GET READY! "He has fallen for it!" announced Pedro on the phone as soon as he got back to his hotel. Caleb was still out of reach on his private line even though his phone was returned to him. He however contacted his family using a new number to let them know he was still alive and had managed to escape from his captors. "Since the matter is still being investigated by the police team that rescued me," he said to his mother when he spoke with her one day, "I have been advised not to make public appearances yet." He was lying to keep her and his grandfather from worrying too much. Lord Dezani, as expected, was not in the least bit comfortable with him staying away from home. He tried to talk him into coming back so he could give him protection, but Caleb insisted he was man enough to fight his own battles now. "Moreover, Grandpa, I shouldn't be getting you mixed up with my personal mess. If anything, I should be the one protecting you and Mama from harm," he asserted when he insi

TAKING HIS FIRST SHOT "Do not worry about me. If you can get out of here unhurt, I will fight to the finish. Your safety is more important to me than my own." "You can't do this, Pedro," he disagreed. But Pedro was already moving faster down the stairs. He bent down and picked the mop, and without another word, threw it toward the police van. Caleb ran in the opposite direction and was nearly where the army green station wagon was parked when he heard someone say, "Put your two hands over your head. If you move, I'll shoot you." Caleb halted instantly as if he was being remote-controlled. His heart was pounding as if someone was drumming it. He thought of what was going to happen next. Where was Pedro? Would he come to his rescue the second time? These questions flashed through his mind as he stood rooted to the spot. Then he heard the discharge of two gunshots coming from the direction the van was parked, followed by frantic shouts and running footsteps. As he stood pondering

YOU CAN'T STAY HERECaleb turned to see the old man charging into the room. When he heard the question he feared the worst. "Here... we are," he stammered. The man looked him over and queried, "Are you the ones who shot and killed three police officers at Fenton Hotel?"Caleb swallowed hard. "N-no. Never. I don't know where that is." he replied and avoided the man's curious stare. "We are travellers who unfortunately got ambushed by hoodlums and my friend got hit by their bullet." The man narrowed his eyes till his forehead wrinkled. He obviously didn't believe him. "Perhaps I should let the police verify your story," he said and started towards the door holding the handle. Just then his wife reemerged from the kitchen with the bowl of water. "What kept you for so long?" she inquired, dropping the bowl on the table in the center of the room. "These two are not travellers, it would seem," he said scowling at Caleb and then at Pedro's unconscious form lying on their old couch in t

GETTING HELP Caleb woke up at the first chime of the alarm clock hanging against the brick wall of the old farmhouse. The time was 6:00 am. He stretched and sat up. Everywhere felt strange. He didn't immediately remember where he was until he heard the soft groan of Pedro. He rubbed his eyes and made out his form lying on the couch. The old couple had retired into their bedroom at some point during the night. "Pedro?" Caleb whispered. "Are you awake?" But Pedro could only mumble a few incoherent words. "Can you hear me?" he repeated. "My stomach hurts," he answered and groaned again. "Sorry." Caleb stood up and went to bend over him, "Are you feeling a bit better?" Pedro tried to turn and let out a shriek. "Oh, ouch. My ribs are on fire." The noise alerted the old couple who were only just waking up. They both came dashing into the living room. "Is he awake?" Camila asked Caleb the moment she switched on the light. He nodded. Her husband walked to the head of the couch and

A VISITOR FROM HELL "Who is there?" Pedro froze. How could he make such a silly mistake when they had almost succeeded? The officer brought out his gun and cocked it, "I said who is there?" he repeated. "It's me," a voice said. "Detective Alonso?" "Yes, Sergeant," his colleague replied from behind the wooden shed outside the barn. But the snotty sergeant was certain the sound came from within. "Did you hear something?" Alonso added after the prolonged pause from inside. The Sergeant looked intently about him and drew closer toward the drum where he suspected the sound came from. Pedro held his breath as he memorized his last prayer remembering the Holy sacrament taught during Mass service in his local Cathedral. The last time he attended church was when he was very little. Yet somehow at such a crucial moment, those words of prayer came in handy. "I am sure there's something in here," he said flaring his nostrils as if trying to perceive a human smell. Then suddenly a gunsho