Part 3

Dan gripped the steering wheel a little more tightly as a loud crack of thunder echoed, and then forced himself to relax. Sneaking a glance at his passenger, he smiled.

“It's just thunder,” he said, reaching for her hand.

Cheryn raised an eyebrow. “But it's Halloween.” She laced her fingers through his.

Dan's lips twitched. “That makes a difference?” he questioned.

Cheryn nodded, eyes twinkling. “Definitely. Thunder is much more serious on Halloween than on any other night.”

Several bright flashes and a thundering roll interrupted them.

“See?” Cheryn demanded.

“It is a pretty impressive storm,” Dan acknowledged. He flicked the windshield wipers on high as the rain increased.

Dan fell silent as he piloted the car through the inky black night. Though he would never admit it aloud, he couldn't help feeling that maybe Cheryn was right about storms on Halloween being more serious. There was a charge in the air that had him peering into the darkness, looking for...something. Nothing. Anything. All he saw was the dark countryside, lit by occasional flashes of lightning. Still, something didn't feel right.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and squeezed his girlfriend's hand again. “Almost home,” he said, as they pulled onto her street. He stopped several houses away, and turned off the ignition.

Beside him, Cheryn smiled. “So,” she said, fingering the wings of her costume. “I'm not entirely familiar with the legends of Zorro.” Her eyes tracked up and down his dark costume. “Does he ever get to kiss the girl at the end?”

Dan grinned, thoughts of thunder and lightning banished. “Definitely.”

Long minutes later, Dan reluctantly pulled away. “We should get you home,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He pulled into her driveway, then ran around to open her door for her.

They hurried to the door, laughing as the rain soaked them, and water ran off their hair and costumes.

“Happy Halloween,” Dan whispered as she let herself into the house.

Back in the car, he stripped off his cape and pulled at the collar of his wet shirt. He eased the car out of town and turned on to the main thoroughfare. His earlier sense of unease returned, and he found himself staring into the dark night. The wind suddenly gusted around him, and he found himself struggling to keep the car on the road. He let out a deep breath and concentrated on keeping the car between the dividing lines. Even set on high, the windshield wipers couldn't keep up with the torrent of rain. He slowed his speed—the last thing he needed was to start hydroplaning.

Dan could practically feel the tension leaving his body when he turned on to the driveway leading to the Lynch Estate. Almost there...

A flash of lightning illuminated the night with startling clarity. Dan could see every tree, every brush, and every blade of grass for miles. The crack of thunder hit at almost exactly the same time. Lightning continued to flash, and the thunder rolled for what felt like minutes. In reality, though, Dan knew that there had only been a second between that first horrible flash and the crack that was not thunder. He slammed on the brakes and watched in horror as one of the oldest trees on the Lynch property teetered and crashed only a few yards in front of him.

In the brief, garish glare, Dan could see the tree quite clearly as he fish-tailed to a complete stop, gravel flying. He sat, stunned, hands grasping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. When his heart rate slowed, he forced himself to let go of the wheel, and put the vehicle in park. He stared into the dark night, his breathing rough.

Trixie and Honey clutched each other’s arms as they stood in the Lynches’ den, unable to move for a moment as the scream was abruptly cut off.  What could it mean?

“We’ve got to go check on Di, Honey!” Trixie whispered.  “Do you think she was just frightened by the power outage?”

“Di isn’t that wimpy, Trix,” Honey replied.  “But we’d better be careful.  She may be hurt.”

“Well, we can’t stand around talking.  Let’s get going.”  Trixie pulled Honey toward the doorway that connected the den to the main hallway.  Just as she was about to dart into the hall, she caught a whiff of cigarette smoke, and stopped short.  Raising a finger to her lips, she tried to signal silence to Honey.

As usual, Honey seemed to understand her best friend without needing to speak, and the two girls shrank against the wall while trying to peer into the dark hall.  The minutes ticked by as Trixie imagined possible scenarios that explained the scream.  She felt ready to scream herself before, finally, heavy footsteps created a slight vibration as a man walked from the direction of the kitchen toward the front of the house.  Trixie could make just make out his white shirt and a glint of gold from his badge.  A wave of relief washed over her – it was the guard.  She was about to step out into the hall to greet him when a flash of lightning revealed that the man was hulking, stoop-shouldered, and wearing a Ronald Reagan mask.

This was no guard.  Trixie had seen the security staff, and this man did not fit the profile of any of the men who had been working the party. 

“Don’t move,” Honey barely whispered the command.  She had seen, too.  The two girls shrank against the wall and tried not to breathe at all.  Trixie willed the man not to enter the den, and wished she had a flashlight or something – anything – else to use for a defensive weapon … just in case.

