Part 5

Dan stepped into the room, his eyes avoiding contact with any of his friends, his attention focused on the man with the gun.  “I’m here, Bull.  Let them go.”  When Bull scowled, Dan tacked on a hasty, “Please?”

“Please, what?”

Dan swallowed hard. Ducking his head and lowering his eyes, he tried again, “Please, Daddy?  Please, just let them go.”

Bull laughed again.  “Better, boy. I’m glad to see you remember some of your manners.  God knows I worked you hard on them.”  He shook his head.  “But I don’t think so.”  He nudged Honey with the toe of his boot, and she squirmed away from him.  “You owe me, boy.  You owe me big, and I figure your little friends here can help pay down your debt.”  Dan kept his head down, listening as Bull rambled.  “Yessiree, buckaroo, there’s a lot of nice little knick-knacks in this here house.”  He tossed a plastic bag of zip ties at Dan’s feet. “You get to tie–ing up your little friends,” he laughed at his own pun, “and then you can go collect us a few souvenirs.  Dan bent to pick up the bag, Bull’s voice rolling past him as he did.  “Now, in my original plan, I thought I’d just shoot them all.  Then I got to thinkin’ that the girls might have some value, but this one,” he kicked at Trixie. “This one’s vicious.  She bit me!” 

Dan knelt behind Jim, securing his wrists as loosely as he could manage.  Bull kept on talking.  “Besides, she’s not worth much, but the other two, their daddies are rollin’ in the dough. So, I’m thinkin’ we’ll take violet-eyes and golden girl with us – for a while.  Maybe there’s some use for red there, too.  Seems like that Jonesy guy might be interested in him.”  Dan finished binding Di, and moved on to Mart.  Bull continued, “The rest of them we’ll leave here.  They’ll be safe enough.”

“Thank you,” Dan managed to choke out the words, not believing Bull for a minute.  Stealthily, he slipped out his pocketknife, opened the blade, and placed it in Mart’s bound hand.  Mart shifted slightly, hiding the knife in his closed fist.  Dan crawled towards Brian, as Bull stepped over Trixie and moved toward the Bob-Whites.

“Yep. They’ll be safe.  Right up until the house goes up in flames.  So sad.  They’ll be safe.  Then they’ll be ashes. Bring me the girl.”

Dan stood up.  “You can’t set the house on fire.”

“Of course not,” Bull told him.  “That’s your job.  Bring the girl, before I change my mind and shoot somebody.”

Dan slipped his hand under Di’s elbow and helped her to her feet.  As he tugged her gently around Jim, he noticed that Bull was tracking him with the gun.  He stopped.  “I don’t want to go with you.”

“You don’t get to decide.”  The gun stayed on Dan.  “I’m in charge.  You never should have run in the first place.  Nobody gets out unless I take them out.  I keep what’s mine, boy.”

Dan gave Di a soft push, thrusting her away from him.  The gun didn’t move.  Dan looked at his friends, his family.  “Take me out,” he said, stretching out his arms.  “I’d rather die with them than live with you.”

Bull’s face reddened with rage.  “You don’t talk to me like that, boy. I can see you need a few reminders of what happens when you don’t obey.  I’m looking forward to that.”

Dan swallowed again, his face going an even whiter shade of pale. “I’m done.  I’m out. I won’t do what you say, and I won’t go with you.”

Fury oozed from every pore on Bull’s body.  Suddenly, he smirked.  “You will,” he said.  “I don’t have to kill you.  I can shoot pieces off of you, and then I’ll make you watch while I kill each of them.  Where should I start?”  He moved the gun, pointing it first at Trixie, and then at Brian.  “Eeny, meeny, miney…”

Bull stopped in mid rhyme, the gun dropped from his hand as his heavy body thudded to the floor.  Harrison stepped from the hidden passage, the cast iron skillet with which he had hit Bull clenched tightly in his hand.  He kicked the gun across the room and looked at the prostrate man.  As sirens rose in the distance, Harrison asked calmly, “Daniel, would you hand me those ties, please?”

