"My back…rocks under…." Frank attempted to shift, but caught his breath with a gasp.

"Okay, take it easy." Joe lifted him slightly, just enough to scrape the offending stones away, then eased him back down. "Better?" His voice shook, no matter how hard he tried to control it.

Get it together, Hardy! Joe stared at that ugly stick protruding from Frank’s arm, with the blood streaming out around it, rapidly soaking Frank’s sweatshirt sleeve and continuing on to seep into the dusty ground beneath. When Frank had been lying facedown, the pressure had kept the bleeding controlled, but now…. This is bad, but hold it together. He felt his stomach clench, and closed his eyes briefly, shutting out the sight. How can I help him? What can I use? THINK, Joe! You did this with April, you can do it with Frank. Behind his eyelids flashed a vision of April Wayne, her leg impaled with a piece of metal, bleeding in the cockpit of a downed airplane….But we had the first-aid kit from the plane….

And then, somehow, his mind cleared. Why hadn’t he remembered before? The motorcycle! Was there a first-aid kit with it? Surely a rental place would include one…? Joe scrambled to his feet and half-staggered, half-ran back to where his motorcycle lay. Hands trembling, he dug into the side compartments, and felt hard plastic beneath his fingers. He pulled out a white box, and read the blessed words First Aid Kit on the cover. Thank you, God – thank you, thank you! Joe hurried back to his brother as fast as he could go.

Frank was lying exactly as he’d left him, eyes closed and face pale beneath the coating of dust, the blood still pouring down his arm and soaking the ground. Joe didn’t bother trying to talk to him right then, he was too busy tearing open the precious box of first-aid supplies.

First, the package of gauze…wish there was more, but this is better than nothing. Joe packed it carefully around the stick, hoping it would staunch the blood flow. Now adhesive tape – recklessly, Joe stripped off lengths of the tape, and pressed them into place to hold the gauze padding secure. I don’t dare pull the stick out; Frank would bleed to death right before my eyes…hang on, Frank; hang on! Throughout all this, Frank lay quiet and unresponsive, evidently having slipped out of consciousness once more. At least I’m not hurting him; if he’s unconscious he can’t feel what I’m doing….

Wondering if there had been another first-aid kit on Frank’s cycle, Joe hopefully turned to check, but saw that the motorbike had been so thoroughly buried beneath rocks and debris, unearthing it would take too much time…time he couldn’t spare. He was abruptly grateful that, somehow, Frank had been thrown free of the motorcycle; if he had still been on it when the rockslide hit, he would be dead for sure. Suddenly, there was pressure to hurry…hurry and get to civilization! Hurry before he loses too much blood….

When he had done everything he could to slow the bleeding, Joe turned his attention to Frank’s lower arm. He found an elastic bandage in the first aid box, and keeping the arm as still as possible, secured two straight sticks to it, wrapping the bandage tightly to immobilize the injury. This action roused Frank, who groaned and instinctively tried to twist away from the pain.

"No, Frank, stay still – I’m almost done; it’ll feel better in a second; hang on." Joe secured the bandage with its little metal clasp, and eased Frank’s arm down against his chest. "How’s that?"

Dark eyes gazed blearily upward. "’s…okay…so tired. Joe – I want to…sleep for awhile, okay?"

"NO! You need to stay awake, Frank; stay with me!" Joe sharpened his tone, trying to pierce the fog again. With this many injuries, as severe as they looked, he knew Frank was at high risk for shock. "Frank! Wake up! Talk to me!"

"I’ll…try."

Joe searched through the first-aid kit again, realizing anew that he himself might benefit from some of the contents. He found a couple packets of premoistened towelettes, and opened one, then rubbed the damp little paper over his dusty face. A sharp stinging sensation recalled to him the cut on his cheekbone, and he dug out a butterfly bandage to apply to the cut, hoping he was getting it in approximately the right place, since he couldn’t see what he was doing. He used another of the towelettes to wipe some of the grime from Frank’s face, and this made Frank blink his eyes open once more.

"Joe – you should – go get – help." Frank whispered. "Leave…me…."