Miraculously, the masked man glided past the door, and as soon as his steps had completely faded away, the two girls moved noiselessly out of the den and headed in the opposite direction. 

Dan sat in the car for a long moment, watching the dark and silent house.  His hands were still shaking from the near miss with the tree, his heart still thudding uncomfortably in his chest.  Taking a deep breath, he cast a quick look up the blocked  drive, and focused on the mansion.  Not a single ray of light broke the unrelenting darkness.  He turned off the car and pocketed the key.  Sliding out the door, he was careful not to slam it.  Every nerve in his body was on high alert, stretching and sensing for danger.

With one hand on the car, Dan peered through the rain, looking and listening for a clue as to what was bothering him.  Was something wrong, or was he just reacting to an overdose of adrenaline?  Maybe they’re messing with me, he thought.  It wouldn’t be unusual for Trixie and Mart to come up with a prank to get back at him for leaving them with most of the clean up.  Still, something just felt ... off.

Reaching into the car, Dan grabbed his black cape and tossed it over his wide rimmed hat, pulling the edges together around his face as he moved slowly toward the house.  If this was some sort of joke, maybe he could scare the perpetrators in return.  And, if something was truly wrong, well, making himself less visible in the night couldn’t hurt.

The door opened silently at his touch, he didn’t even need to turn the knob.  The entryway was pitch dark, the air heavy and still with a faintly familiar odor.  As Dan stepped across the threshold, his foot slipped and he fell forward, catching himself with his right hand.  His hand came up wet and sticky, and Dan lifted it to his face, sniffing.  As the musky, coppery scent assaulted his nose, lightning flashed and lit the room, and he realized that the floor and his hand were smeared with blood.  Dan lurched to his feet, eyes darting all around as he backed out the door.  He had to get help, but how?  Where? 

Skreeeek. The porch boards squealed, and Dan turned toward the noise, only to be hit broadside by a flying body.  The two tumbled to the ground, landing in a heap and rolling across the rain-soaked lawn.  Dan looked up just as another lightning bolt shattered the night sky, revealing Jim Frayne as the attacker straddling him.

“Jim? What’s going on?”

“Dan?” Jim stopped, his fist frozen in mid-air.  “I thought... I... you... Sorry.” His hand loosened and dropped to his side as he rolled off of his friend.  “I thought you were Jonesy.”

“Jonesy?” Dan scrambled to his feet and extended a hand up to Jim.  “What are you talking about?”

“He’s back, Dan,” Jim intoned flatly.  “I’m sure of it.  Jonesy’s here, and he’s looking for revenge.”

They were back in the car, hunkered down out of the rain, out of sight of the house, trying to come up with a plan.

“The driveway is blocked,” Dan told Jim.  “It would take a chainsaw and time to clear it, and the blood on the floor isn’t good.”  He held out his stained hand, and Jim shuddered.

“We have to think of something,” Jim worried.  “Jonesy doesn’t have anything to lose.  He’ll hurt them just to get to me.”

“Are you sure it’s Jonesy?” Dan asked.  “He’s supposed to be in jail.  If he’d been paroled, they would have let you know.”

“I’m sure.”  Jim looked away.  “I’d know his tobacco anywhere.

“A lot of jerks smoke.” Dan pointed out.

“Jonesy rolls his own.”  Jim held out his hand.  “He also likes these.”

Dan looked at the items in the outstretched, freckled hand.  A half-smoked, hand-rolled cigarette and a plastic zip tie.  Gingerly, he picked up the butt and sniffed it, his eyes closing as his own unpleasant memories flooded over him.  He dropped it quickly and repeated, “A lot of jerks smoke.  What’s with the tie?”

“He tied my wrists together with three of these.”  Jim pushed up the sleeve of his black costume shirt, showing Dan the raw marks of his recent restraint, a plastic tie still wrapped snugly around the wrist.  “When he tied me to the bed that last time, he used these things.  They dig in, and they’re hard to get out of without a knife or scissors.”

“How’d you get free?”  Dan asked, searching for his pocketknife.

“He tied my hands in front this time, and my legs were free.  I chewed through the center tie.”  Jim held out his wrists so Dan could slice through the plastic with his blade.  “Thanks.”

Dan just nodded.  “Why would Jonesy leave you tied up?  Why didn’t he just take you with him?  It doesn’t make sense.”

“Jonesy rarely makes sense.”  Jim chewed on his lip, strain etched across his forehead.  “All I know for sure is that he’s in there with my sister and my friends, and I need to take him out.”

