Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

He led Frank through the basement. Frank didn’t know where he was being taken, but he knew one thing: his brother was there. Frank knew their situation was beyond helpless, but if he could just see Joe again…the thought made him gain a bit of hope. No matter how awful the situation, as long as he and his brother were together, at least something was right.

But as soon as he saw Joe’s battered, bloody, and almost unrecognizable body lying on the floor, he knew he was wrong. It really was over.

He felt a smile curve his mouth at the horrified and devastated look that took over the boy’s face at his brother’s condition. Things were back according to plan. He glanced down, and couldn’t resist a joyous laugh. The kid really was in a bad way. The sight of all the blood thrilled him. This was the way the game was supposed to go.

They were getting what they deserved.

The sight was utterly horrifying. Hope was on her knees beside his immobile brother, her hand on his face, whispering non-stop into his ear. But nothing seemed to revive him. She looked up when Frank and him entered the room. Then she went back to whispering to Joe.

He let go of Frank’s arm. The boy ran to his brother’s side, and he did nothing to stop him. Frank didn’t take time to wonder why. He had to touch him, but in a way, he didn’t want to. The figure lying on the floor was so covered in blood he didn’t remotely look like Joe any more, and as much as Frank wanted to touch him, and feel for a pulse, he didn’t want to find that his brother hadn’t survived.

But he has to be alive, Frank thought. He needs us both for his stupid game. That thought wasn’t exactly comforting, either. But he had to try. For all he knew, this could be yet another apparition, and Joe could be alive in another part of the house. But somehow, Frank knew that wasn’t true. He was taking an active role in what was going on. Frank sensed that the ultimate time had come.

He also knew that he and Joe weren’t ready. Hope glanced up at him. Hope, he thought. We’ve got to keep hope… ‘But the needy will not always be forgotten, nor the hope of the afflicted ever perish…’

The psalm seemed to revive his spirits a bit, and, biting his lip, he put his hand on Joe’s face. And felt blood. He felt tears fill his eyes. “It really is you,” he whispered. He looked fearfully at Hope, who stared back with those silver eyes.

“He’s alive,” she said simply. Before she turned her gaze back on Joe, Frank thought he saw a fleck of blue in her unearthly silver eyes, but dismissed it, thinking he had imagined it.

He touched Joe’s neck, checking his pulse. It was weak, but now Frank could see that Joe was breathing—shallow and struggling for each gasp of air—but he was alive! Frank tried to wake him. “Joe, please, come back to me.”

He just stood in the background, hands placidly clasped behind his back. Frank knew that there had to be something wrong, but he couldn’t contemplate it right now. His brother could be dying.

“Joe, please wake up!” He gently shook his brother’s shoulder.

Hope slapped his hand away, a fierce fire in her eyes. Frank gaped at her. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped, more harshly than he had originally intended. “Do you want my brother to die?”

It was a stupid question. It was his temper talking—a temper that was normally silent, but when his brother’s life was at stake, it came out of hiding, with the ferocity of beast of prey, ready to attack anyone and anything that poked or prodded it the wrong way.

Hope just looked up at him with those ethereal eyes. “Just trust me.” He saw another flash of blue and knew that he hadn’t imagined it this time. Her tone of voice sounded so much like Joe’s when he was annoyed or impatient…

Frank shook his head as if to clear out the demented visions and thoughts that had plagued him for so long—though in actuality, it was only a few hours. He was so set on saving Joe that he was seeing him everywhere. Even in a four-year-old child. He took a deep breath. And ignored Hope.

“Joe, wake up.”

He thought he heard a satisfied chuckle from the entrance to the room. And footsteps. He didn’t turn. He was imagining things. The visions and dementia was getting to him. But he knew one thing for sure. His brother, with his beaten body, was not a vision. Frank could touch him. He was real. He was alive. He had to be.

“Joe!”

Joe moaned and shifted his head—barely. His blue eyes fluttered open and saw Frank leaning over him.

And he screamed in terror and anguish, louder and more horrified than he ever had in his life.

“Frank—please, no, don’t hurt me!”

The satisfied chuckle evolved into an enthralled, high-pitched laugh.

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Disclaimer

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.