"He's down this way, doc."   

Frank heard Brad Meyers' voice coming from down the hallway.  Going to stand by the window, he braced himself for whatever lies Jerry Weaver was going to tell him.  He checked his watch and saw that it was coming up to 7:00 .  He'd already wasted so much time trying to learn anything from the people in Castle Rock, and he assumed that his talk with the longhaired doctor was just going to be more of the same.  Not quite ready to face Weaver yet, he turned to look down at the street below.  The sun had just come up, breaking through the haze and fog-covered morning.  Did the godforsaken town have any other kind? He had to wonder.  Since leaving Boothbay Harbour all he had seen was fog and darkness.   

Resting his forearm on the upper frame of the windowpane, he leaned his forehead against it and sighed. He had never felt so isolated before.  He couldn't understand how Meyers had managed it, but that had to be the reason he hadn't been able to call home. The next phone he saw, he was going to call Collig or his friend in Boothbay.  He should have thought of that when he had the chance, but everything that had happened had him struggling to even remember which way was up.  With no access to a phone the sheriff had essentially cut him off from his family and friends—anyone who could possibly help him.  And he couldn't leave to find help.  The nearest town was more than an hour away. How far could they take his brother in that hour?  How far away was he now?  "Why couldn't they have taken both of us? Joe shouldn't have to be alone in this."  

"I'm sorry, Frank, I didn't quite catch what you said."   

Slowly turning at the sound of a voice he didn't recognize, Frank saw the man Meyers must have referred to as 'doc'.  "You're not Doctor Weaver."  The man who stood in front of him had to be in his late fifties.  His thinning hair had been combed to one side to barely conceal his receding hairline and he looked as if he'd just dragged himself out of bed.   

"Oh, but I am.  We met two days ago. I'm happy to see that you're feeling better and looking well.  You left so abruptly that I never had a chance to do a follow-up visit."  The older man's smile ended in deep dimples. "I guess it was food poisoning, after all."  

"Look," Frank snapped and advanced on the doctor. "I don't know who the heck you are, but the Doctor Weaver I met was half your age and had long hair."  

Startled, the doctor took a step back and held his hands up in submission.  "Oh, oh, I understand."  Weaver chuckled in relief.  "You mean Jerry.  Yes, of course. Jerry's my son. Also Doctor Weaver.  He did examine you first.  He was here for such a short time I didn't think that you'd remember him."  

"He's the one who looked after my brother."  

Weaver's smile wavered. "Brad mentioned that you keep referring to a brother.  Frank, there was no one here with you.  We're all quite concerned that you insist there was."  He rubbed the side of his nose with a thick finger.  "The confusion could be a result of the high fever you had when you arrived here.  Our fevered brain may manufacture the person we want here with us when we're not feeling well.  I think…" The doctor's words faltered when he saw the expression on the younger man's face darken.   

"I…didn't…manufacture…anything."  Frank took another step closer to Weaver, getting some slight satisfaction from the doctor's obvious nervousness.  "My brother wasn't some fevered figment of my imagination. You, Meyers, the Elderbridges, all of you are involved in this.  I'm going to get my brother back. I'm not leaving unless he's with me."  

Weaver blinked in surprise.  "Did you say Elderbridge?"  He took his round, wire-rimmed glasses from his pocket and perched them on his nose.  "Why, there haven't been any Elderbridges living in this area for decades.  I think the last were Ben and Sada Elderbridge.  God rest their souls."  

"What are you talking about?" Frank fought down the churning that had started in his stomach.  "What do you mean 'God rest their souls'?"  

"The Elderbridges were good friends of my father's.  They were both killed in a fire.  Their farm burned to the ground," the elder Weaver explained.  "I never met them.  They died when I was just a baby.  But my father always spoke fondly of them.  Good people they were.  Tell me, though, Frank.  How do you know about them?"  

"Oh, you're good." Frank's laugh was mirthless.  "The kindly country doctor.  Anyone would believe you. Except that I met the Elderbridges last night."  He shoved past the doctor and headed out the door.  "I've had enough of this."  

Practically running down the three flights of stairs, Frank brushed roughly past the Wellwoods and stormed out through the exit.  He came to a stop at the top of the steps that led down to the sidewalk. Taking in a shaky breath, he tried to calm the pounding of his heart. He needed help.  He had to find a phone--one that would work.  First he had to contact his friends in Boothbay to have someone back him up that Joe had been with him. His next call would be to the police in the next town.  Then he would start his search. Meyers and the rest had had him chasing his tail long enough.  

"So, son, did you and the doc get it all sorted out?"  Meyers' smooth drawl came from a few feet behind him.  

"Oh yeah," Frank answered coldly. "We got it all sorted out." Deciding to try a different tactic, he turned to look at the sheriff.  "Please, if you won't tell me where he is, will you at least tell me if he's all right?"  He held his breath.  Had he seen a flash of regret in the other man's eyes?  

"I wish I could, Frank," Meyers sighed from where he stood, leaning against the front of the inn. "I honestly wish I could, but I've never met your brother. I don't know where he is."  He saw the teen's hands tighten into fists and his body tense.  "Don't make this any harder than it is, son.  I know that you're confused right now. I can't begin to guess how that's making you feel.  Just don't do something stupid. Assaulting an officer'll land you in jail, no matter how sympathetic I might be."  He picked his hat up from where he had perched it on top of a carved pumpkin that sat on the window ledge.  Giving Frank a nod and a look that mimicked the grimace on the jack-o-lantern, Meyers started down to the sidewalk.  "I hope I've made myself clear." He pulled the Stetson low on his forehead and headed down the street towards his office.  

Watching the retreating figure, Frank felt his rage melt into ice-cold dread. How could he fight them? He knew that Meyers would make good on his threat the first chance he got. Going down to the car, he stood at the door looking out at the street.  The sidewalks were now starting to fill with people. Some, he imagined, going to work. Children dressed in Halloween costumes for class parties, going to school. All of them, taking a long, good look at him as they passed by.  They all know.  Frank returned their stares, forcing them to look away in uneasiness.  He despised each of them.  They all know what's happened to Joe. "Not one of you is going to help me, are you?"   

"I will.  I know what's happened to your brother."  

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