“We need to take him out,” Dan corrected.  “I’m not convinced it’s really him, but it doesn’t matter.  Someone is in there threatening our family, and we need to rescue them.”

“We can’t do it from out here, either.”  Jim peered up and out the window.  “I think we need to get back inside, find a phone to call for help, and make sure Jonesy hasn’t hurt anyone.”

Dan held up his bloodstained hand.  “Someone’s already been hurt,” he said grimly.  “Maybe we can start by following the blood.  Hopefully, whoever it is isn't hurt too badly.”

Jim nodded.  “I still have my flashlight.  There’s an emergency light in the glove box that you can use, and Dan?”  His friend looked at him as lightning split the night again, casting an eerie glow on the two pale faces.  “Bring your knife, just in case.”

Stealthily, the two slipped from the car and made their way back to the house.

Diana winced as she stumbled, tripping over her own feet on the thickly-carpeted stairs. Cruel fingers dug into her upper arm, and she couldn't stop the small whimper from escaping her lips.

“Careful, little lady,” her captor sneered as he dragged her up the stairs. “Wouldn't want you to trip and fall, now would we?”

Mart's eyes blazed. “Keep your hands off her,” he demanded.

“Or what?” Bull taunted.

Mart struggled uselessly against the zip ties that secured his wrists firmly behind his back.

“Careful, Mart,” Brian urged, his voice low.

Mart knew that Brian was referring to more than just cutting his wrists on the ties. It was important that they not antagonize the bad guy. At least, not yet.

When they reached the top of the flight of stairs, Bull led them unerringly down the dark corridor until they reached the twins' nursery. He stood with his back to the closed door, surveying the three youths huddled close together. With a sneer, he noted that they younger Belden brother, the blond one, was doing his best to comfort the raven-haired beauty. Puppy love, he thought scornfully, then paused to wonder if his son had feelings for any of the girls in this gang. The black-haired beauty and the girl with honey-colored hair were lookers, all right. But the blonde spit-fire looked like she commanded a fair bit of attention, herself.

Not that it mattered. After tonight, his son would have a new set of friends. A new family.

“Well, don't just stand there,” Bull snarled. “Make yourselves at home.”

The three youths exchanged uneasy looks.

“You're going to be here for a while,” Bull continued, his quiet voice filled with venom. A cruel sneer curved his lips as he watched the girl, the Lynch brat, glance at the phone in the play area of the nursery. “It won't do you any good,” he  said, removing the wire cutters from his pocket and waving them in front of their faces. “There seems to have been an accident with the phone line.”

He watched the blood drain from her already pale face.“And you won't have much luck with cell phones, either,” he continued, shaking the small bag he'd been carrying with him. “It really is too bad,” he taunted. “Miss Lynch has top-of-the-line equipment here.” He fingered the violet phone. “But, then again, all the phones here are high-quality.” He removed each phone, watching the horror spread on their faces as they recognized that not only did he have Diana's cell phone, he had also commandeered Miss Trask's, Regan's, and Jim's phones. There was no way to communicate with the outside world.

Mart tried to telegraph reassurance to his girlfriend, but Diana seemed to have retreated into a terrified trance.

“Down on the floor, you,” the fake security guard snarled, pointing his gun at Brian.  Brian lay down, but Mart could sense what he was going to do.  Sure enough, when the thug began to bind his ankles with plastic zip ties – a task which required both hands – Brian kicked out.  The man dodged his kick and received only a glancing blow to his shoulder.   “Try that again, buddy, and your little lady friend will suffer for it.”  He pointed his revolver at Diana, and Mart saw her turn even paler than before.  Brian subsided immediately, and in minutes all three of them were tied up, with toilet tissue gags choking them.

Their captor dumped the cell phones back into the bag. “Enough chit chat. I have a date with two pretty little girls.” He watched with amusement as both the blond and the brunette males flushed with anger and pulled at their restraints.

“I'll be back soon,” the burly man promised. His Reagan mask didn’t change expression, but Mart was sure his lips were curled in a sneer.  “Play nicely, now,” he said, slipping out the nursery door and locking it behind him.

Jim pointed the thin stream of light down towards the floor, shielding it with his hand in an attempt to deflect any stray light escaping. In silent sync, he and Dan followed the rusty streaks of blood across the parquet floor.

A creak above their heads stopped both boys cold.  Something, or someone, was moving around upstairs. Eyes met, and the two resumed their trek with grim determination and extra caution.