Miss Trask shifted, trying to work out the pins and needles prickling through her legs. By her count, she had been under the desk for almost two hours. Two hours! Almost two hours for that awful man to do heaven knows what to the Bob-Whites. To his son.

She shuddered and pulled harder at the restraints. Though she hadn't heard footsteps for quite a while, she tried to keep her movements as silent as possible. Waiting quietly to be rescued wasn't turning out to be a good plan. Action was now required. Sadly, the restraints refused to budge. If anything, they were tighter than when she had started struggling.

Miss Trask closed her eyes and pushed away the screaming pain in her wrists. There had to be a way to get free. Deciding that she had wasted enough time, the silver-haired governess worked herself free of the desk. With the ease of balance acquired during years of ballet training, she managed to stand, though her ankles were bound by more of the cruel zip ties. Unable to use her hands for balance because they were tied behind her back, she stumbled and banged her hip against the desk. Perhaps a few more years of ballet wouldn't have been amiss, she mused. But the shoes had been uncomfortable.

Hopping in an irritatingly undignified fashion, she turned so that she was half-sitting, half-leaning against the desk. Surely there had to be a way to remove the zip ties... The sharp point of the desk drawer handle pricked her side, causing her to flinch, and then to think. She twisted until the zip-tie around her wrist was against the handle. Perhaps she could use it to saw through the restraint...

No. The handle was sharp enough to bruise her, but not sharp enough to slice the plastic.  Useless.

Unless...

She tugged on the drawer, and was shocked to find it unlocked. It slid open easily. Reaching into the drawer with her bound hands, she rifled through the contents, trying to identify the objects by feel alone. Papers, paper clips, paper weight... She fingered a staple remover thoughtfully, but had to admit that it couldn't tackle the zip ties.

At the back of the drawer, however, she hit pay dirt. Not stopping to wonder whom in the Lynch household had taken up smoking, she clutched the Bic lighter in both hands. Ten minutes and several minor burns later, she felt the plastic restraint begin to soften, and the shackle fell away.

As she returned the lighter to the drawer, Miss Trask found something even more valuable. Mr. Lynch's cell phone, tucked into an unplugged charger, practically threw itself into her hands. She powered the unit on, muffling the start-up sound against her clothes. To her relief, the phone was fully charged, and she set about placing some very important phone calls.

Creeping to the door, she peered into the darkness.  Empty.  As she slipped into the corridor, a shadowy figure caught her eye.  The movement of the long shadows was familiar, as was the shape of what he carried in his and.  Taking the risk, Miss Trask whispered, “Harrison?”

The figure halted.  Turning slowly, his shoulders slumped in relief.  “Miss Trask?”  Quickly he moved to her.  “Are you injured?”

“I’m fine.  I’ve called the police.  Where are the children?” 

Harrison’s answer was cut off by a gunshot, echoing from the floor above. Turning, he ordered grimly, “Stay here!” and disappeared into the kitchen.  Margery Trask bit back a reply, squared her shoulders and looked around for a weapon.

Spider Webster careened to a stop behind the Bob-White station wagon. Weapon drawn, he quickly ascertained that the vehicle was empty, and then made his way to the front door of the Lynch home. After using his walkie-talkie to inform dispatch of his intentions, and being informed that back-up was only seconds behind him, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

“Officer?”

Spider whipped to face the voice, finger on the trigger of his gun.

“It’s Miss Trask,” the calm, well-regulated voice continued.

After training his flashlight on the woman who stood only a few feet from the door, Spider relaxed his stance. “Lower your weapon, ma'am. Please,” he added hastily.

Miss Trask lowered her hand, and the Kosta Boda candle holder she gripped with it. “I've been hearing noises upstairs for the last ten minutes.”

Both sets of eyes shot to the staircase. They could hear muted voices and muffled thumps, growing louder by the minute.

Miss Trask frowned as they sprinted towards the stairs. “That sounded almost like...”

