Monster glared at me, finally catching his breath. “Now, just climb on back down here, and quit being silly. You have no idea what it is you're messing with, boy. Come back with me, and maybe you'll live another day or two.” He grinned a wicked smile, and his eyes became points of evil light.

  I had no choice but to obey. The last time I checked, I wasn't faster than a speeding bullet. Carefully, to make sure he didn't think I was going to do something crazy, I slowly started making my way down the tree.

  When I got to a point where I was about five feet above him, I lost my mind completely. Thinking that surely this would be my last act in life, I jumped out toward the closest limb, grabbed it with my hands like a gymnast doing the parallel bars, and with every ounce of strength that existed in my little runt of a body, I kicked my foot out right into the Monster's face. I could feel his nose crunch as I connected, dead on.

  He was stunned, dropping his gun as he fell to the ground. I only had seconds, and even though I was just about drained of any energy whatsoever, I shot back up to the overhanging limb, clambered out over the fence, and for the second time in three days, I jumped out of a tree.

  Twenty minutes later, I was still running. Where that energy came from, I don't know. Pure adrenaline maybe. Whatever it was, it had saved my life for the time being. I had lost any sign of pursuit.

  I was still in a wooded area, even thicker than the woods by the house I had just escaped from. Not knowing which direction was which, I just kept going, trotting now instead of full-on running. There was no sign of the Monster. Maybe I had hurt the man enough that he didn't even run after me over the fence. Or maybe he just assumed he could catch up to me later. Or, maybe they didn't think I was much of a threat after all.

  I finally decided to sit down and take a rest. Exhaustion filled me as my thoughts started running with the wind.

  It all seemed impossible. I was a bona fide murder-witness, kidnap-victim, hostage, and escapee all rolled into one. It was too much for me to bear. It didn't seem real. For the first time, I broke my vow, and cried. My chest lurched with sobs, the tears flowed off my face and onto my shirt, as the events of the last couple of days finally caught up with me and hit me like a blast from a shotgun. I felt so lonely.

  I hated the men who did this to me.

  The Monster, Raspy-voice, and Mayor Duck.

  Again, I felt the rage that I had felt on the tree after seeing the Mayor kill that woman. I felt the rage that had visited me more than once while I sat in that prison of a room for two days.

  I promised myself that it wasn't over.

  When I finally got back to my mom and dad, I'd make sure someone important heard about the things I'd seen and been through.

  I hiked for another hour or so and finally came upon some civilization. It was getting toward late afternoon, and my body hurt like nothing else. Hunger pains raked me all over. I needed some help soon, or I would probably just fall down and die.

  I came out of the woods onto a stretch of highway, a four-lane state road from the looks of it. There was a gas station about fifty yards down the road. Finally, I felt a little spark of hope.

  I dragged myself to the station and found a phone. Having seen that stupid ‘call-collect’ commercial over a million times, I knew exactly how to make a call without money. My brother Rusty answered.

  “Oh my—hold on, Jimmy!” he yelled.

  Two seconds later my dad was on the phone.

  I expected exclamations of joy, yelps of excitement, laughter and tears. All I got was a scared, trembling voice. My dad was obviously shaken.

  “Where are you,” he said, more of a statement than a question. His voice was low, stern, and full of fear. Why wasn't he excited? Then a thought came to me. They probably thought I was still with the kidnappers, that this was a call for ransom-demands or something.

  “Dad, I escaped, I'm okay! I'm at a gas station, ummm, a Texaco.”

  His reply was in the same voice. “Son, I need to know exactly where you are, and now.”

  “Hold on,” I said, and put the phone down while I ran into the store. The surprised man at the counter let me know that I was in Buford, about a mile north of the high school, on Buford Highway. I ran back to the phone and told my dad.

  “Son, walk south about a quarter of a mile. Hide in the woods until you see me pull off the road. Then run for my car and get in.”

  “But—”

  “Just do it.” He hung up.

