He unthinkingly and slowly, as if not caring if he would get soaked, approached the front door, opened it and entered the house. He took his soaked coat off and looked around. His wife was in the kitchen, he guessed as he heard her washing dishes. Frank must be in his room or somewhere out with his friends. The living room was empty and gloomy. The more he stood in the corridor looking around, the more he thought of how empty and cold the house really was.

Laura came out of the kitchen. She saw the state her husband was in and gently asked, "Hey, sweetheart, is everything ok?" She frowned. She’d seldom seen Fenton so confused.

Fenton only nodded and said nothing.

Mrs. Hardy frowned, "Fenton, I can see that something is bothering you. Is it because of the new case? I guess that’s why Chief Collig asked you to visit. Am I right?"

"Honey, please, don’t ask," Mr. Hardy shook his head. "Just don’t ask….not now….." Saying that and leaving his wife taken aback by his words, he went into his study, closing the door behind himself. Then he opened the lowest drawer of the table and took out a simple 8x12 photo….

"The same eyes, the same smile…." Fenton thought, looking at the face of a little baby on the picture. "Can he be?… no, he can’t, he’s got a father, he…damn it, I've seen so many other peoples’ children before … but why does this guy remind me of him more than other kid?"

Whenever Fenton was in New York he was on the alert, searching for a child who would be a grown man now. This was more than a habit. This had become part of his character because of repeated reiteration.

Wherever Mr. Hardy was, he couldn’t help but look for him in faces of other children, he watched them changing, becoming older. He’d lost so many days, months, years….so much time that should have belonged to him. He was still that invisible child’s father.

Whatever he was doing, his mind was thinking about that child. He knew that he’d never see him make his first steps, he’d never hear him say his first word, he’d never read a fairytale for him, he’d never take him to the dentist for the first time. There were so many things he should have been able to do but would never do... But was in the past, even if the boy was alive he would never be able to raise him. At the moment the problem was, if the boy was still alive, would he ever meet him?

There was a knock at the door, a second later Fenton saw the face that had kept him alive even years after what had happened. He looked at the face. Little did his son know that he was trying to see another face in his child. Or that he felt guilty whenever Frank would say that he felt lonely. "How could I have destroyed his life when he was only 2 years old?" Fenton thought as he looked closely at his son’s face. "I wonder what he would say if I told him the truth…."

"Dad?" Frank asked, seeing the confused face of his father. "Is everything okay?"

"What?" Fenton asked. Frank’s voice had awakened him. "Ah, yeah. I'm fine. What’s wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong. Mom doesn’t feel well; she can’t go shopping, so she gave me a list of what’s to be bought. Will you help me?" Frank asked and smiled sheepishly, "It’s a huuuuge list, if you can get what I mean..."

Mr. Hardy smiled back, "Sure, give me five minutes to get ready."

Frank nodded and turned to leave. He turned back when he noticed a picture in his father’s hands, "What’s that?"

"It’s a…erm…a picture...just a picture." Fenton replied, halting. "Why?"

His son shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing, I was just wondering. You hold it like it’s a treasure." To his surprise, he saw sadness and pain fill his father’s brown eyes. When Fenton said nothing in reply, he asked, "Have I said something wrong?"

"No, you haven’t..." Mr. Hardy shook his head, looking down at the picture. "…But you are right...it IS a treasure. I just wish you knew why..."

During the shopping trip with Frank, Fenton had been confused and lost in his own thoughts. He knew that Frank had noticed, but there was nothing he could do to try to be his normal self, he just couldn’t overcome his feelings.

"Frank, please, don’t think that it’s something you’ve done that’s causing my bad mood," he told his son on their way back home. At first Frank had tried to be upbeat and tried everything to draw his father into conversation, but then, when nothing helped, he just gave up and became silent. "It’s not your fault."

"Why are you so distant?" Frank asked. "Why do I feel like you’re not here with me when you are right here next to me?"

"I have my own reasons. But I can’t tell you. At least, not now. Maybe sometime later…"

"Of course, not now, always sometime later. And when exactly? A week, a month or year later? Two years later? Or when I'm 60?" Frank replied, obviously offended. "You’re so distant because you’re thinking about other peoples’ problems. I know that something happened with the Stevensons', and of course, as usual you were straight there to see if you could help them solve their problems. You know, sometimes it seems to me that you care only about other people, forgetting that you have your own family who may need your attention, too."