"Not a chance," Joe growled. "Whoever did this might still be around. If I left, he might come and kill you."

In the little kit, Joe found a triangular bandage and safety pins – it was amazing, he thought, how much stuff they could cram into this little box! – and he managed to create a sling for Frank’s arm, working around the protruding stick, where blood was soaking the gauze. All the time, he kept up a constant chatter of conversation, trying to keep Frank alert – but it only worked part of the time.

Frank kept slipping into a light doze, then rousing abruptly to groan with pain, or to repeat, again and again, that Joe should leave him there. Exasperated, Joe found himself right in his brother’s face, yelling that NO! he wasn’t about to leave him; they’d leave together or neither one would leave at all!

"We just have to hang on, Frank – when the folks don’t hear from us this evening – maybe even this afternoon – they’ll start looking for us. You just have to keep going till then."

"Sleepy…" Frank murmured. "So…tired."

"No, Frank…" Joe felt as if he were caught in an endless feedback loop, repeating the same words again and again. "Stay with me, stay awake." He bent close to his brother again. "Talk to me…talk about – anything. Talk about the case. Talk about Megan. Talk about school coming up. TALK to me, Frank!"

"Go…on…leave…me."

"NO! Stop saying that!" Joe gritted his teeth in frustration. We’ve got to get out of here – our chances for rescue – Frank’s chances for survival, face it, Joe! – would be so much better, if we were out on the main road, not back here in the wilderness. ‘We?’ Me. I’ve got to get us out – Frank can’t help; not this time. This time it’s me, or nobody. Guess I get to be the big brother, for once.

Casting an apprehensive glance at Frank’s still, shuttered face, Joe got up and crossed the road again, heading for the scrubby pine trees. He unearthed his Swiss army knife from where he’d tossed it in the cycle’s storage box that morning, and he used it now, hacking pine boughs down. He located two long, sturdy branches, and leaped to hang from them, one after the other, until they snapped off the tree. He could use these for the base of a travois.

Still no rope, but Joe was thinking more clearly now. He pulled loose the drawstring from the hood of his windbreaker, and the one from the waist. It wasn’t as strong as he needed, but it was better than nothing. Frank’s sweatshirt has a hood! he realized, and hurried back to his brother’s side.

"You’re awake, right?" He tapped Frank gently to rouse him.

"Sort of.…Did it – turn cold? I feel – so cold…." Frank’s voice was muted, and his lashes barely flickered as he spoke.

Joe felt his heart thump when Frank said that. The morning sun was beating down on them, and it was anything but cold.

"If you’re cold, you can use my jacket." he said soothingly, and slipped out of his windbreaker. He tucked it carefully around Frank, and then fumbled with the knotted drawstring of his brother’s sweatshirt hood.

"What’re…you doing?" Frank squinted his eyes open briefly.

"I’m going to make a travois to get you out of here." Joe told him. He suspected he’d have to repeat all this several more times; Frank didn’t seem to be retaining much of what was said to him.

"Oh….okay." Frank responded without much interest.

Drawstring in his hands, Joe trotted back to his work with the branches. He went a little way into the woods, and found some stronger plants with thick, flexible stems that he could twine and braid into a sort of rope. With this rope, he began lashing the large pine boughs together, and then fastening them to the frame he’d devised with the biggest branches.

This will never hold all the way out to the road, he thought miserably, as he worked. I’ll have to carry extra stuff to keep tying it together when it falls apart, as it surely will. Oh God, I hope it doesn’t hurt Frank worse when it comes apart….

He hadn’t noticed the passage of time. When he finally looked at his watch, he was astounded to see that it was only – only? – 12:30. It seemed like a thousand years had passed since the slide, and looking back to early morning at the hotel was like trying to look across light-years. It seemed to exist only in a completely different world.

Finally Joe was satisfied with his makeshift travois. The vines were holding the boughs fairly securely, and the drawstrings held the whole thing together.

