“Kid, stay here.”
“No Mr. Kilpatrick, I’m coming… I need to make sure she is okay. I won’t leave her side. Not after all that has happened.”
It seemed that Frank didn’t have much of an option, so he tossed the keys to Cole so that he could open the door.
“You’re gonna deal with your old man then. Not me.”
Frank lifted his niece into the car, and laid her in the backseat of the cab. Tristan looked at Frank, and her voice urgent, she warned, “We need to go. He’s coming.” Frank winked at his niece and replied, “And we’ll be ready for him,” as he cocked and revealed the gun that was resting in his back pocket.
*