THINNER
by
Antigone
Chapter 25
The Chapters
Fenton
took a deep breath as he and Laura entered their son’s hospital room,
conscious of their perturbed elder son behind him. The group had decided
that it would be best for his parents to confront Joe first, to inform
him of the steps being taken for the good of his health, and then to let
Frank come in and calm him down afterward.
The detective felt a twinge of envy at this thought, that it was
not himself or his wife bringing their son consolation but their eldest
son. But that was how it had always been, and probably how it always
would be.
“Honey,” Laura started, approaching the curled, frail form on
the bed. “How are you?”
Fenton swallowed as he took in his younger son’s appearance:
shadows beneath the eyes, cheek bones beginning to emerge, exhaustion
plain in his features, his hair tangled and sweat coated. He was watching
his parents listlessly, and didn’t offer any sort of greeting.
“I’m fine Mom,” Joe finally muttered, his voice flat.
“You spoke with Dr. Ziv?” Fenton asked, and saw the flash of
anger in his son’s eyes; not mere anger, but rage.
“Yes, I spoke with Dr. Ziv,” Joe snapped, moving to sit up,
then closing his eyes and resting back, obviously weak. “Which I
didn’t need to. She seemed to feel that everything was exactly as she
had anticipated, which—“
“Means you have an eating disorder,” Fenton said firmly,
pulling a chair up beside the bed for his wife, then taking one of his
own.
“Oh, bullshit—“
“Joe,” Laura warned, sitting beside her husband and visibly
bracing herself. “We spoke to her after your evaluation, just a few
minutes ago. She said you’re exhibiting classic denial. She told us
earlier you are twenty pounds below a healthy body weight. Plus Frank
told us about finding you, and the Ipecac—“
“That doesn’t mean anything! One time, one time, I took
some syrup to make me throw up, not because of weight, but because I
didn’t feel well—“
“The toilet’s have been clogging,” Fenton jumped in,
ignoring the glare his son gave him upon being interrupted, “you want
to explain that?”
“Roots in the pipes!”
“Vomit,” Laura murmured. “When the plumber comes next week,
I bet that’s what he’s going to find in them.”
“Probably, because I was sick tonight, and—”
“You’re still losing weight,” Fenton said, “even after
we’ve been making you eat. And you’re not exercising, so that
food’s going somewhere, isn’t it?”
“I have a fast metabolism!” Joe shot.
Laura sat back slowly. “You’re still taking pills, aren’t
you?”
Joe looked from his father to his mother, glaring and setting his
jaw; all the answer they needed.
Fenton flipped open The Anatomy of Anorexia and turned to a
page they’d book marked earlier. “Signs of an eating disorder,” he
read, keeping his voice casual but firm, “rapid weight loss, unnecessary
weight loss, lying about food, hiding food, skipping meals, obsessive
exercise, isolating from friends and family, lying to friends and family,
the use of diet pills and/or laxatives and/or Ipecac, overly
concerned about appearance, reluctance to eat in front of others,
distorted body image, denial about symptoms, depression.” The detective
looked at his younger son, taking in the slightly paler face, the
slightly trembling fingers quickly shoved beneath the sheet.
“Honey,” Laura said gently, touching her son’s shoulder.
“That’s you.”
“It is not!” Joe fumed, struggling to a sitting
position. “I eat fine, I haven’t been exercising and when I was it
was for wrestling, which makes it necessary weight loss. I
was overweight when I started, the Coach told me that—”
“You were overweight for your category, not for your body
type—”
“Overweight is overweight! And I don’t skip meals—”
“You never eat breakfast,” Laura snapped, “and from what
Frank says, lunch either…”
“Have I not eaten with you, every night? You watching me?”
“But you’ve been making yourself throw up, and taking pills
Joe!” Fenton almost shouted. “Don’t play naïve with us! We’re
all trained to observe people, do you think we can’t watch our own son
deteriorate?”
“So that’s it?” Joe said savagely, “this is just another
job for you, father, a challenge? Bored without a mystery? Your
greatest challenge yet, your psychotic son—”
“Joseph,” Fenton snapped, “that’s not going to
work. Not on me. You think this has been easy, watching you waste away,
listening to you lie and avoid our questions and refuse to eat? Son,
it’s not.”
The two glared each other down for a moment; Laura saw the need to
intervene.
“We’re not trying to punish you,” she soothed, “and
we’re not trying to make you feel that you’ve done something wrong.
But you need some help, and we’re going to get you some. We’re not
going to let you ruin your health.”
Joe leaned slowly back on his bed, still glaring. “You can’t
keep me here.”
“But we can,” Laura said, her voice firm. “And we will.
We’re signing you in for the recommended time they’ve
recommended—”
“What’s that?” Joe’s eyes were suddenly widening;
the anger was fading to fear.
“Three weeks.”
“Three—you can’t be serious! You can’t keep me here if I
don’t want to be--”
“You’re not eighteen,” Fenton pointed out. “You can’t
make your own healthcare decisions.”
“You can’t possibly…Mom, Dad, come on, you don’t really
think--”
His parents simply looked at him, watching their son’s anger
turn slowly to panic.
“What does Frank have to say?” he finally asked.
“He’ll be in afterward. He can tell you,” Laura murmured.
Joe slammed his fist in to his pillow, lay down, and turned his
back on them.
“I want you go leave,” he hissed. “I don’t want to see you
right now.”
“Joseph, you may be mad, but you will respect us,” Fenton
began.
“The way you respect me, Dad? And what I want? What about
school? What will I tell Vanessa? My friends? That I’m locked in a
psyche ward for no reason?”
“That you’re getting treatment for an eating disorder—”
“That I don’t have!”
“They’ll help you understand--”
“What, that I’m crazy?”
“That you need some help.”
“They can make me believe anything they want, can’t they?”
“Joe…” Fenton started.
“Get out.”
“Honey…” Laura tried.
“Get out!”
The two glanced at each other; Fenton nodded and motioned toward
the door.
“When you’re calm we can talk more,” Fenton called as they
moved to the hall.
“I want to see Frank.”
Fenton felt another stab of jealousy, accompanied with a glimmer
of hope. Frank might be able to reach his brother, to set things right.
If he couldn’t…
Fenton wouldn’t think of that.
It would mean giving up.
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The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.