Joe slumped back, giving in briefly to the maddening pounding in his head. The headache had been steadily growing worse as time passed, and Joe gingerly probed the back of his head, where he came in contact with a fair-sized bump. No wonder it hurts, he thought. But I don’t have time to deal with that right now; it’s Frank that’s important. If I keep busy, I won’t notice the hurt. Still – wait! The first-aid-kit – surely there was something in there…?

Joe’s search was rewarded by a small bottle of Tylenol, and he fumbled out a couple of tablets. Remembering, after all this time, that he’d had a bottle of water on his cycle, he trudged back and got it, then swallowed the pain reliever. The water, although tepid, seemed to clear his head a little, and he realized he had likely been suffering from dehydration. He wondered if Frank’s water bottle had survived, but one look at the pile of rocky scree told him that was a lost hope.

Frank – he needs water, too. Joe shook his aching head, wondering just how he could have been so stupid as to not think of this important thing. He went over to Frank, realizing that his brother had been left alone longer than was wise.

"Frank? How ya doin’?" Joe squatted down beside him. "I brought you some water – you thirsty?"

For a moment, Joe was afraid Frank wasn’t going to answer, and he felt his heart pound with apprehension. Then the older boy sighed a little, and opened his eyes. "Yeah…real thirsty."

Joe pulled up the top, and held the water bottle to Frank’s mouth, tilting it just enough to let the liquid flow gently through the half-parted lips. Frank swallowed greedily, and Joe kicked himself anew for not realizing how badly he’d needed water. I wonder if he could manage to swallow any Tylenol…?

When Frank turned his head slightly, indicating that he’d had enough to drink for the moment, Joe capped the bottle and set it beside him, then went back and got the travois. He dragged it over and laid it down beside Frank.

"Hey bro, what say we get out of here, huh?" Joe’s throat was so tight with worry he could barely force the cheerful words out. "It’s time to leave the grizzly bears and other critters, and get back to civilization."

Frank rolled his head to one side, and mumbled something that Joe couldn’t understand.

"Huh? Say it again, Frank…" Joe dropped to one knee and leaned close.

"I said…go on…and leave me." Frank repeated, jerkily.

"Like hell I am going to leave you!" Joe glared at him. "I am leaving, and you are leaving. I go, and you go. We…go…together. Period. Now no more arguing. Stop being such a nitwit. Obviously you’ve had too much sun."

Frank cracked his eyes open a trifle, and managed a smile. "Right."

Joe positioned the travois as close to Frank as he could, and took his windbreaker from around Frank’s shoulders, spreading it over the fluffy pine branches. "You ready for this?" he asked, sliding gentle hands beneath Frank’s good shoulder and hip. "I’ll roll you up just a little, and shove the travois underneath, then let you back down, okay?"

Before he could start the maneuver, however, Joe heard a snapping of twigs and the sounds of movement in the scrub brush. Someone was coming! He twisted about, and to his horror, he saw a man approaching, holding a rifle which was pointed directly at him!

*****

Megan stared at the bloody knife in the picture for a moment, transfixed with horror at the sight. She knew now, without a doubt, why someone had been after Frank, and after his camera. The man who had been murdered – Evan Reed – was here, his slaying caught by accident on film. And the murderer…he was there too.

She rewound the tape, and played the scene again…and again…and once more, trying to find the best view of the man holding the knife. The picture was dark, for the reenactment rehearsal had been done beneath shady trees. The assailant’s face was in shadow, and features were difficult to make out.

"M-Mr. Hardy…" The words were barely audible. Megan cleared her throat and tried again. "Mr. Hardy – I think I’ve found something."

Shakily, she explained what she’d found on the film, while Fenton, Laura and Vanessa listened in fascinated horror. Vanessa came to lean over Megan’s shoulder and view the tape.

"He was made up to look like part of the theater troupe," the blonde girl observed. "It would be hard to ID him with all that makeup on his face."

"Perhaps the police can clean up the tape and enhance it enough to be used." Fenton commented. "At least, I hope they can." He got up and moved to take a seat by Megan, on the couch. "Let’s see it – and sweetie, stop looking like you’re going into shock, can’t you?"

"It’s happening again," Megan gulped. "People wanting a t-tape – it’s like the tape my dad took; the one they killed him for….and I was standing right there in front of it!" She bit her lip, determined not to cry in front of Frank’s parents.

