The four young men slept in late the next morning, assured that after Rob’s little ‘warning’ the night before, they would not be receiving any more uninvited visitors in the night. It wasn’t until 10.00 a.m. that the first noise of someone raising himself was heard.

Kiwi came staggering down the stairs, still in his boxer shorts and t-shirt, rubbing his long hair that was sticking out madly in all directions and yawning. He’d been hoping to see Helen’s car outside, but upon looking out of his bedroom window a couple of minutes earlier, he’d been disappointed to see only Rob’s car still parked out front.

He headed for the kitchen and heard Mark following down behind him. Kiwi looked at him as he entered the room and shook his head at the younger Randall brother’s unverbalized question.

"Where could she have got to?" wondered Mark out loud, for the thousandth time since she’d disappeared, attempting ineffectually to pat down the crop circle on the back on his head.

"Couldn’t tell you Mate," answered Kiwi. He tucked his hair behind his ears, opened the refrigerator and looked at the offerings within. After a few seconds he moved from the fridge to the bread bin and lifted the lid. "Scrambled eggs on toast?" he finally offered.

"Kiwi, forgive me if I’m barking up the wrong tree, but am I right in assuming scrambled egg on toast is all you can cook?"

"Yeah…what of it?"

"Nothing, sounds good to me…"

"…me too - let’s do it!"

Rob walked into the kitchen and dropped down into a seat next to his brother. Unlike the other two, he was fully dressed, washed and shaved. "No Helen?" he asked, leaning across the table to get an apple.

They both shook their heads despondently and Kiwi started cracking eggs into a bowl.

Rob’s mouth froze before he took a bite of the apple and he groaned loudly, "Oh dear god - not scrambled eggs on toast again!"

***

Joe was only half asleep when he thought he heard a dull tapping on the door. He raised himself slightly up on his elbows and peered with bloodshot eyes over the top of the duvet, waiting to hear or see if it was his imagination. He was just about to put it down to a dream and settle down again when the tapping was repeated, only more insistently this time.

"Who is it?" he croaked, wishing his voice didn’t sound quite so pathetic.

The entrance way opened and he was overwhelmed to see his brother’s head poke around the door. Placing his finger to his lips, Frank looked quickly behind him towards the hallway and then slipped inside, shutting the door silently behind him.

"You needn’t worry Frank, I’ve nearly lost my voice anyway," said Joe, beaming all over his face, starting to slide himself free of the blankets in order to welcome the brother he thought he’d lost in a more proper fashion.

"For pity’s sake, Joe! Don’t get up - I’ll come to you!" Frank padding quickly across the room and embraced his brother warmly.

"Don’t you EVER do that to me again Frank!" Joe muttered, his voice muffled against Frank’s shoulder, giving his dark hair a ruffle.

"Hey, I’ve got no intention of revisiting that scenario in a hurry!" Frank said, reassuringly.

"Good…"

They pulled back and Frank sat down on the edge of the bed. Joe looked him up and down, trying to see some sign of the near drowning of the day before.

"You don’t exactly look battered," Joe remarked.

"Disappointed?" asked Frank.

Joe’s lifted an eyebrow and looked doubtfully back.

"I’m fine Joe, honestly - absolutely no after effects at all…except, of course, for…" pausing, he stood up and grabbed onto the hem of his T-shirt, "…THIS!" he commenced to raise the front of the garment dramatically up to his chin.

Joe gaped at the heavy bruising, traveling outwards from his rib cage like a multicolored target. "Jeez, Frank!" he exclaimed.

"Cool huh? Courtesy of Kiwi!" he said, rubbing the area tenderly. He dropped the T-shirt and sat back down, "but that’s the least of my worries – imagine the horror of heavy kissing Rob Randall? I’m psychologically scarred!" Frank guffawed at his own joke, then suddenly paused and jerked his head half towards the door, listening.

"You’re a little jumpy, what’s the problem?" asked Joe.

"I didn’t want Tim to hear me - he’s forbidden me from the room."

"Oh no, is he back again?"

"Yeah, he came to ‘baby-sit’ you while the other three picked me up from the hospital."

"Nightmare!"

