HDA - Where Troubles Melt by Cherylann Rivers Introduction

Frank and Chet were led through a back part of the building by Smith and Wilkins. Frank noticed in horror that all around him, the building seemed to be on fire. Chet was gasping for air, and Frank found himself coughing violently, too, as the thick smoke made its way into his lungs. The criminals, protected by their gear and the masks, seemed to be enjoying this little display of suffering as Frank and Chet were led to some location undisclosed to them.

Finally, they arrived at a back exit, at a relative distance from the oncoming fire. They had a few minutes of a reprieve, although Frank quickly realized that wouldn’t last long. Something was about to happen.

Frank and Chet were shoved to the ground and Wilkins smirked through his mask, his gun on the boys constantly the entire time. Smith, however, pulled out a small camcorder from a carry bag with him. “Now, Frank,” he said slowly, training the video straight on the boys, “You’re about to make the final farewell video for your father. It will be sent to him immediately. No need to thank us for informing your father about the manner in which you died. Really, it was our pleasure. We’ll be sure to edit it with the footage of your girlfriends burning to death, and of your brother and … is that other blonde one your girlfriend?… it doesn’t matter…. Suffocating.”

Franks eyes widened in terror. NO. He hadn’t been able to save anybody, even himself. He felt his eyes start to brim with tears when he thought of Joe… of Callie. Then, at once, he felt anger, unlike anything he’d experienced before, except for when Callie had given him her devastating news. No one had the right to come after his family, or his friends. If he was going to go out, he realized, he’d go out fighting.

“Where are they?!” he barked out at them, his voice hoarse from the smoke.

As Wilkins laughed, Frank felt his blood boil. “Well, Frankie boy, they’re split up. You’ll find their bodies eventually. Don’t forget—we’re very efficient and finding burned bodies.”

Franks eyes flashed.

“And,” Smith continued, “We hope daddy here realizes that we have the perfect crime. Ramses and Butler are out of here; we’re rich, don’t you see, beyond anything we could have hoped for. There’s no evidence to be left; no way to catch us. And sure—we’ll get identified, but who cares? We WANT daddy to know the price he paid for meddling in our affairs. Clearly, it’s not difficult for people in our position to evade the authorities.” He smirked. “We just wanted to give you an opportunity to say goodbye to your family on video. Go ahead. We’re waiting.” He focused the camera on Frank.

Frank stared at the camera for a minute, as Chet coughed in the background. He could feel the heat of the blaze coming quickly towards him. He thought of Vanessa, and Iola. He thought of Callie, so innocent in all of this. He thought of Joe, who had died at the hands of these maniacs, and probably suffered immeasurably. Then, he thought of his father, who would receive these tapes and wouldn’t be able to live with himself. And he knew what he had to do.

“Dad,” he said calmly into the camera, as Smith and Wilkins laughed, secure in their plan. He realized their security was to his advantage. “I just want you to know…”

He paused.

“Go on,” Smith sneered. “Hurry. We have to run soon!”

“That if we’re going to die…”

“Keep going,” Smith said.

“They’re going with us!” With that, Frank pounced on Wilkins, using all of his energy. In the struggle, Wilkins lost the gun that he had been holding half-heartedly in his hand, not expecting an attack.

As Frank and Wilkins struggled through the smoke, which now surrounded them, Chet jumped into the action, desperate to do SOMETHING to help Frank out. He lunged at Smith, who, surprised, froze. It only took moments for Chet to pin Smith, clearly outweighing him. Chet heard gunshots in the distance, as the trigger was pulled by someone—was it Frank or was it Wilkins?

“Frank!” Chet called out to his friend. “Frank!” he pulled the mask off Smith, who had been knocked unconscious, and his breathing was made slightly more bearable. Chet looked around, anxious for Frank.

