by Laura Acton
The man could bury his emotions so deep people would believe he possessed none, useful for a general. But in the confines of his home, surrounded by only family, the full measure of William’s love and concern became evident to even the most unobservant person.
“That is the stupidest decision ever. My son might not make it through the night if he isn’t found soon,” William bellowed before sinking into the nearest chair.
He turned his head to Yvonne. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
Yvonne rose and swiftly crossed the room. Her tone imbued with all the love she held for this man. “William Arthur Broderick, you are not to blame. Those juvenile delinquents are.”
“If my meeting had not gone long. If I had been there on time, I could’ve prevented the attack and Daniel would now be upstairs tucked safely in his bed,” William retorted.
Sitting in William’s lap, something she typically only did while they were alone, Yvonne caressed his cheek. “Your logic makes as much sense as Danny’s does regarding Sara. This isn’t your fault. You are doing everything in your power to bring him home. Do not give up hope. Danny is a Broderick. He is resilient, hardy, and resourceful. And most of all, he is intelligent.
“He will find shelter, just as he did when he ran away from Dupont. If he can survive twelve days on his own in the Yukon when he was eleven, he will survive one night in Ottawa.” Yvonne thumbed away the single tear which escaped William’s eye, aware he wouldn’t want the others to witness his display of uncontrolled emotion.
William drew in a deep breath and absorbed the strength Yvonne’s touch provided him. “You’re right. You always are.” William pulled her into an embrace, encircling her with his arms, seeking and giving comfort.
Tom’s cell ringing broke them apart, and both turned to him as he conversed with whoever phoned. Fears mixed with hope as they waited for him to complete the call.
Smiling at the news he received, Tom disconnected. “Yankee reports Shy located what appeared to be Dan’s trail. The track ended at MacEwen’s gas station. They checked the security cameras and spotted Daniel climbing in the back of a covered truck about six tonight. The vehicle is registered to Andrew Sullivan who lives in Toronto. Both Yankee’s and Trigger’s teams are on their way.”
After kissing his wife, he glanced at the clock, noting it was almost midnight. William retrieved his phone from the end table. “Though it is an ungodly hour, I’m calling Walter. Daniel’s godfather won’t mind being woken up, and he can put the word out on Daniel with the Toronto PD. Toronto’s a huge city, and Daniel could be anywhere. We’ll need all the help we can muster.”
Standing, Yvonne said, “Ann, you and I should call the men and have them come home. We can regroup here to decide the next steps.” A flurry of calls later, Ann and Yvonne went to the kitchen to start fresh coffee in anticipation of Erik’s, Mark’s, and Ryan’s return.
Penny for Your Thoughts
13
February 12
Alley Behind Bennie’s Gas Station – 0045 Hours
Doused in slushy snow, Dan jerked awake and jumped up. Confused and perplexed, he stared at the soggy remnants of his demolished tent. A glance around him showed about four inches of fresh snow. Somehow the flimsy cardboard became soaked and apparently could not withstand the weight. Shivering, he moved closer to the vent wondering if it put out enough heat to produce this, but found warm air no longer flowed.
With no other boxes available, Dan understood he needed to move or risk freezing to death. Checking the time on his wristwatch, he found he slept for about forty-five minutes to an hour. So much for spending the night here.
Dan turned and stumbled out of the alleyway. His hand, which still clutched his coin for dear life, moved to his aching abdomen. At least it doesn’t hurt quite as much now.
Lurking in the dark recesses, Samael wickedly grinned as he raked talons down the wall. The cat and mouse game he played with Hamon for Daniel’s soul continued. He waited to make his move until Hamon faded to recharge after expending a massive amount of ethereal energy to slow Daniel’s internal bleeding.
Scrutinizing Daniel as he left the refuge Hamon had arranged to guide him to earlier, Samael fed off the misery he created. Turning his glowing, red eyes on his handiwork, he laughed. His claws easily tore the box, and the heat from Hell melted enough snow to cause the temporary shelter to disintegrate.
