hardy boys fan fiction
SUMMER STORM
by
ANYA
hardy
boys nancy drew fan fiction
Chapter 4
hardy boys fan fiction
THE CHAPTERS
Con Riley frowned when he got the answering machine again. They should have been back by now. Unless they stopped somewhere along the way for an early dinner?
He came out of the station, got into his car and headed out towards the Hardys’ house. He’d feel a lot better if he could check in person. When he reached there, the car was parked in the driveway, and the front door was a little ajar. They’ve reached, he thought with satisfaction.
"Fenton?"
He heard the grunts from the sitting room and rushed in, barely noticing the mess it was in.
*****
"Are you sure you’re alright Frank?" Fenton asked his son in an anxious tone. He himself was feeling wretched, he hadn’t been able to do a thing to prevent that man from taking Joe, and he had absolutely no idea what he might try to do to his son.
"I’m fine," Frank mumbled. He held an ice pack against his temple. He wasn’t dreaming… that was obvious. He’d woken up to find the officers Con had called leaving after finishing their routine. His father had been standing over him, pale and worried. And Joe was nowhere to be seen. He groaned involuntarily prompting his father’s question. Con Riley had stayed back for a while to help them clean up.
"I think you should let a doctor take a look at him," Con said, referring to the ugly purple bruise left by the brass vase that Frank had been hit with.
Frank shook his head, "No, I’m fine, just bruised. It was that vase." I never did like that thing, wonder why mom keeps it in this room, I’m sure she never liked it either…oh right, it was a present from grandma…
"That was a pretty hard knock you took, son." Fenton said worriedly, "Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?"
"Yes," Frank repeated as he jerked himself back to reality. He had to stop getting distracted, there were more important things to think about than his grandmother’s taste in vases. "Aren’t we going after them?" he asked, "They’ve taken Joe!"
"We’ve put out an alert on them." Con told him.
Frank wasn’t listening, " Dad? Aren’t we going to look for them?"
Con spoke up again, "You won’t be able to do much. It’s dark already, we don’t even know the details of the getaway car, and you’ve been hurt."
"Get some sleep, Frank. We’ll decide what to do meanwhile." Fenton said tiredly.
"I’ll check the police radio, see if anything new has come up," Con told him, leaving the room as Frank began arguing with his father.
"But you heard him, he threatened to…" Frank gulped as the memories of that awful scene came rushing back at him.
Fenton sat down on the couch next to his son, "We’ll find him before he can hurt Joe." he assured his elder son, worried at the way he was taking it.
"He’s already hurt him," Frank pointed out bitterly.
Con came in from the porch where he’d gone to take a call, "We know the details of the car they used, it was a blue Mustang, one of the neighbours noticed parked out at the back, and she even identified all three of them as getting out of the car earlier today. We’ve put out an alert on the car."
*****
"How’re you feeling now?" Fenton asked as he brought Frank a cup of coffee.
Frank looked up from the file he was reading through, of Walker’s old case, and sighed. "I’m fine," he replied. It was probably the fifth or sixth time that evening his father had asked him that. He was suddenly beginning to realize why Joe always sounded so exasperated every time he did that to him. Joe had had more than his fair share of scrapes and accidents, and Frank had always tended to look out for him subconsciously even without meaning to. And each time something went wrong, it only made him wish he’d been concentrating a little more on looking out for Joe.
Fenton sat down with the file he was looking into, he was equally worried, Walker was still mentally unstable, there was no telling what his plans were. He knew the girl had said Joe wouldn’t be harmed but he clearly remembered his encounter with Walker when he’d caught him. He could be dangerous.
"Why didn’t he go after this Dave guy," Frank asked suddenly, "the one who ran over his wife."
"He died of a drug overdose a few weeks later," Fenton told him.
"Why are those two helping him?"
Fenton had no answer to that. He’d been thinking about it too. From what Sam Peterson had told him both were the normal urban well-off types, set to do reasonably well in their respective careers.
"Do you suppose they harbor a grudge against us too?"
Us? Fenton thought to himself, a little ashamed as he realized how relieved he felt that Frank wasn’t blaming him for this. It wasn’t the first time someone had used his family to get back at him, but that fact didn’t make it any easier each time something like this happened.
The phone rang shrilly just then, and Fenton got up to get it, indicating to Frank to stay seated. He went over to the phone thinking about it, were those two helping their father out of a sense of revenge for a broken childhood, or were they just trying to ensure he didn’t get out of hand. He picked up the phone.
"Hello," he said, as Frank listened eagerly. It might be the police…or it could be that guy…
"Hi, Mr. Hardy!" came the cheerful voice from the other end, "How was your trip?"
"It was fine, Callie," the answer came out automatically without thought, the trip had been fine after all, everything had been fine till they’d reached home. "Hang on, I’ll get Frank."
"Hey," Frank said softly into the phone.
"Frank, what’s wrong? You sound… different."
Frank bit his lip uncertainly, trying to decide what to do, then, finally gave Callie a condensed version of what had taken place.
"Don’t worry, we’ll find Joe," she assured Frank as she heard his voice falter as he neared the end of his narrative.
"We?"
"You don’t think I’m going to let you get through this alone, do you Frank Hardy?"
Frank smiled despite himself, he wasn’t even going to try to tell her to keep away, it wouldn’t be of much use doing that. "And all our other friends are there to help too." Callie was saying now.
Frank hung up after promising to call Callie as soon a she heard anything. As he hung up the phone, Frank suddenly had this vague feeling he ought to remember something. It was stuck somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Something important he told himself, and then shook his head in frustration as his tired brain refused to co-operate.
*****
Joe woke up slowly, he felt a metallic taste in his mouth, and he felt like he’d come out of the boxing ring after losing a round with the school champion, Eddie Michaels.
He opened his eyes slowly, vaguely noticing a brown haired figure standing over him…
"Frank –" he said softly. No, he looked older…Dad? No…not him either…
He shut his eyes as the memories of what had happened earlier came flooding back. This guy had taken him because he lost his son years ago? That sounded so weird, Joe could have sworn this was all some crazy dream. He must have been boxing, that’s why his face hurt, and his left wrist was throbbing dully too. He must have managed to hit Eddie back.
"Rise and shine," it was the same voice he’d heard in his house. He opened his eyes to find the brown haired man smiling at him. He held a gun in his hands and it was pointed at Joe’s head.
"I thought I’ wake you up so you’d know how it feels when I shoot you," he told him. Joe jerked awake, only to find his hands and legs tied. There was nothing he could do as the man’s fingers curled around the trigger.
*****
"Dad?" Frank walked into the kitchen where his father was making some sandwiches for dinner.
Fenton turned around noticing that Frank looked very worried. "What is it, son?" he asked gently.
"What do we tell mom?" Frank asked him, and then froze as the phone rang in the sitting room.
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Disclaimer
The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boy 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.