And Then There Was One

Patrice Bergeron was spending the day at one of New England’s stellar beaches, along the coast. He had invited a few of his teammates to join him, Daniel Paille was one of them. The beach was pretty vacant, which was good because hockey players like Patrice normally attracted the crowd of Boston Bruin fans.

Patrice had just set his belongs down on the sand, when Daniel grabbed his hand and led him down to the water. He spun Patrice around and caused the centerman to trip over his feet and plummet into the bone-chilling, icy Atlantic water.

Daniel laughed, as Patrice scrambled back to his feet, shivering.

“Not c-c-c-cool m-m-m-man! Not c-c-cool!” Patrice stammered, folding his arms, shivering. “Y-you’re gonna make m-me get pneumonia!”

“Oh relax, Bergy, it’s not that bad, is it?” Daniel teased, poking his friend, square in the chest.

“Alright, than you get in and prove it!” the Boston centre dared, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine.”

Daniel’s face contorted into many different looks, as he struggled to muster his courage to get into the water. Patrice finally sighed and shoved him forward into the water. Boston’s premier third and fourth line winger yelped, as he felt the chilling water creep into his skin, freezing him like an ice cube.

Now it was Patrice’s turn to chuckle at his friend.

After a few hours of fooling around in the ocean waters with one another, the two friends returned to the shore and hiked back up the sand to the others, who were sunbathing. (Which is quite weird, if you imagine it being a seven foot tall man or a hard-shelled goon.)

Daniel reached down and snatched up a frisbee disk. “Come on, Bergy, let’s leave these guys to their feminine sunbathing routine!”

“Don’t you start with us, Piezy!” the seven foot Boston captain growled, playfully. His eyes remained shut, but the threat was there.

“Don’t anger the big man, Piezy. Come now.”

They trekked across the sand, a ways down from the others, so that they didn’t disturb them. The two separated, with Patrice walking about seven yards in distance. He spun around and beckoned to Daniel to throw the disk.

They played around, throwing the frisbee back and forth, making each other dart back and forth in strained effort on the sand to catch the object. Daniel caught the disk in his hand and then bent over in exhaustion.

“I need a break, Bergy. This is a little tough!”

Patrice acknowledged his friend, respectfully. He started to walk toward his friend, when a hand seized onto his wrist, halting him. His blood ran as cold as the Atlantic water. Daniel had dropped to sit on the sand. He was looking down, away from Patrice.

Before he could react, another hand flew up and clamped over the alternate captain’s mouth. Patrice’s free arm shot up. He grabbed onto the forearm of the mystery person. He tried to remove the hand, clawing at the arm in desperation, but the man was bulky and strong. Stronger than Patrice.

Also it didn’t help him any, that in the hand was a cloth soaked in some foul-smelling liquid that made him feel woozy and faint.

His muffled cries alerted Daniel, however, who snapped his head to the side. “BERGY!!” the winger screamed, scrambling to his feet, less than gracefully.

Patrice slumped, unconscious in the arms of the mystery attacker. The hand slid away from his mouth and helped to haul him around. Two other men had joined in the party. One grabbed the unconscious body of Boston’s Selke winner.

Daniel was terrified. He felt himself unable to move. What was going on?

“Hey!” an irritated voice snarled behind him.

Daniel spun around, as he saw Zdeno Chara, Shawn Thornton, and Milan Lucic bolting across the beach toward them. (Shawn was hanging with his friends, before he left Boston for a while, but he would return to the city every summer.)

The two remaining men stood their ground, as the trio launched themselves forward. Milan collided with Zdeno, accidentally knocking them both out. Shawn released a groan, as he swung his fist at the main guy. Daniel dropped to his knees. He glanced to the side, to see a black Charger zoom onto the beach and down the sand toward the party.

It skidded to a halt, spraying sand forward, which landed on top of everyone. The chaos provided enough of a smokescreen to conceal the escape of the masked men, who slipped away from the trio of Bruins. The sand temporarily blinded them, causing them all to crash into each other. And the villains escaped into the car, which sped off down the beach.

When the sand was cleared from the view, the three Bruins and ex-Bruin players gaped at the setting. Patrice Bergeron was gone. No where in sight. He’d vanished.

And it wasn’t a good thing!