Frank’s words twisted a knife in Mr. Hardy’s heart. "Frank…I...don’t say that. I do care about you and your mother and you know it! I'm always there when you need me!" Mr. Hardy argued. He felt bitterness as he spoke.

"Sometimes I wonder…. For example, today you got up at unearthly hour just to help somebody you don’t know. At the same time you didn’t even see that Mom had a slight cold."

"I noticed that. And I took care of it - I made her take some aspirin. We came to the agreement that if she felt worse we’d call the doctor."

"But you still left her to help other people!"

"Frank, there’s something you don’t understand because you don’t know everything," his father replied, pulling into the driveway.

"And what is it that I don’t know?" Frank asked, narrowing his eyes.

Fenton didn’t say anything in reply; he turned the ignition off and got out of the car, taking two bags full of food with him.

Frank got out of the car, too. He grabbed his bags and followed his father into the house. "Once again you don’t want to talk to me," he told him. "I don’t know what it is your hiding from me, that you think I don’t know or won’t understand, but I’ll tell you this: I'm not a five-year-old child. I can understand what other people say." Upon saying that, he left the bags on the kitchen table and went into his room, leaving Fenton alone in the kitchen.

"I need to see his reaction," Fenton Hardy told himself later that evening as he thought about whether he should call Paul Stevenson or visit to talk to him. "Am I looking for a reason to go there and see him again? If I leave, what will Frank say or think? He’s accused me of leaving my family to help other people, but...by looking out for Joe I'm trying to help my family. If I tell Frank the truth will he understand me?"

"No, I should go..."

Mr. Hardy went upstairs and into his bedroom where Laura was lying on the bed, resting. Seeing her husband, she warmly smiled, "Hi," she greeted him.

Fenton warmly smiled back, "Are you feeling better?" he softly asked, sitting down next to her. He put his palm over her forehead to check for fever. There was none.

Laura nodded, "Don’t worry, it’s only a cold."

"Looks like it," Fenton replied, looking at his beautiful wife. Then he smiled at her again.

"What?" she smiled back. "Is there something wrong with my hair or face or something?"

Mr. Hardy shook his head, "No...it’s just…." He took a breath in, the words he wanted to say to her stung in his throat, but still he felt like saying them," You know, I love you so much? You’ve always been there for me when I needed you the most... What did I do to deserve having you in my life?" He leaned down and gave her a kiss on her lips.

"I love you, too, darling," Laura replied, smiling. "Very much," she added.

"Sweetheart...may I ask you something?" Fenton meekly asked, looking down at the floor.

Mrs. Hardy sat up, she knew her husband too well not to see that something was eating at him, "What’s wrong?"

"Do you think we should tell Frank about…you know what?…" Mr. Hardy bit his lower lip.

Laura sighed, "Oh…that…."

"He’s almost 19. He’s already old enough to know, what do you think?"

"I...I don’t know, really... You’re right, he has every right to know and maybe we should have already told him, but...sometimes I just think, what’s he going to do with the truth? It’ll only hurt him, because he doesn’t remember him and we don’t know if he’ll ever be found..." She felt her eyes start to water at the last words, so she turned her head away from Fenton.

"I’ll find him..." Mr. Hardy said, softly, but firmly. "I promise...at least, I’ll find out what happened to him."

Laura nodded several times, wiped the tears from her eyes and sniffed. "Tell me, why does it still hurt so much?"

Fenton didn’t have an answer. If he knew that, he wouldn’t be feeling so small now. He kissed his wife once again, "Someday, somehow, it’s going to be back to normal. Trust me?"

Mrs. Hardy nodded.

"Good…. Are you going to be ok?"

"Sure, don’t worry."

"Mind if I go out? I need to find out about something. I don’t want to leave you, but I promise I’ll be back very soon…."

"Go, I’ll be fine, don’t worry. I'm not that bad."

"Thank you...for understanding."

"Anytime," Laura smiled in reply.

Sometime later, Mr. Hardy rang the doorbell of the Stevensons’ house and waited for someone to open the door. Deep inside he hoped it would be Joe; he desperately wanted to look at him again.