Joe suddenly realized his brother was donned in his nightclothes. "Why are you dressed like that?".

"Tim insisted I go to bed and ‘rest’. I think I’m gonna rename him ‘Florence Nightingale - The ‘Lad’ With The Lamp’!"

Joe spluttered and started to laugh, the violence of his mirth making his throat tickle, which set him off hacking.

Frank glanced back at the door with a panicked expression on his face and waved his hands frantically in front of his brother’s face to stop him from making so much noise. Joe heaved in a great gulp of air and managed to get his coughing under control again.

"The only reason I got away with coming up here at all was because I pretended to be asleep." Frank leaned forward and lay down on his front next to Joe. His put his head on his hands and wriggled about until he got into as comfortable a position as possible. He lay there slightly side on and looked his brother in the eye intensely, his eyes narrowing.

"What is it?" asked Joe, frowning back.

"So…Joe…" began Frank. He stopped and put his fingers over his mouth, giving the impression he wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring himself to broach the subject.

Joe waited for his older brother to carry on, but all he did was tap his mouth with his fingers thoughtfully. "For heaven’s sake Frank, what is it?" Joe finally exclaimed hoarsely - you’re playing games with a sick man here!"

"Is that in mind, or body?" muttered Frank, smirking.

Joe closed his eyes wishing his voice was not so weak so he could scream in frustration.

Frank decided to put his brother out of his misery. "I had a strange experience yesterday when I was in that water," he began slowly. He watched as his younger brother tensed and leaned back away from him. "From what the other guys where telling me, so did you." He stopped and waited for Joe to respond, who showed no sign of doing so. His mouth was set solidly shut and his eyes had taken on a glazed expression and were looking passed Frank’s shoulder, towards the back wall. "Come on Joe, help me out here!"

"What do you want me to say?" asked Joe, his eyes focusing back on his brother again.

"Just confirm whether or not you had the same experience as me."

"I don’t believe in all that stuff, you know that Frank."

Frank’s mouth dropped open, "what? But you’ve always believed in stuff like that before! Why the change of heart now?" he waiting for an answer, but Joe didn’t rise to the bait. "Anyway, that wasn’t the question," he finished.

His brother’s head shook, almost imperceptibly and he said nothing for a few long seconds. Finally, he reluctantly said with a sigh, "okay, I did kind of experience it too - but I didn’t understand it, and…" his voice dropped to the merest whisper, "…and I didn’t like it!"

Franks eyes dropped, "nor me," he said quietly back.

They lay there in companionable silence, not looking at each other, both unwilling to discuss the subject further.

"So, did you come away from the show yesterday with any more leads?" asked Joe, changing the subject completely.

"Not really. I did manage to rip a pocket from the shirt of the guy who heaved me into the water, but it’s pretty unremarkable. No insignia, or labels."

"We could match it to the shirt - if we ever find it of course."

"That’s a pretty long shot," remarked Frank. "They also left their getaway van behind…"

"Why did they do that?" Joe interrupted in surprise.

"Didn’t you hear? Kiwi took out one of the tires with a long bow!"

"You’re kidding?"

"Nope - one single arrow, straight in. He’s a bit of a hot-shot apparently, been doing archery for years!"

"Wow!" Joe laughed, impressed. "Any clues in the van?"

"Nope, no fingerprints and nothing left behind. They were pretty professional about it."

"That figures." said Joe, "stolen too I suppose?"

"You suppose right."

Joe kicked the blanket to one side and hooked a bare leg over the top of the bedclothes in an attempt to cool himself down. "Anything from Helen?"

Frank shook his head sadly.

"Mark must be going crazy with worry! It’s a shame the way she took off like that, she must ha…" Joe stopped mid sentence and cocked his head to one side listening, "…quick…" he suddenly hissed, "…hide, I hear someone coming!"

Frank had already detected the sounds of furtive footsteps on the stairs, and was by this time in the process of slithering from the bed. He dropped to the ground and rolled straight underneath, mentally thanking his lucky-stars the bed was set high on carved, wooden legs. Unfortunately, he found himself lying on top of one of Helen’s high-healed shoes, which proceeded to jab him uncomfortably in the chest. The pain retreated to the back of his mind as soon as the door flew open and he saw Tim’s legs appear.