“Stay back, ma'am,” Spider warned.

Miss Trask raised an eyebrow and followed directly behind him. “You'll find that the situation is under control.”

“How do you figure?” he muttered, proceeding down the upper hallway carefully, gun ready. The wail of sirens becoming louder told them that back-up was close.

“You'll find the perpetrator with a frying pan sized dent in his skull,” she told him, staying politely behind him.

“What?!” Spider's incredulous whisper was cut off as the door to the nursery swung open. They entered the room carefully, and found a shaken group of teenagers huddled in a tight group, and a body lying in the middle of the room. Harrison stood between the young people and the unconscious form, an iron skillet dangling from his hand.

Spider shot a curious glance at Miss Trask, then knelt over the body, speaking into his walkie-talkie again. Assured that Spider had the ruffian, whoever he was, under control, Miss Trask turned her attention to the Bob-Whites. Honey threw herself into her governess' arms, tears tracking down her face.

“It was so awful!” she cried. “That horrible, horrible man...” Honey looked down at the man on the floor, turning away with a shudder. “He would have taken Dan. And done awful things to the rest of us. He was going to burn down the house!”

“It's okay, Honey,” Miss Trask soothed, rubbing her young charge's back. “It's over now.”

“Yes, it is,” Jim agreed, placing his hand on his sister's back. “Thanks to Harrison.”

All eyes turned to the butler. The normally unflappable Harrison flushed as he heard exclamations of praise, and the skillet slipped from his fingers, landing with a soft thud on the thick carpet. “I hope I haven't injured the man too severely,” he said, turning away from the admiring eyes and back to the prostrate form.

Dan's voice was bitter. “If he's still alive, you didn't hit him hard enough.”

Regan, accompanied by several police officers, burst into the room. “You don't mean that.” He approached his nephew slowly.

“Yes. I do.” Dan's eyes were black with rage. “You don't know what he did. What he was going to do.”

“No,” Regan agreed. “I don't. But you do. And so do the rest of your friends. And the police will know, too.” He stepped closer. “He'll go to jail, Dan. He will be punished.  And some day, when you're ready, you can tell me about it.”

Dan moved to stand over Bull's limp form. The zip ties had been replaced with standard issue police handcuffs. An ugly bump covered a good portion of his head, and was still spreading. The cruel sneer he perpetually sported had been wiped away.

And still the man exuded pure evil.

Jim stood close beside him, not quite touching him. “I know how hard that was,” he said, referring to Dan being willing to sacrifice himself for his friends.

Dan shrugged, his eyes still on Bull. “It was the only thing I could do.”

Jim nodded flatly. Both young men had made the same decision that night; the decision to risk their own lives to stop the monster from their pasts. And they both knew that they would do the same thing again, even if it didn't end as well as this situation had.

Trixie shouldered her way between her two friends, wrapping an arm around each of them. “Thank you,” she whispered, standing on tip-toe to give each of them a kiss on the cheek.

Staring down at Bull, Trixie asked, “I don't suppose the police would like it if someone happened to accidentally hit him with the iron skillet a second time?”

Dan's bark of laughter surprised them all.

“I think the one hit did it,” Regan assured her, as Jim led Trixie away from temptation.  Regan opened his arms hesitantly to Dan, who stepped in, allowing his uncle envelope him in a tight hug. “The paramedics are downstairs with Mr. Williams.  Let’s get everyone checked out.”

“Miss Trask has some nasty burns,” Brian agreed, “and I’m sure that anyone the creep hit should be checked.  My head is still pounding.”

Regan reluctantly released his nephew.  “Mine too,” he admitted, “And I also think that I owe Harrison a drink when all this is taken care of.”

The Bob-Whites chorused their agreement, praising the quick-thinking and level-headed butler as they followed him out of the room.  Dan lagged behind, taking one last look at Bull. “I have new ties, now,” he whispered to the still-unconscious form. “Ties that bind tighter than anything you could ever understand.”