  I was stunned. That wasn't my dad's normal voice. I'd never heard him sound scared in all my life. What I'd been through was horrible at best, but I was free, it was over. Why didn't he sound happy? Why was he still so scared? Something was wrong.

  After hanging up, I did as I was told and ran a little ways down the road and hid behind a tree. I figured my house couldn't be more than twenty minutes away, so I sat down and waited. My earlier loneliness, anger, and fear had subsided a bit, but now I was flooded with a whole new pile of worries. My dad. Scared. Did he know something about the people that kidnapped me? Had they talked to him? Did they know I'd be going home, figuring they could come after me there? Was that why my dad was so scared?

  The questions flooded my head.

  I looked up at the tree I crouched under. Perfect for climbing, I thought. Memories of the Mayor and that woman filled my vision, causing me to feel nauseous.

  I couldn't wait to see my dad.

  Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up in his Isuzu I-Mark. The puke-yellow color went well with the nasty diesel fumes coming out of the exhaust. I couldn't quite see my dad through the windshield, but somehow I could sense that he was a worried mess.

  I took off for the car. As soon as Dad got sight of me he reached over and pushed open the passenger-side door. I got in and closed the door.

  No hug, no words like, “Happy to see ya, son!” Dad just put the car into first gear, did a U-ie, and took off, heading south, back toward home. He looked a mess. His black hair was rustled, his face unshaven, his shirt sweaty and wrinkled. His eyes were bloodshot, and huge bags had formed under them. Goodness, I thought, Dad hasn't slept since I was kidnapped. After a long silence, I finally spoke.

  “Dad, what's wrong? I thought everything would be okay now.” It occurred to me how strange it was that he hadn't even asked me any details about who had kidnapped me or anything.

  “Son, I—” He faltered, paused, and then continued. “The people who took you, they called me right before you did. You have no idea, son. Look, I don't know how to explain things right now. But … son …”

  “Dad, what?”

  For the first time, he looked over at me. His eyes were filled with a grief that I would've thought impossible.

  “Son … I've gotta get you away from this place; as far away as possible.”

  I couldn't say a word for the longest time. After Dad drove right past the turn-off to go to our house, I knew he wasn't kidding. He got on I-85, and headed south.

  After a while, Dad finally started talking again.

  “Okay, listen. I don't expect you to understand, and I do expect you to be confused and terrified. Son, this is crazy to be saying stuff like this to you, but I don't want you to underestimate what it is we're dealing with. The fact that you escaped from those hoodlums means nothing. You hear me—it means nothing! If anything, you've made matters worse. I don't even know where or how to begin.”

  Dad's face was flushed red, and I knew he wanted to curse. But my dad never cursed.

  We were in the middle of downtown Atlanta now, and he kept going. The skyscrapers loomed over us as we drove through, the late afternoon sun glimmering off the windows of the tallest buildings. I had always loved driving through Atlanta, but now it was nothing. My insides hurt with a mixture of worry, fear, nervousness, and despair. I had never felt this way in my life. What was going on? Where was Dad taking me? The tears came again.

  “Ah, son …” Dad said in an attempt to make his voice softer and less anxious. A very bad attempt. “Look, I have no choice but to do what I'm about to do. We're going to the airport. I'm putting you on a plane, and you're leaving us for a while, okay? I would say don't be scared, but that would be plain stupid. Be scared, Jimmy, that's the only way we're going to survive this.”

  My heart went through my throat, and I couldn't speak. The tears stopped swiftly, my emotions of despair replaced by a stark uncertainty. The airport? Sending me somewhere? What in the world?

  “Dad, what … why can't we just go to the police? Who are these people? How do they know who you are? What's going on, Dad?” My voice trembled with some kind of nightmarish version of Christmas morning excitement.

  “Jimmy, we're almost to the airport, and I just don't have the time to explain everything right now. It goes all the way back to when I was a kid. Those people that had you—they … know me very well. The fact that you saw whatever it was you saw, sheez, that is a coincidence beyond all coincidences. I thought those people were in my past for good, but not anymore. It's started all over again. Those people are into something very strange, Jimmy, and I was right in the middle of it. I got out somehow, I thought, but …”

  Not a word he was saying made a bit of sense.