"Hi Tim, didn’t know you were here," he heard Joe say in a sociable but sleepy tone.

"I thought I heard voices?" Tim replied suspiciously.

"Voices?" muttered Joe, sounding amazed. "Ohhhhh, voices? Yeah, you probably did. I was napping until I heard you coming up the stairs, I was probably talking in my sleep again, sorry."

Frank watched Tim’s legs turn and leave the room. He and Joe waited in silence for about thirty seconds before Frank slid out from beneath the bed, covered in dust and rubbing the sore spot on his chest, "boy - that was close!" he muttered.

***

Frank came down the stairs almost as soon as he heard the front door shutting on Tim.

Kiwi was still in the hallway with his hand on the doorknob when he appeared. "That was quick work Mate."

"Can’t ‘rest’ anymore, I’m going stir crazy, besides, Joe’s feelings so much better, he thinks he can manage some soup."

Kiwi’s mouth turned up, "aha!" he breathed, nodding wisely, "been up into Helen’s room to see Joe have you? Hope you didn’t let Tim catch you?" he said leaning forward conspiratorially.

"What do you take me for?" Frank grinned, nudging Kiwi in the ribs playfully.

They walked into the kitchen together and the older Hardy brother began opening and closing cupboards, trying to work out where the saucepans were stored. He could hear a television blaring in the next room and guessed Mark and Rob must be watching a show together. It was a comedy program, because every few seconds there was the irritating sound of canned laughter.

Kiwi came over with a can of chicken soup in his hand, reached over Frank’s head to open a high cupboard and passed a cooking pan down to him.

Successfully detaching the tin lid with the opener, Frank slopped the contents into the pan and placed in on the heat.

"Did Mark tell you about Rob’s little temper tantrum last night?" asked Kiwi, rummaging through a draw for a wooden spoon.

Frank accepted the spoon and started to stir the mixture before answering. "No! What happened?"

"Well, I was upstairs and saw the red Toyota outside. When I came down and told the others, Rob went totally berserk! He ran from the house and threw one Helen’s brass paperweight through the window hitting one guy before trying to open the driver’s door to get at the other," Kiwi paused for dramatic emphasis, enjoying having Frank in the palm of his hand, "the car pulled off, and Rob fell face first into the road - he was really, really pissed."

The older Hardy brother lost interest in what he was doing and turned full on to listen to what his New Zealand friend was ardently relating to him. "Did you recognize anybody who was in the car?"

"Me and Mark weren’t close enough, and it was dark outside - we could only see outlines really."

"What about Rob?"

Kiwi laughed nervously, "doubt it, Mate, he was steaming to much! Remember when he lost it with Kyle?" Frank nodded, "well that was nothing - he was totally out of control this time – not even Mark and Helen could have done anything with him!"

"Hmmmm," mumbled Frank. He rubbed the back of his neck and look down at his feet. His brain was whirring, an indication that his subconscious was trying to tell him something, something he’d forgotten. He turned back to the cooker and started to back track over his movements of the last couple of days. Something suddenly came flashing back. "Oh Jeez!" he exclaimed, "I am such an idiot!" he bought his palm down on the melamine work surface hard, turned and headed for the study at a fast pace, his friend skipping along at his heels.

"What?…What?" Kiwi begged to know, his voice a high-pitched whine.

"The red car - I forgot to check my emails to see if my hacker friend managed to find out who owns it," said Frank, switching on the computer.

Kiwi aimed and shoved a swivel chair at Frank, who deftly sank down straight onto it. He then dropped down into the spare one and monkey shuffled his way across the carpet until they were both side by side.

"Okay, let’s see now," muttered Frank as he bypassed the password and logged quickly onto the net. Accessing his email, he was not surprised to see there was one unread message waiting for him. It had been sent the previous morning, only half an hour after his initial request was forwarded.

He clicked on the icon and the message flashed up. The short message consisted of a name and a geographically local address - nothing more. "Bingo!" breathed Frank, turning and grinning at Kiwi. His friend clapped him on the shoulder and smiled broadly back.

A burning smell suddenly permeated the air around them.

"What on earth…?" asked Kiwi.