FANFARE FOR JUNE
by
Aspen & Evergreen
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Chapters
He plunged down the staircase, heedless of the danger from Peter Steiner, still sprawled on the steps; disregarding Officer Martinez’ shouts of "Wait! WAIT!" and barely hearing Martinez’ and Matt’s thundering footsteps behind him. Frank had tumbled helplessly back down to the bottom of the stairs, and was lying entirely too still. Phil dropped to his knees beside his friend and gingerly rolled him onto his back…just as Frank started struggling to rise!
"Oh, man, are you all right?" Phil’s voice trembled. He saw no bloodstains – Frank seemed to be relatively uninjured; but there were black smudges on his face, perilously close to his eyes – smudges that were, in all likelihood, powder marks. That shot had been just a little too close for comfort!
"Mmmph…mmp brmph…MMMPPHH!" Frank mumbled, from behind the gag, and jerked his chin up imperatively.
Phil pulled the gag down, carefully. "What? I couldn’t understand you. Say it again?"
Frank burst out laughing. "You idiot, I asked you to take the gag out!"
Phil’s answering grin was vivid with relief. He hugged Frank tightly for a moment, then made an attempt to undo the cords holding his hands together. After a moment, he decided that untying them would take a lot more time and patience than he possessed; he’d try to find a knife!
In the meantime, Officer Martinez had secured Peter Steiner’s gun, and with Matt’s enthusiastic help, Peter Steiner as well. The man was firmly handcuffed, but still struggled to free himself, kicking and snarling threats, even as more police officers, freshly arrived, came pouring down the stairs and converged on them. He was hauled upright and propelled up the stairs, still fighting and hurling verbal abuse all the way.
Martinez, Matt, Phil and Frank slowly climbed the staircase, and returned to the music room, where Kinsey waited alone.
"They’re all in custody," she remarked, inclining her head towards the door. "And I’ve checked the violin. The plaque’s there. You were right, Mr. Cohen. You were right." Seeing Frank’s predicament, she produced a knife and cut the cord around his wrists.
He chafed them vigorously, trying to get a little blood flowing through them again, and winced at the resultant discomfort. And then he turned to Phil and Matt.
"Thanks, guys," he said quietly. "I owe you two a whole lot. It got pretty scary there, for awhile!"
*****
Frank rolled over in bed, early the next afternoon, and squinted at the sunlight coming through the shades on his bedroom windows. Am I ever going to get my days and nights straightened out again? he wondered. He had been up nearly all night again, giving a lengthy and involved statement to the police about what had happened over the past several days. Everything he knew about the stolen violin, what had happened to his brother, what had happened to Phil and Allison, what had happened to him, as well! Both Phil and Matt had had to do it too, and Frank had been astounded to hear their report of the visit Robert had paid to them. Well, at least that explains the knife, and the picture – and the brick!
He had been glad to get out of there – at nearly 4 a.m. – and had driven wearily home, after making sure the other two boys were headed back to their apartment. Matt and Phil promised to come to Bayport, after they got off work, although Frank couldn’t see how either one of them would be in any shape to do anything except collapse into bed! Phil seemed to be practically sleepwalking as it was, and Frank wondered just how effective his friend would be at Computer Wizardry that day. He, himself, hadn’t been able to do much more than scribble a note to his parents saying
‘Found violin, thieves apprehended, going to bed, how’s Joe?’ and stagger upstairs.Frank blinked tiredly. He could sleep more, he knew, but he was awake now, and he wanted to get to the hospital and see Joe. Maybe Megan would be willing to go with me…. Slowly, he pulled himself out of bed and headed to the shower.
Megan and Frank walked down the hospital corridor and turned towards the Critical Care unit where Joe’s room was. At the nurse’s station, one of the women on duty glanced up and noted them and their destination. She smiled and nodded in a friendly fashion. After the attack on Joe foiled by Megan and Vanessa, both girls were being held in high esteem by the hospital staff!
They entered the room, empty at the moment save for its lone occupant. Frank went immediately to stand beside the bed, but Megan halted beside the door, taking in the scene with wide, somber eyes. Joe still lay insensible beneath the blankets, wires and tubes seeming to writhe in all directions from his body. Monitors emitted monotonous beeps and hums. A bandage still encircled his forehead, and although they were starting to heal, scrapes and bruises still marked his face, showing up in brutal relief against the pale skin. Of exuberant, mischievous Joe Hardy, there was no sign. Only this silent ghost of his former self remained.