  “Jimmy, you'll understand soon enough. I'm sending you to a friend, and he'll be able to explain everything. His name is Joseph. Our only hope is that I can get back to the house before they arrive, and convince them that I don't know where you are. I hope they think you just died in those woods or something. If I can somehow make them think you're nowhere to be found, we just might be okay. They don't want any more trouble than they have to deal with. But if they know you're out there, they won't stop ’til you're dead.” He looked at me again.

  “That's harsh son, too much for a kid like you to have to hear, but I cannot afford to mince words with you. You must understand the gravity of our situation. They will kill you, they will kill me, they will kill our whole family if they have to. You accept that right now.”

  His voice had grown harsh. I was still in a daze. Things were so crazy that I was beyond any kind of rational response. I just grunted and tried to grasp everything I was hearing. I couldn't. Not then anyhow. My head was swimming.

  Soon we screeched to a stop in a parking spot at the airport. Dad jumped out of the car, yelling at me to hurry up. He opened the trunk, and took out a small backpack.

  “Mom put just a couple of changes of clothes in here, and some of your bathroom stuff.” He opened it and pulled out a little black money purse—one of those things that's about the size of half a notebook and has a zipper all the way across the top. It was packed full.

  “There's five thousand dollars in here, Jimmy. I know you've never held more than ten bucks in your life, but I don't want to take any chances. You may need it, you may need more, I don't know. You just hold on to this with your life, you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.” I couldn't believe that I was about to be the richest kid in America.

  “Come on,” Dad said, already booking for the entrance to the terminal.

  He turned around and yelled at me to hurry, and I followed, with the strangest thought that Dad's facial expression right then kind of reminded me of the Monster.

  When I was twelve, my family had traveled to Mexico for a little family vacation. It was hot, muggy, and miserable. Not a one of us had any fun, but at least because of that trip, I had a passport, which made it easier for Dad to get me a ticket and on the plane. From all the movies I'd seen, though, I couldn't help but think how easy it would be for the bad guys to track me down if they even suspected that I'd flown somewhere. The ticket was in my name, and obviously they knew exactly who I was. I tried to put the worry aside, but it kept nagging at me.

  “Dad,” I asked as we walked to the gate, “What if they come looking to see if I bought a plane ticket?”

  “Then I guess they'll follow you. I don't know, son, we just gotta do the best we can.” He sounded very irritated now, so I thought it best just to keep to myself for the time being.

  As we walked on, I finally had time to think for just a minute. All this couldn't possibly be happening. It seemed absurd that I was actually going along with my dad's plans, actually walking with him to the gate, actually running from a bunch of hard criminals. I should've gone crazy by now, or concluded my dad was crazy, or something. It just seemed unreal that I was involved in some kind of big scandal, and about to run off to another part of the country. A week ago I was waking up at noon, swimming and climbing trees all day, watching TV, going to the movies, or just sitting on my butt waiting for nothing. Now, I was running for my life. Go figure.

  When we got to the gate, they were already loading the plane. I looked up at the message board.

  ATLANTA TO SALT LAKE CITY, DEPARTURE 6:08 PM

  Salt Lake City, Utah. Who would've thought that little Jimmy-boy would be going to the land of the Mormons. My best friend Tyler's family was Mormon, so I knew a lot about them. I was pretty sure I could feel safe there, as long as I didn't threaten anyone with caffeine or something.

  “All right, Jimmy, you better get on. Remember, hold on to that backpack with your life. You lose that money, and you might get a little hungry.” Was that a mild joke by Dad? “Now, I mentioned Joseph earlier. He is a very dear friend to your mom and me. He lives somewhere out there in Utah—I don't even know where exactly. But I guess he figured that was the safest place for him to hide.”

