Chief drove, his eyes intent on the road in front of him. He pushed the truck as fast as it would go along the gravel of the North service road, his mind replaying the horror of his mistake. He sent the child away, disregarding her own arguments (she can’t stop the tiger, not even with her purse). Misunderstanding them. Bennet had told him–no–warned him against taking her perceptions lightly. And on top of it all, while he moved away from Middleton, Perretti and his men moved towards it. Chief was being torn in two. The potential dangers moved around him suffocating him and he felt ineffectual at stopping their progress.

“So, is Stevens any good?” Chief directed the question to the road out in front of him.

He felt Moss turn. “The best, Bob. I trained him myself since he was six.”

Chief's eyes darted to Moss.

“He’s my sister’s kid,” Moss explained as Chief returned his attention to his driving. “He wasn’t boasting when he said he’s done this kind of work before. He specializes in witness protection, Bob. Elly and Maggy couldn’t be in better hands." 

“He looked young,” Chief said quietly to the front windshield.

“So did you when we first met,” Moss quipped. 

Broden glanced sideways. “Touché.”

“He’s thirty-four Bob. He’s experienced. He can handle the job.”

Broden nodded to the windshield. 

The truck spun down the road. Every now and again Chief was forced to bank a turn, but never was the pressure released from the accelerator. He came to the split in record time and took the right fork onto the east loop following the path of his daughter. Three miles in they pulled to an abrupt stop next to Martha’s Buick.

Moss and Chief were out of the truck simultaneously. They hurried to the front of the car where they found Martha slumped against the right front tire. Her face was bloodied and she held her nose with her hand. She glanced up at their arrival. Tears welled in her eyes.

Moss was at her side. He gently pulled her hand free and examined the damage. Then he looked her in the eye. “It’s broken.”

She nodded, and turned to Chief who was picking her purse up from the ground. Chief carried it back to her.

“They went into the woods over there.” Her voice was obscured by the swelling of her nose and fresh blood that pulled free to drain down the back of her throat. The words came out thick and muffled. “I told her to run, Robert. My god. I didn’t know what else to do. Go after her.”

Chief turned to his son. “Stay with your aunt and wait for the doctor.”

“But Chief–”

Chief silenced the boy with a scowl.

“Yes, sir.”

Chief glanced at Moss, and then both rose from the ground and headed towards the woods. They made it to the tree line as Frank Dobbs pulled in on the opposite side of the felled tree and screeched to a halt.

Chief and Moss met him at the back of his truck, knowing the tracking would be easier with the dogs. Each man took two hounds and returned to the woods.

The scent of both the child and her pursuer was fresh. The dogs’ noses were filled with it from the onset. They bounded through the trees with confidence, dragging their handlers behind them. The pace was quick and steady, but the quarry had a thirty-minute advantage. The dogs and men had to follow through thick brush and thorn covered vines for lack of a clear trail. Occasionally a thread or a strip of cloth was found to indicate that they were headed in the right direction. The trail was haphazard. It switched from one direction to another without rhyme or reason. Dodging right- then left without a hint of what caused the diversion. At one point the dogs became overly excited about a log. Under close examination Chief was able to deduce his daughter had used the log as refuge. 

“Dear Jesus, Kelly,” Chief whispered looking at the log. “Run. Run like you never ran before,” he continued to himself, his eyes collecting water. He swallowed stiffly.

The trail split up at the log and Moss followed the trail to the west as Chief and Dobbs moved east. To Chief’s dismay, the trails reconvened again far too soon. About a hundred yards past its convergence, Chief came across one of his daughter’s shoes. He fought to push his emotions down, to approach this professionally and thus operate more effectively. He continued stoically along the trail until a second shoe was uncovered. He bent down to retrieve it. His hands shook slightly. Again he pushed the dread aside and continued. The trail became more difficult as the trees grew larger and closer together. More threads and cloth were found wrapped in the tightly strewn briars.

Chief continued to lead his dogs through them, ever farther into the forest. Occasionally he was rewarded with clear prints of his daughter’s bare feet. But the prints were overshadowed by the presence of a second set of prints. Size eleven hunting boots. The reality of these prints weighed on Chief’s heart. The probability that he would arrive too late to save his daughter surfaced in his thoughts with every passing yard.

Eventually the they broke into a small clearing. The dogs ran halfway across before becoming confused. They circled the scent, carefully trying to reestablish the trail, but failed.

“It ends here, Bob,” Frank interjected between the confused whining of the dogs.

Chief looked at him; there was no denying the horror on his face. His little girl was still missing. “How can that be?”

Dobbs shrugged. “We’ll have to lead them around the perimeter, maybe they can pick something up.”

The men proceeded to lead the dogs around the edge of the clearing. Trees broke open behind them and Chief whipped around at the sound as Joe and the doctor emerged.

“We followed the barking,” Doc explained. “Crawford and several others are behind us. Douglas took Martha to the hospital. I think she will be all right.”

Chief nodded. “We lost the trail, Doc.”

