NO PLACE TO HIDE

by

Sandpiper

Chapter 4

The Chapters

INTRO

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

Wednesday, April 19^th

4:52 pm

The brothers were quiet, each lost in his thoughts as they left the inn and got back into the van. Frank kept sneaking glances at his brother, wanting to ask questions but he’d stop himself before he could bring himself to voice his concerns. The nightmares – no, memories were clear now. That fateful Good Friday, the explosion – but then Joe had returned, seemingly no worse for wear. Frank got into the driver’s seat and glanced at Joe again.

Joe let out an explosive sigh. “Frank...”

“I’m sorry, I just...I can’t wrap my mind around it. You were there? In the...” More memories flooded his mind and he sucked in a hard breath. “That’s what he meant. Oh my God, Joe, I met him.”

Joe blinked. “Met who?”

Frank shifted around in the driver’s seat. “Jack Sparrow. I met him.”

“Huh?” Joe’s eyes went wide as two discordant memories merged into a cohesive whole. “The lamp. Oh my God, Frank..” Joe swallowed hard. “The lamp. The one Callie used to wish...me...” He found he still couldn’t say the words out loud. “It was with the treasure. Sparrow had given it to Elizabeth and she...she wished he’d go away for a little while and let me take charge.”

Frank sat there for a moment. “But why the confusion, why the skewed memories?”

Joe shook his head. “I don’t know.” He moved to shut the passenger side door and went still. “Frank, our tail’s back.”

They looked back at the cloth-wrapped bundles on the back seat. Joe cleared his throat. “Frank, those are real swords. How could we possibly explain to Mom—”

“We’re not going home. We’re not bringing those goons to our doorstep.” Frank jabbed the key in the ignition and started the engine.

“Then where?”

Frank sat there a moment. “The salle?”

“Coach Kupcek is probably gone by now.”

“I know where he keeps an extra key.”

Joe thought about it for a minute. “What about an alarm system? Does he have one?”

“He didn’t when I was practicing there.”

“Let’s hope he still doesn’t have one.” Joe twisted around in his seat, snagging the binoculars Frank had used earlier. He peered through the glasses, first at the driver, a dark-haired man and then the passenger. He did a double-take as he gazed at the passenger with his white blond hair, feeling a brief sense of déjà vu.

Frank took several detours and finally pulled up in the back of the salle. He picked up what looked like a ceramic turtle and slid open the bottom. He pulled out a key and unlocked the door.  They slipped inside, feeling ungainly with the swords in their hands.

“I’m never joking about campy swashbuckler movies again,” muttered Joe, hefting the sword.

“With the right costume, you’d give Errol Flynn a run for his money.”

“Ha, ha.” Joe rolled his eyes. “Shh.”

They slowly moved down the hallway that led to the main practice area, just as the front door opened. Joe glanced at his brother. “Someone else knows their way inside.”

Frank shushed him and took a peek. “Well, we brought them here.”

Joe nodded. “Fine. Let’s do this.” He stepped forward into the studio. He gripped his sword and stepped forward, into the main practice area, with Frank right behind him.

“Ahh,” said the black-haired man. “You are prepared. That is good.”

He lunged forward, aiming his rapier at Joe. Joe brought up his blade, and knocked the man’s sword away. “Well, since you took the time to come out and play, mind sharing your name?”

“My name is not important. But if you must know, it is Sergei.”

The blond man stood at attention like a military man. He eyed Frank up and down and shifted his gaze to Joe. He didn’t say a word but looked back at Frank and smiled.

Frank didn’t like the maliciousness of the smile but it did distract him for a crucial second. The man stepped forward, pivoted and swung his sword in a flat arc. The edge of the blade nearly hit Frank’s neck. At the last  possible moment, he ducked, lifting his sword in self-defense. Metal clanged on metal and Frank took a step back. “Hey.”

“I warned you, Sven, they are not to be trifled with, either of them.” Sergei nodded vigorously. “Yes, this will be a challenge for both of us.” Sergei let out a low roar and lunged again at Joe. The two blades moved in a blur, the clanging loud in the empty salle. Frank tried to keep his gaze away from his brother and on Sven. “What’s going on?”