His hopes didn’t come true. As the door flew open he saw a man in his early 40s. No doubt it was Paul Stevenson himself.

"Good evening, are you Mr. Paul Stevenson?" Mr. Hardy asked, looking the man over in front of him. To his own disappointment he had to admit that Joe resembled him. Paul was just a bit taller than his son and his hair was a little darker, but still they were somewhat alike.

"I am. May I help you?" Mr. Stevenson asked.

"My name is Fenton Hardy, I was here earlier today, but you weren’t at home."

"Joe told me about your visit," Paul nodded, but didn’t ask Fenton in, "I don’t think I can help you. I talked to Chief Collig today, but I suppose you’ve already spoken with him?"

"I’m sorry, but would you mind if I came in?"

Paul sighed, but opened the door for Fenton. "I'm sure the police can handle it. Don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think I need a private investigator."

"I'm doing it mostly for myself. Plus the Chief wants me to help the police as well."

"Why?" Paul asked.

"Because it’s been my case for almost 17 years now, and I’m determined to catch Antoneskou," Fenton took out a photo of the criminal. "Have you seen him before?"

"I’ve already told Mr. Collig that I haven’t seen this man, and nothing’s changed since this morning!" Mr. Stevenson snapped. He was obviously getting a little angry.

"What about this child?" Mr. Hardy, ignoring Paul’s tone, gave him another photograph, which was of his missing son when he was seven months old. As Mr. Stevenson’s eyes caught sight of the child Fenton looked very attentively at him, expecting to see something in Paul’s face that would mean he lied if he said ‘no’.

Paul looked at the photo for a couple of seconds, and then back at Mr. Hardy, no reaction on a face that remained emotionless. "Are you kidding? Children look very much alike when they’re so little. I couldn’t tell you if I've ever seen this kid or not, because I can’t remember."

"He’s either a good actor or he really doesn’t know anything…." Fenton thought. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Joe coming down the stairs to enter the kitchen.

"Oh, hi, Mr. Hardy," he quickly smiled, stopping in the hall for some moments. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Fenton shook his head. "Just a few questions."

"All right then," Joe shrugged his shoulders and disappeared into the kitchen.

Fenton watched him go, sighed, and forgot what he wanted to ask. He stood silent for some moments until Paul broke the silence.

"Can I ask you one question?" Paul asked.

"What?" Fenton tiredly looked at him.

"Why did you want to take our case?"

"Simple. It’s not just yours, it’s mine as well."

"What do you mean?" Mr. Stevenson asked, intrigued.

"See this child on this photo? It’s my son, my younger son. He was kidnapped by Antoneskou, the man who is after you now, 17 years ago and I haven’t seen him since…." He swallowed, then went on, "So, I would like to know he has to do with you."

"I would like to know that as well," Paul sincerely said, looking Fenton in the eyes. "I’m really sorry to hear about your son. But I told the police everything I know. There’s nothing else I can say. So I’m sorry, but, unfortunately, I can’t help you."

Next week, there were no more accidents or incidents. Antoneskou, if he was in Bayport, didn’t try threatening the Stevensons’ again. Fenton Hardy and Chief Collig were afraid that the man had left town, which, if true, would mean that everything was over. Still, they stayed on full alert, ‘hoping’ that the criminal would make himself known.

Nothing happened and to say that Fenton Hardy was disappointed would be an understatement. He thought he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Never in 17 years had he been so close to Antoneskou, but the man still was out of reach.

The more Fenton thought, the more taciturn he was becoming. His relationships with Laura and especially Frank were becoming strained. Laura tried to understand but by the end of the week Frank had stopped trying to even be nice to his father.

"Mom, I can’t stand it! What’s the point in being nice to him when he doesn’t even notice you’re there?" Frank told his mother once.

"Frank, he’s human, he’s not an emotionless robot or something and there are things that bother and disappoint him, so give him some time," Laura pointedly replied. And before Frank could say anything, she left her son to consider her words.

"All right, maybe I am being a bit harsh on Dad, but don’t I have the right to?" Frank thought to himself when he lay down on his stomach on the bed in his bedroom. "Mom’s obviously trying to justify his actions, I wish I knew why…." He couldn’t help but feel angry with them both.