Stricken, Fenton put his arms around her and hugged her close, patting her back soothingly. "You didn’t need this, did you? You really didn’t need this…." he murmured. After a few moments, he felt the tension leave her body, and he eased his embrace. Megan sat back, composed once more, and placed the camcorder on his lap. "Well, let’s see what we’ve got."

He went through the film frame by frame, freezing it time and again, and jotting down notes as he did so; the time notation shown on the camera, the location of the weapon, the angle of entry. Megan watched him work, trying to disassociate herself mentally from what she knew had happened. A man had been stabbed to death directly behind her, and she’d never known a thing! Vanessa looked a little greenish too, she noted. It was a nasty feeling.

Finally, Fenton shut off the camcorder and popped the film out. He pocketed the little tape, and handed the camcorder back to Megan. "We can put a fresh film in; no reason not to keep using it." he commented. "But we need to keep this one—" patting his pocket, "—safe until it can be turned over to the police." He stood up. "Okay, I’m ready to get moving; we’ve finally got a definite lead. I want to see where it happened."

The four of them left the hotel together, heading for the outdoor theater area. Megan had reloaded Frank’s camcorder with a fresh cassette, and slung it over one shoulder. She was glad that the tape with the incriminating evidence was safely stowed in Mr. Hardy’s pocket; she certainly didn’t want to be lugging it around with her!

She was excited by this chance to see Mr. Hardy in action, actually doing investigative work; and a glance at Vanessa’s sparkling blue-gray eyes told her that Van shared her feelings. Although both girls had been dating the Hardy brothers for some time now – Vanessa longer than Megan – neither one had ever had the opportunity to watch their father work. They’d seen a little of it in July, when Laura’s sister had been killed, but had missed most of the action in New York. They’d heard plenty about it, of course, but neither of them had ever had such an up-close look at Mr. Hardy in his professional guise. Megan’s lips twitched as a memory struck her: I saw him in January when he was working…but he was tied up all the time!

Once outside Caesars Palace, they found they couldn’t get too close to the stage, for another scene from a Shakespearean play was being put on, much to the approval and applause of the watching crowd of tourists. They walked to the edge of the crowd and stopped. Megan watched the performance, recognizing the scene as being from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which seemed highly appropriate to the season, in her opinion.

Fenton didn’t seem to be daunted by not being able to get close. He stared fixedly at the stage for a moment, then closed his eyes. After a few seconds, he opened them and stared once more. He repeated the procedure several times, until he had the scene locked in his mind. Megan and Vanessa were fascinated, and stared at him in admiration. Laura smiled mystically, and murmured: "Have it now?"

He nodded. "I can visualize the crime now."

No wonder he’s so good at what he does! Megan marveled. If he could picture a crime just by looking at a stage from a distance, and looking at a videotape for a few minutes – he’s amazing! She whispered something of this to Vanessa, who nodded in silent agreement.

Now Fenton crooked a finger at them, and they followed him past the reenactment stage, across the lawns and towards the nearby woods.

"Back in these woods, girls, is where Evan Reed’s body was found." he explained as they walked. "I want to take a look at that."

Sure enough, as they got closer, they could see a section of the trees cordoned off by yellow police crime scene tape. This was where the young parking valet’s body had been discovered, dumped in concealing shrubbery at some point between his murder and eleven p.m.

Vanessa leaned against a tree and watched, smiling, as Fenton reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of thin plastic gloves. He’s just like Frank – or rather, Frank’s just like him! she thought. Now I know where Frank gets it…only with Mr. Hardy it doesn’t seem quite as weird as with Frank!

Laura looked at her husband quizzically when he produced the gloves, and he gave her an apologetic shrug. "Old habits die hard," he admitted sheepishly, and she laughed and shook her head as he ducked beneath the police tape. Megan and Vanessa watched closely, and noted he didn’t touch the blood-soaked area where the body had obviously lain, but merely skirted around the edges for a few minutes. Then, with a satisfied grunt, he leaned forward and picked something up from the grass.