Sven just smiled and took several steps closer to Frank. “You ask too many questions. Watch your tongue or I’ll sever it.” He rotated his wrist, spinning the sword in a double arc, forward and backward. “Fight or die.”

Frank braced himself and traded parries and thrusts with Sven. Each meeting of the swords jarred his arms all the way up to his shoulders. It had been a long while since he’d fenced and Frank wasn’t exactly prepared for an all-out battle.

Joe stopped trying to analyze how to fight Sergei and let instinct take over. He moved fluidly, using not only the sword blade but his feet and fists as well. He knocked the other man’s sword to one side and let fly a punch right in the man’s face.

The man grunted and sagged against the wall for a brief second. Joe lifted up his foot for a round-house kick when some inborn instinct warned him of danger. For a second, he noted the silence from the other end of the studio. He spun around to see Sven, holding the sword blade at his brother’s throat.

Joe took a deep breath. “Let him go.”

Sven pressed the blade against Frank’s throat and Joe nearly lunged for the man. “I said let him go.”

“Let him go, Sven,” said Sergei, breathing heavily. “There will be another time, my friend.”

Sven gave Sergei a hard look and then gazed at Joe. Slowly, he slid his blade across Frank’s neck with just enough pressure to leave a welt. He pushed Frank forward, at Joe and then he and Sergei bolted from the studio.

Joe was eager to give chase but one look at his brother had him changing his mind. “God, Frank, are you okay?” Joe grabbed his brother’s shoulder as Frank staggered. “Frank?”

“I’m okay, just sore. Really hadn’t planned on plunging back in that quickly, you know.”

Joe glared at the front door and then looked at Frank. “What the hell was all that about?”

Frank touched his neck and checked his hand, relieved that there was no blood. “Does it look bad?”

“No worse than the time someone tried a garrote on you.” Joe shot daggers at the door. “They didn’t seem too surprised that we fought with swords.”

Frank rolled his shoulders and looked down at the sword in his hands. “It seems the preferred weapon for some people.”

Joe frowned. “Why swords, though? There are faster ways, quicker weapons...”

Frank looked around the salle for a long moment. “I think we need to talk to Duncan again.”

Joe sighed. “I agree, but how about after dinner. I’m starved.” He waved the sword around, carefully. “All this adventure....”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s always your excuse.” Frank walked over to a rack of swords hanging on one wall and slipped his sword among them.

Joe arched an eyebrow. “You think that’s a good idea? What if they come back?”

“We’re not bringing swords home, Joe. It’s too dangerous.”

Joe walked over to the rack and slipped his sword on a hook. “I’ll buy that but...”

“I know.” Frank walked to the window. “The car’s gone. They made their point for now, I think. We should be okay, heading home now.”

“I hope so.” Joe shook his head and followed his brother out the back way. “God, I hope so.”

Wednesday, April 19^th

5:31 pm

“Boys, where on earth have you been?” asked Laura Hardy as she met her sons at the front door.

“Ran into some friends at Frank’s old salle and time got away from us. You know how Frank gets when he starts chatting,” said Joe, giving her a quick kiss and heading up the stairs.

Frank tried not to show his surprise. Leave it to Joe to come up with an excuse. “Yeah, sorry, Mom, we got to talking about how swords are made.”

Laura frowned. “You know, I really didn’t like you getting into fencing, Frank, but I didn’t stop you. I was glad when you kind of let it go. Are you starting back up?”

“No, Mom, don’t fret.” He let the book-sack slide off his arm. “Better head upstairs and get busy.”

Laura nodded and watched him go, unable to shake the feeling there was something her sons weren’t telling her. She stood in the foyer, staring  at the stairs for a moment, then sighed and headed back to the kitchen.

“It was the first thing that came to mind,” whispered Joe as Frank reached the upstairs landing.

“You could’ve given me a clue before you told Mom.”

“You’re a detective, Frank. Thought you could figure it out.”

“Well, some things haven’t changed,” Frank muttered, heading for his room.

Joe rolled his eyes. “You’re such a comedian, big bro. I just might keel over from laughing so hard.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Frank headed into his room, only to notice a moment later that his brother was right behind him. “What?”

“Did you get the impression that Duncan wasn’t telling the whole story?”

Frank dumped his book-sack on the bed and sat down. “Yeah.”