The men fanned out. One of Chief’s dogs came upon a partial scent and dove into the brush to Chief’s right, pulling Chief with him. He halted a few feet later, his teeth clenched around blood soaked fabric. Chief pulled the fabric away from the dog and recognized the dress his daughter had been wearing. It was in tatters. He looked down and saw her underpants also drenched in blood. Next to them were the white tights she had on that morning, bloodied as well. He picked them up.

Joe was at his side. “Are they?” Joe asked.

Chief nodded, blinking to keep his tears at bay. He swallowed but the tightness in his throat brought him on the verge of choking. He pulled the clothing out of the thicket with him, along with the dogs and his son. He felt himself grow dizzy. His vision blurred with grief and dread. His hands were shaking. He pictured little Julie Roberts in his mind and felt his face grow warm. He tried to breathe through his constricted windpipe. Then he pushed it all down, taking control once again. Where was her body? Did he kill her and carry her away? If so, why were the dogs unable to trace his scent? They were familiarized with both scents at the start. Where the hell was Blackney?”

“Bob!” Moss called. Chief looked up. “Over here!”

Chief tried to prepare himself for the sight of his daughter’s mutilation but it was impossible. He felt the dizziness once again. His dread and grief returned. His hand went protectively to his son’s shoulder. “Stay here,” he told the boy, then crossed the clearing.

Moss was next to a small embankment. From Chief’s position he could not see what Moss had found. He approached the hill slowly, cautiously, every step fighting for control. The other men arrived, but kept their distance. All wore the visage of mourners. Except for Tom Crawford, they could only imagine Chief’s grief. Tom knew it intimately.

“Take a look at this,” Moss said quietly when Chief was within a comfortable distance. His expression denied that Chief would soon be looking at his daughter torn apart by a maniac. His voice held too much professionalism, even for Moss.

“What is it?” Chief asked, advancing on the embankment. He crested the hill and was genuinely surprised. Blackney lay at Moss’s knees. He was covered in his own blood and didn’t move. 

Moss attempted to find a pulse, by pushing his fingers against the man’s neck. He looked up. “He’s still alive, Bob. But barely.”

Blackney’s eyes suddenly rolled open. They appeared glassy, but rested their attention on Broden.

“Bobby Boy,” the man breathed out, the words accompanied by spurts of blood. “I tried ... Bobby. I’m so sorry ... I tried to control it...” The man stiffened with pain. “It didn’t... Did it? Oh ... my god ...What has it done?” Tears rolled from his eyes. Then he stiffened once more, when he again relaxed, the eyes stared at nothing.

“Jesus Christ,” Broden whispered. Rage displaced the fear and dread. He slid down to the ground and grabbed the corpse by the collar. “Where is she! Damn you! Where the hell is she!” Broden violently shook the man. “Don’t you DARE die on me! You son of a bitch!”

“Bob,” Moss whispered .

Chief whirled on him, fire in his expression.

“He’s dead, Bob,”

Chief threw the body down. He stood, his knees shaking. His fists clenching. “Where the hell is she?” he asked no one, his eyes filling. Behind him the dogs became excited.

Dobbs looked away from the embankment and in the direction of the dogs’ interest. He saw his son walking quickly towards him. The boy’s face was battered and bleeding and he held on to his side as he moved. Gashes and bruises covered his arms. His clothing was muddy and matted with blood.

“My god,” Dobbs whispered.

Chief turned away from Blackney to see what had stolen Frank Dobbs’ attention. His eyes caught sight of Billy and it all fell into place.

Chief left the embankment and went to the boy. “Billy?” he asked gently. “Did you do that?” He pointed towards the embankment.

Billy nodded, tears pulled free of his eyes and dripped down his bloodied cheeks.

“Where’s Kelly?” Chief asked. “Have you seen her?”

Again Billy nodded. He took a piece of his blond hair in his fingers, and then held his hand low at his side, his sign for the girl. Then he pointed in the direction he had come.

“Is she all right?” Chief asked hastily.

Billy stared at him. Then he shook his head.

“Is she alive?” Chief asked desperately.

Billy nodded.

“Show me,” Chief said, his eyes intent on Billy’s.

Billy turned to his father and went through several more elaborate signs with his hands and body.

Chief turned also. “What did he say?”

Dobbs looked at Chief. “He took her to the hunting shack, Bob. She’s in bad shape. I think it would be a good idea for some of us to go back and bring the cars around. She’s going to need to be taken to the hospital.” Dobbs paused to let the severity sink in, then he continued, “There’s a small dirt road that leads to the cabin. It’s only a ten-minute drive from the service road. I’ll take Hal, Tom and Jack back with me for the cars. Billy will lead you and Doc to the cabin.”

“Thanks,” Chief said intently. He handed Coach his keys. Doc followed suit. Then the party split up.

Chief, Doc, Joe and Moss followed Billy into the woods. They made their way quickly and quietly to the hunting shack, twenty minutes away through the dense forest. Once the structure was in sight, Chief pulled free of the others and sprinted the rest of the way. He hesitated just long enough to wrench the door open before entering. The others followed behind him.