No matter how often Hamon intervened to heal or guide the boy, Samael was determined to win as he did two millennia ago. This powerful soul would soon be his to control and use to wreak havoc in the mortal world.
Somewhere in Toronto – 0115 Hours
With his penny pressed into his palm, Dan wandered. He checked several backstreets but didn’t find any place suitable to bed down again. Chilled to the bone now, he continued to roam. Time held no meaning as he wondered what his life would be like now had he saved Sara.
His parents, or at least his mother would still love him. The general’s expectations were greater than he was capable of meeting, and though he tried so hard for so long to measure up, his father’s hatred only grew. The general didn’t care the slightest bit, and even left him all alone when he was deathly ill.
So lost in his thoughts, Dan tripped on a curb and went sprawling to the sidewalk. His treasure rolled into the gutter, and he reached for it before picking himself up. Knees smarting from taking the brunt of the fall, Dan stood still and stared at the shiny coin. She cared. She held me. She loved me.
His fingers closed around the token she gave him and held fast to the only evidence anyone treated him with kindness and compassion in the past six years and seven months. A penny for your thoughts. The memory of her which he cherished came to mind.
Thirteen years old with a raging fever, so ill he couldn’t rise from bed or keep anything down, Dan lay forgotten in his tiny cell. Corporal Duffy, his tutor, called General Duty-Before-Family to inform him of his illness, but he refused to return from some military conference in England. Duffy said his mother couldn’t make the trip, but Dan knew the truth, she didn’t want to come … she never visited his ice prison.
Both parents discarded him, probably hoping he died alone. He had been so frightened, but the white-haired angel with caring, brown eyes and a tender touch swooped in and nursed him back to health.
Every day for hours, his head laid in her lap as she stroked his hair and rubbed his back. She soothed him when he blubbered like a baby and did not admonish him, only dried his tears with soft tissues. She spoon-fed him broth, wiped the beaded sweat from his brow, and held him when he shook with fear as demons in his dreams lashed out at him.
When he recovered, and she had to leave, he dreaded being isolated again. For one brief shining moment, someone loved him. He stood, holding back tears as she went to the door of their quarters. She knelt and pressed a copper coin into his hand and enfolded him in her arms. He wanted to beg her to stay but remained quiet since the general hovered nearby.
As she rose, her kind eyes twinkled, and she smiled at him as she said, ‘The penny I owe you for sharing your thoughts. I’ll always listen and never judge. You can always be yourself with me without fear, I will never think you’re weak. I love you dearly and will always take care of you in your time of need.’
He had not seen her since that day, but thought about her often when he cried himself to sleep in his lonely room. Dan’s grasp tightened more on the coin, turning his knuckles white with the intensity of his hold.
Constable Marc Fargusson patrolled alone tonight. His partner was home with the flu, like almost a quarter of the officers in his division. The strain affected so many constables and support roles they were understaffed in all areas for the past two weeks.
To top off the problems, the computer system in the squad car was on the fritz, necessitating the use of his radio for record searches and alerts. As a result, the BOLOs he received at start of shift might be lapsed by now … not that there were many of those on a
cold, snowy night.
As he turned the corner, he spotted a male meandering down the middle of the quiet neighborhood street. He flicked on his lights, but the person kept walking. His concern heightened because the man didn’t run or react in any way. If the individual fled, it would likely mean he was getting into trouble, but the lack of response on such a frigid night worried him.
Absorbed in his memories of the one person who showed him tenderness and compassion, Dan failed to notice flashing red and blue lights behind him.
Using his cruiser’s PA system, Marc ordered in an authoritative voice, “Police. Stop right there.”
The unexpected command halted Dan in his tracks. So used to following every order, his mind never considered anything else, and he obeyed without hesitation. However, due to the voice not being the general’s, his muddled frame of mind, and deteriorated physical condition, Dan did not come to attention as he typically would. He stayed still, peering down at the ground. I can’t go back. They will ship me off to the ice prison again.