Joe sat down at the computer desk and stared down at his hands. “Why swords?”

Before Frank could answer, they heard the front door open and close. “Dad must be home.”

Joe looked up at him. “Are you going to tell him about our day?”

Frank didn’t know. Instead, he asked, “Do you think he and Mom are having weird memories too? It’s affecting us, Callie and Vanessa...”

“Wouldn’t that mean Callie’s parents and Vanessa’s mom too?”

“It’s everyone who went with us to Barbados, that’s why no one else seems to be having memory issues.”

“You know, Detective Sheridan never said they found the sniper,” said Joe, thoughtfully. “And we don’t know who hired the sniper.”

Frank and Joe looked at each other for a long moment, knowing instinctively if they had a name for the person who hired the sniper, they’d know why it all happened. Joe got to his feet. “You never answered my question.”

“Which one?” asked Frank, only half-joking.

“Never mind.” Joe headed for the bathroom, intent on going to his room that way, and then stopped. “I’d rather not anyone know how weird my life has gotten....”

“So Callie, Vanessa and I don’t count?”

“I mean anyone else.”

“Joe, things have been weird since...” Frank’s voice trailed off and he took a deep breath. “Since January and our little—”

Joe let out an explosive sigh. “Incident that we weren’t supposed to remember. After that, things got rather weird, didn’t they. Why?”

Frank shook his head slowly. “It’s vague, I remember someone saying that we’d return with no memory of what happened and yet we do remember. How is it possible to have two different memories of the same thing?”

“Do you think that has something to do with what happened in San Francisco?” Joe grunted. “I mean it was a bit unusual as well.”

“Boys...” Their mother’s voice drifted up the stairs. “Dinner.”

Joe nodded. “Best news I’ve heard all day. Race you to the table.”

“You’re not leaving your homework in my room,” said Frank, getting to his feet. He gave Joe’s book-sack a pointed look.

“Hey, if I leave it long enough, you might even do it for me,” said Joe, grinning as he left Frank’s room.

Frank rolled his eyes and followed Joe downstairs. Their father was seated at the table but he looked tired. “Hey, Dad, everything okay?”

Fenton looked up. “Hey, Frank. Just a bit distracted. I was called out on something that brought back some memories.” He shook his head. “That had been a strange case.”

Frank shared a look with his brother and then turned back to his father. “Strange...how?”

Fenton glanced over Frank’s shoulder and lowered his voice. “Decapitation. The head was severed cleanly, so something sharp was used.”

Joe joined his brother and father in time to hear the last sentence and felt a chill slide down his spine. Something sharp? Like a sword? “Ugh. I guess I’ve seen too many horror movies. Was it just one?”

Fenton shook his head. “Three. That was the odd thing, just three victims, one a woman. And then it just stopped. This time it was a young man around your age, Frank. Dark-haired with brown eyes. When Con called me...”

Joe spared his brother a glance but before he could say anything, their mother joined them at the table. “All right, let’s eat up.” She studied the three of them for a moment. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Mom, I’m just so hungry I can’t even think straight,” said Joe, sounding dramatic.

Laura smiled. “Well, we’ll just have to fill you up, won’t we.”

Joe claimed he wanted to finish his homework quickly, so he headed upstairs, practically dragging Frank with him, after dinner. Fenton gave both boys a look but let himself be talked into helping clean the kitchen with his wife.

“Did you hear what he said?”

“Joe, I heard.” Frank glanced at the open door and then pushed it closed. “Decapitation. Why would anyone do that?”

Joe started pacing. “What’s a good way to decapitate someone?”

“Guillotine?” asked Frank, heading for his computer.

“If you don’t have one of those handy.” Joe’s tone was full of sarcasm. “And I don’t think you’ll find any answers in there.”

Frank sat down at his desk and swiveled the chair around to look at Joe. “Axe?”

“And if you’re not on friendly terms with a dwarf. Not that any dwarf would share,” he added, referring to a popular movie trilogy.  “What else?”

Frank’s brown eyes went wide. “A sword.”

Joe gave a sharp nod. “We need to talk to Duncan again.”

“Do you think he wants to talk to us?”

“We have to know what he knows about all this. Otherwise we’re going into this blind and that’s not a good thing.”

“Right. Let’s go.”

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