The trail ended at the coat closet off the gallery entrance.  Jim raised the light and Dan carefully reached for the door handle.  The door pulled open without so much as a squeak, and the light reflected off of a still and pale hand.

“Mr. Williams,” Jim breathed.  He dropped down, his free hand searching for signs of life.

“Is he…?” Dan couldn’t finish the question.

“He’s alive,” Jim whispered in relief.  “But he’s bleeding pretty badly.”  He shined the light on the unconscious guard. “Someone hit him pretty hard – he’s probably concussed.”

“Why is he undressed?”  Dan queried almost silently.  Sure enough, Mr. Wiliams lay on the closet floor, bound and gagged in his boxers, t-shirt and socks.

“Jonesy.” Jim shook his head.  “That’s why he was wearing the mask.”

“What are you talking about?” Dan demanded in sotto voce.  “What mask?”  He knelt next to Jim, his fingers working to loosen the gag tied around the unconscious man’s mouth.

“The guard told Brian and me that you had a flat and Harrison had cut himself.  He was wearing one of those Ronald Reagan masks.  It was Jonesy, and I never guessed.”  Guilt and anger warred with fear and disgust in Jim’s voice.

“Well, my knife isn’t much use against these cuffs,” Dan whispered.  “We’ll have to leave him for now.”  As he moved to rise, his hand brushed across something rough.  “What…?”

Jim pointed the pen light in the direction Dan had indicated.  Pinned to the shoulder of Mr. Williams’ shirt was a blood spattered note.  In bold letters, it read:

“YOU CAN RUN BOY. YOU CAN’T HIDE.”

With a muffled gasp, Dan pulled back.  Jim looked at him with surprise, but Dan’s face was implacable.  “We should keep searching,” he said flatly. “Find the others before whoever’s upstairs comes downstairs.”

Jim nodded his agreement, rising to his feet.  Leaving the closet door ajar, they moved quietly towards the den.

This time, Dan entered first.  A flash of lightning showed them that the room was empty, but evidence of the intruder spilled from the eviscerated sofa. Dan turned on his own light, revealing the slashed fabric oozing foam and fluff.  A red velvet throw pillow was propped in the corner, a note stuck to it with a silver fork.  With hands that trembled, Dan removed the note.  Familiar block letter seemed to shout:

“YOU OWE ME BOY.  I OWN YOU.”

“Jonesy.”  Jim took the note from Dan, his mouth a tight, grim line.  “I don’t owe you anything, you bastard.”

Dan licked dry lips. “Jim,” he started to say, only to be stopped by his friend’s upraised hand.

“Shhh!” Jim hissed.  “Do you hear that?”

Sure enough, the ceiling creaked again, and the sound of heavy feet on the plushly carpeted upstairs hall focused their attention on the matter at hand.

“Kitchen,” Dan rasped.  “If he took out Harrison, it was probably in the kitchen.”  Jim nodded his agreement, and they were once again back on the hunt.

It took far too long too reach their destination.  Every creak and squeak had them frozen in their tracks, waiting.  It was a great relief when they finally entered the spacious, albeit blacked out kitchen.  Shining their flashlight beams around the room, it was obvious that a struggle had occurred.  An overturned chair leaned on the stainless steel stove, and the normally pristine floor was strewn with the shattered remains of a porcelain cow cookie jar, its once tasty contents crushed and scattered.

A low moan sounded from the butler’s pantry, and both Jim and Dan moved toward the origin of the noise.  Cautiously, they entered, flashlights in hand, Dan’s pocketknife open and clutched tight.

As light reflected off the face of the Lynch family butler, the fear on Harrison’s face turned to relief.  Both boys dropped down before the prostrate man, Jim reaching for the napkin gag even as Dan slid his blade through the plastic ties binding Harrison’s wrists and ankles.

“Harrison, are you okay?  What happened to everyone?”  Dan asked the questions in a hushed voice.

Harrison answered in equally soft tones.  “I was hit from behind.  I didn’t see him, but he got both Mart and Brian before I could warn them.  And Miss Diana… I heard her scream, but…”  He tried to get up.  “I must find her.”

“Whoa!” Jim whispered, his hand firm on the butler’s arm.  “Take it slow.  We’ll find them.  What about Trixie and Honey?  Did he get them, too?”

“I don’t know,” Harrison admitted.  “I don’t know who he is, or what he wants.”

“I do.”  Jim scowled.  “It’s Jonesy.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”  Dan’s voice was pained, his expression guarded as he pointed to the tin of tobacco on the counter just above Harrison’s head. Hanging from the empty, stinking tin was another note, with the all too familiar print.  It read:

“DADDY’S BACK.”