Fargusson exited the vehicle and approached with caution, unsure of what to expect. Coming to a stop, the headlights of his car backlit the slumped figure with a lowered head wearing a cap which obstructed Marc’s view of his face. Using a firm tone, Marc queried, “Are you okay?”
His jaw aching, Dan didn’t want to move his mouth, but he mumbled a soft, “Yes, sir.”
The unconvincing response held a note of pain and set off warning bells in Marc’s head. He noted the shivering as he assessed the details available to him. The quality, condition, and style of the wet clothing, indicated this was not a homeless person, but a youth in a crisis of some sort. His teenage son James owned a jacket exactly like this one, popular with the high school crowd.
Marc shined his flashlight at the youth and commanded a bit harsher than intended, “Young man, look at me.” The teen’s swift reaction baffled him. He assumed an attention stance with shoulders squared, gut sucked in, jaw leveled, and eyes forward.
Fargusson inhaled sharply upon viewing the kid’s swollen, bruised, and lacerated face. Someone had beaten him severely. The oddness of the youth’s reaction to his command flew out the window as concern for the boy flooded him. “Can you tell me your name?” he asked with a fatherly intonation.
The words were a soft entreaty, not a harsh command. Dan didn’t want to lie or reveal his name. The policeman would return him to the general. He would be in a boatload of trouble for leaving without permission, no matter the reason. Dan couldn’t face the prospect of being dressed down by his father and dragged back to SFATB Yukon, so he stayed quiet because it was a request, not an order.
“Son, it’s alright. You have nothing to worry about from me. I only want to help. That is my job … to assist those in need. And from the looks of things, you could use assistance. A name would help.”
Dan fought to control the shivers wracking his body from the cold and his pain. It hurt like crazy to maintain the attention stance, but he did because he had not been granted permission to be at ease. He also remained silent because the officer had not ordered him.
“Okay, so you don’t want to give me your full name. How about sharing your first only?” Fargusson tried, but the teen maintained his rigidity and silence. The deportment screamed military to him. The kid would be too young to be in the service, but an idea came to him. “Relax, son. My name is Marc. A first name would make conversation easier.”
Parade rest hurt less, but his right side began to throb almost as much as before his nap. Dan dropped his eyes to the ground and moved a hand to his flank wishing the aching would stop. He took in a ragged breath and realized lots of people were named Dan, so he said, “Dan, sir.”
Pleased his intuition had been right as the adolescent moved to a more relaxed stance, Marc considered his next move as he caught the inhale and how Dan’s hand rested on his side. This boy needs to be checked out. The cut above the eye is deep enough to require stitches. Someone did quite a number on him.
With the state of Dan’s face, it was likely he was injured elsewhere. The boy appeared nervous, unsure, and distraught. With the wet jeans, Dan was heading in the direction of hypothermia too. Somehow Marc needed to coax this youth into accepting help and get him out of the cold.
As snowflakes began to fall again, Marc attempted to connect. “Thank you, Dan. It is freezing out here, and the snow is starting again. Would you come with me? My car is warm. You could use some warmth.”
When Dan did not respond and continued to stare at the asphalt, Marc reviewed their encounter thus far. He only responds to orders, not requests. Should I force him into the car? No, probably not the best way to handle this distraught boy. If not that, then what?
The seminar he attended last week came to mind. Constable Pastore offered a free course on his off hours to any first responders interested in developing skills to build connections with at-risk youths. With all the gang violence in his division, he had chosen to go. Time well spent. He learned several techniques which might be handy in gaining Dan’s trust tonight.
Keeping his voice calm, Marc said, “Dan, I would like you to choose to come with me. You can sit with me for a bit and warm up. No pressure, your choice, Dan.” Fargusson took a few steps towards his patrol car.
To his amazement, Dan hesitantly took two steps toward him. Excellent. Glad I didn’t order him. He went gradually so as not to spook the kid as he led Dan to the cruiser a couple of steps at a time. The body language exhibited spoke of an internal battle being fought by Dan as he reluctantly followed.