Suddenly, he saw him. Frank and Wilkins struggled over the gun. Although Frank was a much better fighter, having studied karate for years, he was at a distinct disadvantage, unable to breathe or to see clearly. They headed towards the back exit, when suddenly Wilkins shoved Frank against the door, butting his gun against Frank’s head. Momentarily dazed, and coughing heavily, Frank watched in horror as Wilkins trained the gun on him and began to cock the trigger.

As he fired, the door against which Frank had been leaning swung back, and bullet flew harmlessly into the air. Wilkins stood confused as police officers ran into the building and seized him, grabbing the gun from his hand.

Frank felt himself being dragged out, and an oxygen mask being placed over his mouth as he realized he wasn’t dead. Fighting off nausea and struggling to breathe, he sat up weakly and tried to get his bearings. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chet dragged off and an oxygen mask placed over his mouth as well. The building, the fire, the men—they all swam in front of Frank. Taking off his mask, he coughed violently. “What the…?”

“Take it easy, son,” he heard a voice say behind him. “Breathe.”

Frank turned to the voice at his side. “Dad!” he gasped, incredulously.

“I’m here son,” Fenton replied, a bit more gently than before. He reached out to Frank, and hugged him tightly for a moment. “You’re okay.”

“But… how…” Frank rasped, his throat still aching from the smoke.

Fenton eyed all the activity around him for a moment, then turned back to his son.

As he was about to speak, he heard Wilkins rambling as he and Smith were taken to the police cruiser.

“Hardy!” he screamed at Fenton. “There’s nothing! No evidence!!”

“There is,” said an officer, who had been listening in, to Fenton,. “a little videotape that may say otherwise.” He held up the camera to Fenton, and gave him a small wink.

Wilkins’ eyes widened. He was about to be led off when he turned to Fenton, suddenly smug. “It doesn’t matter—we got our revenge anyhow.” With that, he was taken off in handcuffs.

Fenton sighed. In all his years in law enforcement, there were always a few exceptionally bright criminals who weren’t satisfied getting away with their crimes. They were motivated by some intrinsic desire to get revenge; to want more. He had often thought of it as a death wish. More often than not, they were caught, and good prevailed. But, once in a while….

Shaking off the thought, he turned to Frank. “Son,” he said, “I was investigating the robberies from a distance and re-interviewing the families. I was making some real progress- there were too many inconsistencies in their stories. However, I was at a bit of a standstill. Then, yesterday, I got a call from Callie, and I set everything in motion. Ramses and Butler were caught several hours ago, and despite the fact there are funds and assets allocated somewhere, at least we now have all the time in the world to find out where. It’s just too bad that we couldn’t get here sooner—we may have been able to save the building.”

Frank gasped, and shakily stood up at once. “Frank?! Son, sit down!” Fenton commanded, standing next to his eldest son, and putting an arm around his shoulders.

Frank broke free of his father. “Dad!” he said, turning to him quickly. “Callie!!! She’s still in there! And so’s Joe!!!”

Fenton’s face blanched. “What?!”

“Yeah, and Vanessa AND Iola, too!”

“No,” Fenton whispered.

“Dad, if there’s a chance they’re still alive, we have to get them. Please—“ Frank begged, heading back to the building.

“Let’s go!” Fenton shouted, and, at once, spoke to a group of nearby police officers and firemen. He grabbed Frank’s arm, preventing him from turning back.

“They… they could be alive. The smoke is horrible, and the fire is bad. But, if Joe and Callie were in a vault,” he said, taking the information from Frank, “Then maybe that held the good air IN. And let’s pray Iola and Vanessa found a way out.”

“Could they be alive, dad?” Frank asked his father, almost pleading. The thought that they were injured, or dead, was more than he could fathom. He only had hope to get him through this nightmare.

Fenton held back tears. “As… as long as the building structurally remains in tact. Then maybe… maybe there’s a chance….”

As he said that, Frank and his father watched the roof of the entire left wing of the building collapse unto itself.

“Oh, my God…” Frank whispered, as he watched his worst nightmare come true….

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors 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 them without express permission of the authors.