Deep inside Frank knew why he was so upset. He also knew that blaming his father for everything because of his own bad mood wasn’t right. The previous week was terrible for him. And it wasn’t because of his parents. "I should stop being so argumentative with them, I can’t let my feelings affect my relationship with them… You’re old enough to solve your own problems yourself, without hurting other blameless people…

He was Joe Stevenson, the guy who got on Frank’s nerves even by just creeping accidentally into Frank’s mind. "Oh, I can’t stand him!!" he thought, burying his face into his pillow. As he closed his eyes he saw his friends laughing with Joe, then he saw Callie trying to get her boyfriend to talk to her new friend, then his father, who seemed to be more concerned with the Stevensons’ problems than in his own son.

In only ten days, Joe had showed himself to be a very gregarious and easy-going person and Bayport High students liked that. Soon he was on friendly terms with Frank’s friends. The girls’ hysteria caused by his appearance in Bayport had calmed down, and life in the high school was back on course. There was only one problem:

Frank refused to make friends with Joe and Joe didn’t mind. It was causeing problems with their friends who couldn’t choose between them, but at the same time couldn’t bring the two together either. If there was the possibility of Frank having to spend a minute with the newcomer he would always find a reason to leave.

"Frank, why are you doing this?" Vanessa once asked. "You try to build a wall around yourself just to stay away from Joe, but at the same time you want all of us to stay with you. Why can’t you understand that you are both our friends? We’re not going to make a choice, and if you prefer to avoid us when we hang out with Joe, please don’t think we’re gonna run after you and beg you to join our company…."

Frank sighed in reply, "Please, give me some time…."

Time passed with no result.

"It’s just so unfair…." He confessed to himself.

"You’re being too critical," he almost heard his mother telling him. "You think about other people’s merits, forgetting about your own."

The voice was so real that Frank even raised his head from his pillow in order to make sure he was alone in the room. Since there was no one around he lowered his head back down onto the pillow once again, laying his chin on the top of it, and stared blankly into the wall in front of his eyes.

Those words made some sense. "What am trying to blame him for? My friends are still with me; it’s me who’s avoiding talking to them! Callie is not going to dump me and I still live with my parents - my father’s not going to move out to live with the Stevensons’…!" He even smiled at that last thought.

There were some moments of silence in his head where he thought about nothing, enjoying the stillness that filled him.

And then it hit. In a second he’d realized what that odd feeling was that he’d been having. He now knew just what it felt like to be jealous, only he couldn’t understand why he felt like that. There followed a strong feeling of deja vu, but his memory refused to give any other information about when he’d ever felt so jealous before. If ever.

"Come, on, Hardy, think about it, think!" Frank ordered himself, trying to make his brain work. "If you can remember when you had another situation like the one with Stevenson, maybe you’ll remember how you’d handled it…."

"Blast it!" He scowled, a couple of minutes later when he remembered nothing.

His feelings had never been trustworthy and usually he relied on his mind rather than his instincts, but at that very moment he had nothing else but feelings. And they were so strong that he almost believed they were facts.

Frank groaned in frustration. "I’m going mad…what am I thinking of? I am trying to remember something that probably never happened in order to help myself cope with the present… You’ve got to think about the present, Hardy! Your past is nothing but happy memories of your parents and friends and school and other stuff. If there was something that could help you now, you’d have remembered it right away."

He glanced at his alarm clock which read 10.55 p.m.

His strange feeling wouldn’t go; it was still there, reminding him of its existence. It was like Frank’s mind was playing hide-and-seek with him.

Frank turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling as if trying to see all the answers there. "Maybe, it’s something that my parents hid from me. What if I force them to tell me? Tomorrow?" He closed his eyes. Truth be told, his mind always worked better if his eyes were closed. It was like both he and his mind would tкte-а-tкte in the darkness, and allowed Frank to concentrate on his thoughts.

All of a sudden Frank remembered something. It wasn’t important, but still it was some kind of a hint. He remembered reading an article in a magazine about memory. In the article it said that if you couldn’t remember something you should keep thinking about it and sooner or later you’d see something that would give you the answer.

That was the last thought in Frank’s head. He didn’t even notice how quickly he drifted off to sleep.