"Hey, little brother…" Frank reached to clasp Joe’s hand gently. "Time to wake up. I’ve got a lot of news for you! Believe me, you want to hear this! You’re going to be really pleased…."
Joe slept on, unresponsive.
"Kid, you’d better wake up. Graduation’s almost here, and you’re missing all the rehearsals. I’ll bet Mrs. Martell’s having a fit!"
Joe did not answer.
Frank swallowed hard and sat down in the chair beside the bed, releasing Joe’s hand with reluctance. Megan moved to take the other seat. For perhaps fifteen minutes they sat there, talking quietly to each other and occasionally addressing remarks to the somnolent Joe.
"I can’t believe it!" Frank said for perhaps the fifth time. He had been astounded, aghast, and then totally admiring, when he had heard of Megan’s and Vanessa’s stalwart defense of Joe. "You girls are really something else!" He smiled at his girlfriend proudly. "I’m proud of you…we both are proud of you – aren’t we, Joe?" He glanced over at the bed, and bit his lip. "That guy was Julian Steiner, wasn’t it? Ernst’s other son?"
"Yes, I think so," she said…and went silent again.
Despite Frank’s congratulations and warm smiles, Megan knew he wasn’t happy. He wouldn’t be happy until Joe was okay, and that hope was receding further and further away as each day passed. And what if Joe never wakes up? Will Frank ever be…Frank…again? He looks so shattered….this is breaking his heart….He’s so distant now….almost like a stranger, he’s so far away from me. He hasn’t called me ‘Baby’ since they found Joe….
She thought about that a little more. Ordinarily, having a guy call her ‘Baby’ would have raised her feminist hackles a bit, but when Frank did it, it was different. He didn’t call people pet names, most of the time. Yes, being the girl Frank Hardy called ‘Baby’ wasn’t to be scorned; it was definitely a plus! Joe, on the other hand…. Joe flings endearments and nicknames around like rose petals – although I’ve noticed that he’s toned it down a little since he gave Vanessa that ring….Hmmm – nicknames…. Megan chewed her lips reflectively, thinking hard.
Finally, the elder Hardy got to his feet. "Let’s go for a walk or something," he suggested. "I – can’t sit here any longer right now. I’ll come back after a while and stay with him."
Megan hesitated. "You go on ahead," she said finally. "I want to talk to Joe about something – alone."
Frank stared at her. "You want to talk to Joe…" he repeated, looking from his girlfriend to his unconscious brother. Finally he shrugged, and that bitter, defeated gesture told Megan just how depressed Frank had become. "Sure, go ahead. It’s not going to make much difference anyway…is it?" He turned on his heel and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Megan moved to the other chair, the one closest to Joe’s side. She leaned over the bed, taking his cool, limp fingers in her own warm ones. With the back of her free hand, she lightly stroked his cheek, feeling the soft, downy stubble on Joe’s face. His beard’s growing out; he hasn’t been able to shave since…Sunday? Maybe Saturday? For some obscure reason, the slightly prickly sensation against her fingers made her want to cry.
"Joe," she whispered. "You need to wake up now. It’s time for you to wake up – you don’t want to miss your high school graduation, do you?" She swallowed the lump trying to form in her throat. Why was it that graduation ceremonies seemed to be so connected with horrible experiences, for her? "You need to wake up," she repeated. "Frank needs you. He’s solved the case of the missing violin, and he wants to tell you about it! We all need you. I miss you – and Vanessa needs you so much. She’s frightened for you, Joe. This is killing her. Come on, now. You can do it. Come back to us, please?"
No response. She hadn’t expected any; still, Megan felt tears of disappointment starting to form in the corners of her eyes, and her throat tightened, preventing speech for a moment.
"Joe…" she continued, at last. "I’ll make a bargain with you. You wake up – soon. Today. Tonight. I’ll even stretch a point and say tomorrow. And I promise you, if you do that, you can call me ‘Red’ whenever you want… For the rest of your life, if you want….And I won’t say a thing. Ever. Only you, though; no one else – but I promise."
She watched the still, pale face, hoping for some flicker of awareness, some evidence that Joe had heard her words. But he lay quiescent, the slow up-and-down movement of his chest his only sign of life. The monotonous beeping of the monitors was the only sound in the room.
Deliberately, Megan leaned over the bed and gently kissed Joe’s cheek, again noting the roughness of his incipient beard against her lips. "I’ve made you a promise, now see that you keep your half of the bargain," she whispered. "See you later, Joe." Releasing his hand, she left the room without looking back.
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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 expressed permission of the authors.