  “Okay, Dad, but I don't even know what to say—I'm really scared. What am I supposed to do out there? And when am I going to see you guys again? What's going to happen?”

  “I don't have a good answer, I guess. I promise Joseph will take care of you. He's an interesting guy … I think you'll be a little surprised. Anyway, I love you so much son.” He grabbed me and gave me one of his bear-hugs. “I'll be praying for you. Somehow, this will all work out. Now, get on that plane. You'll hear from me before too long, okay?”

  He gave me a little nudge toward the loading gate, and told me to grow up and be a man now. The tears flowed down my face, and that was expected, but when I looked up and saw my dad crying, I was shocked. While my mom cried just for telling her that dinner tasted good, my dad never cried. I had never felt so much love from him, and it made me feel like a king. At least for that instant, I forgot all about the danger we were in. I forgot about the murder, the room, the Monster, Raspy-voice, and the chase. All I felt was the love of my dad and family, and I couldn't help but feel that we were going to make it somehow. I felt a renewed determination to help get us through this, to help save my family. I didn't know what a punk kid like me could do, but I would figure it out, and I would do it. For Dad. For Mom. For Rusty.

  So with those last words and thoughts, it was time to go. I turned and practically ran onto the plane, yelling to my dad, finally able to sputter some words out, that I loved him, and that I would miss him.

  And then he was gone, and I, along with my backpack, five thousand dollars, and my lucky Braves hat, was bound for Salt Lake City, Utah.

  I sat in a window seat, which usually made me happy, but of course I was right over a wing, and couldn't see a thing to save my life. I thought to myself how fun it would be to look at that ugly gray thing the whole trip.

  I could have put the backpack Dad had given me in the overhead thing or under my seat, but I held it in my lap instead. There was no way I was going to chance losing all that money. I felt so paranoid about it, I thought everyone who even looked my way had somehow figured out what I was carrying.

  The plane was a big one—that's about all I could do to describe it. I didn't know if it was a 747 or what, but it had two seats going down the sides, and five going down the middle. I sure was glad I wasn't in a middle seat in the middle section. I would've died.

  After a little delay, we finally took off for Salt Lake City. For some reason, I almost felt excited. All the fear and sadness had just kind of left me, I guess, and I was excited to see what I'd find in Utah. But deep down, I felt the slight panicky feeling that my excitement would not last long, that it was only a temporary relief from all the anguish I'd been experiencing.

  I thought about everything that my dad had told me, and tried to piece it all together. Something about Raspy and them being into something strange, and that my dad had been a part of it. Raspy had mentioned my dad several times in the mansion, but I never really knew why. So somehow my dad was connected to these nutcases. I couldn't possibly imagine how.

  The best I could come up with was that a long time ago, my dad had been involved in or somehow knew about things that Monster and Raspy were doing. The Mayor, too. Maybe Dad had sworn he would never tell anyone, and everything was okay until my unfortunate meeting with Mayor Duck. Dad had said it was an incredible coincidence. So the facts that I'm Dad's son, and that I just happened to see something I shouldn't have, and that what I saw is somehow linked to my dad, has gotten him back into his original mess. Whatever. Something told me that I had only scratched the surface, and that big surprises lay ahead.

  The stewardess announced that a movie would be shown, some lovey-dovey flick that I wouldn't have seen in a million years by my own choice, but I figured there wasn't anything else to do, so I decided I'd watch. I pulled open my backpack to get out some money, being careful so as not to let anyone know about my riches. I unzipped the little purse and pulled out a bill. I just about choked when I saw the “100.” Well, I thought, forget the movie. I wasn't about to hand that lady a hundred dollar bill for a dinky set of headphones. I could just imagine the attention I'd get while she counted out ninety-four dollars of change.

  So instead, I took a little nap. After the last day of non-stop running from bad guys, I felt a bit tired.

  I must have missed the nasty dinner, because when I woke up, my ears already felt like they were stuffed with cheese or something, and we were getting close to landing. It had also grown dark, despite the fact that we were flying west.