Kelly lay on a small cot in the corner of the one-room shack. She was covered with a heavy wool blanket. Chief noticed the blanket did little to deter the cold as the child shook violently. Her face was very pale, disturbed by massive bruises and cuts.

Once at his daughter’s side, Chief’s hand caressed her forehead. “Kelly,” he said quietly. “It’s all right, now. Daddy’s here.”

No response.

Doc Granger stood next to him. He took the child’s arm from under the blanket and searched out a pulse. He glanced at Chief briefly, before returning to his examination. He pulled a stethoscope from his bag and after lifting up the blanket, pressed the metal to the child’s chest. Again he glanced at Chief. Then he turned to Billy. 

“Billy? Do you have any more blankets?”

Billy nodded and went to a small built-in cupboard by the front door.

While Billy was getting the extra blankets, Doc Granger returned to the child, lifting each eyelid and testing her dilation with a small light.  Then he rummaged through his black bag and pulled out the correct instruments and proceeded to examine the child’s ears. Once through, he went about examining for broken bones as well as studying the contusions about the child’s body.

Chief asked at his side. “How bad is it?”

Doc Granger’s expression was serious and grave when he regarded Chief. He took a breath before he stated, “Her breathing is dangerously shallow. Her pulse is erratic and very weak. She’s in shock, Bob. Her whole system is fried. Frank was right; this child needs to go to the hospital as soon as possible. She has a concussion, a sprained ankle and the pads of her feet are shredded pretty good,” Doc paused. He looked deliberately at Broden. His eyes held compassion and concern. In a low voice, barely audible he said, “and she’ll need to be examined for sexual abuse, Bob. The bruises along the insides of her thighs suggest that there was at least an attempt.”

“It was his intent, Doc. I understand,” Chief answered his own voice kept low. “What can you do for her?”

“I can give her something to help stabilize her, tape up the ankle, and bandage the feet. But I must stress she needs to be in a hospital.”

Chief nodded, his thoughts resting with his daughter. 

On the bed Kelly shifted. “Chief?” Her voice was weak and barely audible.

“Yes, pumpkin?” Chief made an effort to keep the hitch out of his voice, attempting to be strong for her, despite the fact he felt like he was crumbling.

“It’s so cold,” she whispered, her eyes still shut, her forehead furrowed in pain. “I’m so cold.

“I know, baby. It’s going to be all right, though. It’s over.”

Kelly was quiet for a while. Then suddenly her eyes opened and she turned to her father. Tears flooded her cheeks. She swallowed hard to clear her throat. “Chief?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Maggy...”

“What about Maggy?”

“She’s in trouble.”

Chief stared at her. His scalp started to itch as the nerves accepted the shock. “What?”

“Maggy’s in trouble, Chief. You gotta help her.” New tears rolled down her cheeks.

Chief faced Moss, his expression more than obvious. “What’s going on, Mort? I thought you said Stevens was the best?”

Moss shrugged. “He is. Something must have gone wrong. For crying out loud, Bob! We had fourteen agents covering both Perretti and the house... He couldn’t have suspected trouble. I can’t imagine he has more than a handful of his own men.”

Chief glanced at Billy. “Is there a phone here, Billy?”

Billy shook his head.

“Damn it,” whispered Chief. He turned to his daughter. She had slipped away again, but the shaking had stopped with Doc’s injection. Her breathing also steadied. “It’s going to be a while before the others get here, Doc. Go ahead and do the examination. I’d rather not risk her being awake during that. We’ll be outside.”

Chief closed the front door quietly behind him. The information about Maggy’s trouble left him feeling stranded. He was powerless until the others arrived with transportation. That would take at least another forty minutes. Never had he felt so helpless. He had let both his children down in one action. He turned to his son who was on the steps of the cabin’s front porch.

Joe looked back at his father. He sensed his father’s fear. All his life his father had been strong, more god-like than a man. Joe respected and worshipped him. Now, to see him as a vulnerable human being was sobering. “What’s Doc doing?”

“He’s examining your sister,” Chief answered his tone distracted with worry, guilt and dread.

“But I thought he already did that?” Joe’s voice quivered.

Chief went to him and sat next to him on the porch steps. He put an arm around the boy and drew him in. “Don’t worry,” Chief said to the top of the boy’s head. “This will all work out. It has to.”

Joe’s eyes flooded tears down the sides of his face when he looked at his father. “Is Maggy really in danger?”

Chief nodded. He tightened his grip on the boy and returned his attention to the woods. He stared mindlessly into the wash of green, brown, and yellow hues.

It was only a few minutes later that the doctor emerged from the cabin. Chief turned around to face him, his expression expectant. He was answered by a short shaking of the doctor’s head, an answer that gave Chief some relief. He whispered, “Thank God.” 

Joe felt his father’s relief and also whispered a “thank God,” though he didn’t really know what it was for.

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