Dan’s gaze landed on ‘To Serve & Protect’ emblazoned on the side of the cruiser. His mind latched on to the printed words. Police protect. That is their job. Will he protect me from the general? He sat in the front passenger seat when the cop opened the door for him. A hiss escaped as pressure in his abdomen increased. His fisted left hand crossed his belly as the car door closed.
Marc hurried around to his side and hopped in. Once inside, he reached over and turned up the heat. He didn’t miss the anguished sound emitted or the scrunched eyes denoting pain. “Dan, you want to tell me what happened?”
Dan kept his head lowered, focusing on his hand which still held his penny. No, I don’t. I only want to be warm for a little while. He remained silent, but his stomach growled. He had not eaten since lunch.
Taking silence to mean no, Marc changed topics, one handed to him by the rumbling noise. “You stomach sounds hungry. I’m gonna reach down by your feet for my snack bag. Okay?” Fargusson waited for a response and received a slight nod. He moved unhurriedly so as not to frighten or startle Dan, treating him as he would a skittish animal.
After retrieving the insulated lunch bag, he unzipped. His wife always packed him too much, and he still had a sandwich and an apple left. “Ham and cheese on rye with mustard.” Marc held out the items, waiting for Dan to take what he offered.
Dan flicked his eyes to the food. Though starving, he hesitated to accept. Lifting his eyes, he peered at the officer trying to gauge if he was friend or foe. People in authority positions had betrayed his trust before. He wanted to eat so bad but resisted. Surprise lit his face when the man smiled at him and put the sandwich in his lap instead of pushing him to take it from his hand.
Fargusson studied the changing expressions on the too pale face. Someone had abused him terribly to cause this much tentativeness. His heart tugged for this young man. With many years on the force, Marc became skilled at distinguishing between good kids and bad seeds. Dan needed his help.
“Bet you are thirsty too.” Marc retrieved an unopened water bottle from his cup holder and set it in the boy’s lap too.
He waited, not pushing. Marc almost shouted hallelujah when the kid uncapped the water and took a long drink, but he remained passive and quiet. He watched Dan remove the ham sandwich from the baggy, a bit awkwardly because he never opened one of his hands. Marc smiled when Dan took a tentative bite. “Good, huh? My wife makes an awesome
sandwich.”
Dan only nodded, chewing hurt his jaw and the cuts inside his mouth stung, but he ate anyway, his hunger getting the better of him. He didn’t think he would be able to open wide enough to bite the apple and the acidic juice would cause too much pain, so he concentrated on the sandwich.
Continuing his visual assessment of Dan, Marc realized the fruit would likely not be consumed given the swollen jaw. The paleness worried him. At first, Marc attributed the whiteness to the cold, but in the toasty car, Dan’s face remained devoid of color, except for the horrible bruising.
After Dan finished the final bite, Marc said, “Your injuries need to be tended. I’m gonna take you to the hospital so they can check you out.” The wild terror which entered the expressive eyes along with the emphatic shake of the head no took Fargusson entirely by surprise.
Dan nearly choked while shaking his head. He swallowed and croaked out, “No hospital!” as his hand went to the handle. No way in hell am I going to any hospital. I will run hard before I allow that to happen.
Fargusson quickly said, “Okay, I’m listening. You don’t want to go to a hospital.” The boy relaxed, and his hand returned to his lap. He didn’t understand what caused the panic, but he needed to take another approach. “If you tell me where you live, I can drive you home.”
Dan indicated no with a slow shake. I don’t want to go back to the ice prison. I can’t handle the disappointment which will be in the general’s eyes. I’m a total screw up. They will never love me again. Tears started to well, and he swiped them away. ‘No crying allowed,’ General No-Emotion shouted at him.
Marc dealt with many cases of child abuse in his years on the force. Dan’s condition might be the result of parental abuse, and if so, he sure as hell would not deliver him back to his abuser. Making assumptions was not the right path to take, but he did not possess an understanding of the exact situation because Dan refused to tell him. He wanted to deliver this youth to a haven where he could be cared for properly. Though he could call social services, that usually ended in disaster when dealing with older teens.