"I saw something else on the video," Fenton commented. "Something shiny, hanging from a pocket. I didn’t think I’d find it, though. Our murderer killed Reed there—" he pointed toward the stage. "—and dragged him here to dump the body."

He held up his find, and they saw it was a pair of sunglasses. He looked through them, and muttered "prescription lenses," then examined them closely, and after a moment nodded grimly. "They’re designer lenses – thought they might have initials on them, but there’s only one: a ‘C’. The other one’s scratched or worn off."

"How did the police miss something like that?" Laura asked. "Or do you think someone else has been here since it was searched? No, you said you’d seen them on the videotape…."

Fenton shrugged. "I don’t know. It happens. I’ll turn them over to Lieutenant Hunt, though, as soon as I see him." He took a plastic bag from his pocket – Vanessa nearly burst out laughing, but managed to control it – and placed the sunglasses in it, then stripped off his plastic gloves, and ducked back under the police tape to rejoin the others.

Emerging from the woods, they walked back past the little stage, past the statues, through the tourist throngs, heading towards the hotel once more. But once on the sidewalk, Vanessa halted.

"Megan, want to go get some ice cream?" she suggested. "I’d like some, I think."

The little redhead nodded. "Sure. Laura? Mr. Hardy? Come with us?"

"I’ve got to get to the police station to turn in this evidence," Fenton replied. "otherwise I’d take you up on it. I don’t know how Hunt will take me violating a crime scene, but I need to turn in these glasses." He pulled the little sack from his pocket. "I know what’s on them now; I don’t need to keep them."

"I’ll go with you, Fenton." Laura said, smiling.

Megan grinned and activated the camcorder. She shot some footage of Fenton holding the sunglasses. "It’s too bad you can’t put them on, Mr. Hardy," she teased him. "You’d make a regular James Bond."

He broke into laughter, dropped the glasses back into his pocket, and departed, holding his wife’s hand.

"They’re so sweet!" Vanessa commented, looking after them. "I’ve never had much of a chance to see them together; he’s always gone so much with his work. But they make such a cute couple!"

Megan nodded agreement. It was hard to believe now, but eight months before, she had regarded Fenton Hardy with awe that bordered on terror, so that the mere act of speaking to him had been an effort. Things had changed, that was certain! She smiled, thinking back. I’d never have believed, back then, that I could tease him about looking like James Bond – or that he would hold me and comfort me the way he did back there in the hotel room! What a difference!

The two girls walked slowly down the street towards one of the numerous ice-cream shops. Megan practiced with the camera as they went, shooting footage of various things, more for the fun of playing with Frank’s new toy than anything else. When they reached their destination, she switched it off, and they went inside.

The little shop was air-conditioned, and the girls decided to eat there, rather than walking back with the hot sun melting their ice cream. They perched on stools at one of the small, high tables, and settled down to the serious business of licking the cones.

"Wonder when the boys will get back?" Vanessa crunched a piece of peppermint candy.

"Soon, I hope. I wish we’d gone with them." Megan replied. "It would have been more fun – although watching Mr. Hardy was marvelous, don’t get me wrong!"

Vanessa nodded. "I know what you mean. Yeah, we’d have had more fun with the boys, even if the ride was a little rough."

They left a little later, and wandered further down the street, looking into store windows. Vanessa halted in front of one featuring computer supplies.

"I’d like to check in here. I’ve been looking for something for Mom, and they might have it here."

Megan grinned surreptitiously, recalling the miniature hot-air balloon that was supposedly for Andrea, but merely said, "There are public restrooms just down that alley—" She pointed to the sign. "I think I’ll duck down there, and then meet you in the shop."

"Okay," Vanessa replied, and disappeared through the doorway.

Megan walked into the alley and headed for the restroom entrance at the far end. She paused for a moment, checking to make sure she’d turned the camera’s power off – no sense running the battery down, after all! – and was about to resume her walk when she was startled to see two elongated shadows, looming large past her. She turned slightly, just as someone slapped a meaty hand across her mouth – and another someone said:

"Give us the camera, like a good girl, and you won’t get hurt!"