Whether he was trying to convince someone else, or just himself, Frank was unsure. What he was sure of, was that it seemed to be necessary to keep reiterating that reassuring phrase, every waking moment. Ever since he had awakened to the realization that he’d nearly died the night before.

He had been sleeping…he knew he had been sleeping. Drifting downwards into slumber, then upwards into harmless thoughts of Megan, or of hurting whichever person came in to deliver the next two-hour wake-up call. He knew it was standard practice for a person with a possible concussion, but that didn’t mean he had to like it! And then, without warning, as he sank into deeper sleep once more, SHE had appeared, and all hell had broken loose! She could’ve killed me!

Frank sighed, realizing he was being maudlin, morose and cranky, all at the same time. Why on earth was he was suddenly so convinced that this apparition was real? What made today so different from the rest of his logical, rational, seeing’s-believing, life? Well, duh! She was real enough to nearly off me, that’s why!

He stared through his bedroom window, which overlooked the back yard and the patio. He shivered; it looked cold out. Thoughtfully, he walked over to the desk and jiggled the computer mouse, awakening the darkened screen. Better check on the weather forecast…. Although the weather sites could never seem to make up their minds about what they expected the weather to do. Check three sites, get three different predictions…. Well, he’d do it in a minute. Frank stood still, mentally debating the wisdom of going out to Stone Point Lighthouse. Why wouldn’t I go? I must be getting paranoid in my old age!

I’ll be twenty in a few days, he thought morosely. Heaven knows if I’ll actually live to be twenty! That homicidal ghost might succeed in her vengeful plans –darn it, no way am I giving in to a freaking ghost! No way! He paused, giving his head an abrupt shake.

Using the relaxation techniques learned in his many martial arts classes, Frank forced in several deep breaths, concentrating on the sheer physical act of breathing, letting the air flow into and out of his lungs. If his sensei could see him now, he’d laugh – or be terribly disappointed in his student, Frank knew. He felt a little calmer now. Whatever was wrong with him – why he was seeing a nonexistent ghost – he’d deal with it.

There’s no such thing as ghosts.

He quietly went about his morning routine, showering, shaving and brushing his teeth; dressing in jeans, a long-sleeved polo shirt, and a warm pullover sweater in rich brown tones. He pulled on thick socks and tied his sneakers before he returned to the bathroom to check the bump on his head. To his immense relief, Frank saw it was almost gone already, and the cut over his eye looked to be healing just fine. He left the gauze bandage off, leaving only the two butterfly strips. He was really, really glad that nobody had forced him to go to the hospital. I’ve spent way too much time in hospitals in the last four months – if I never go to one again, it’ll still be too soon! He was fine, his head was still attached, he wasn’t dizzy or disoriented, and despite the nightmare of the preceding night, he was feeling much better.

Good! He smiled at his reflection as he straightened his sweater and combed his dark hair. He was ready to face another day in Casa de Hardy.

"Primp any more and I’m going to start calling you Frances," Joe grinned from the open door into his bedroom. "You must spend more time in the bathroom than Vanessa and Megan combined!"

"I do not!" Frank protested vehemently. He took a swipe at Joe’s head with the comb he still held, but Joe just laughed and danced back out of the way. Frank grinned. "I happen to know a certain person who walks around with a comb in his pocket and whips it out about a thousand times a day while looking into the mirror of his Aztek. Sound familiar?"

"Not at all," Joe retorted.

"I owe you some smacking around, by the way," Frank informed him, moving slowly towards his brother with his hands menacingly outstretched. "For disturbing my sleep all night. Ready to pay?"

"Disturbing your sleep?" Joe protested, backing into his room, "If you smack me, you’ve gotta smack Matt and Mom, too, ya know! They helped! Besides, I’m not the one who woke everybody up screaming bloody murder, remember?" Joe caught his breath in consternation. He hadn’t meant to remind Frank of the nightmare episode.

Frank, however, dismissed it calmly. He wasn’t going to get freaked out by mention of his nightmare. They happened – life went on, didn’t it?

"Ringleader always gets it first," he stated, moving after Joe with dire purpose. The quick movement, however, jarred his head, which chose that moment to start hurting yet again. And it had just stopped! "Whoa…."

Joe stepped forward, all traces of laughter gone. "You okay? What’s wrong? What happened?" He laid a hand on Frank’s arm.

Frank moved the arm, shrugging Joe off. "Headache, that’s all. You’ve hit your head before; you know what it’s like. All seventy-six trombones are warming up…not to mention the 110 cornets!"

Joe, relieved, made a face at his older brother. "Sometimes I wonder if you’re a mutant, Frank. Nobody else I know would use a reference to an old musical to describe the pain in their head!"

"Culture, little brother, culture," Frank pronounced in a lofty tone. "If I don’t implant some culture in you, how else are you going to get it? I’ll bet you can’t even name the musical!" He grinned at the expression on Joe’s face, as Joe stuck out his tongue saucily.

"The Music Man you aren’t! Hah! So there! didn’t think I knew, huh?" Joe turned and headed for the hallway. "I’m off to see what we have for breakfast."

Frank nodded, and returned to his room. He sat down at the computer to check his e-mail and the weather sites. Three different forecasts for the Bayport area greeted him, and the best seemed to be a high of 50 and a low of 41. The possible chance of snow was mentioned more than once, and a better than possible chance of more rain. Frank sighed and wished it would make up its mind, already.

Of course, if it snowed, he’d be grounded from flying until it stopped. Jack Wayne might trust himself to fly in a snowstorm, but he didn’t allow either Frank or April to take off in weather like that. It was too risky on the engines when icy conditions were prevalent – or so Jack said over and over again.

The phone ringing interrupted the Hardy boy’s thoughts, and he grabbed it hastily. To his surprise, he heard Jack’s voice on the other end. "Weird, I was just thinking about you," he said. "Just in regards to the weather, though," he added, hearing Jack’s chuckle.

"I’m in a tight spot, Frank." Jack said. "Since we didn’t fly those runs because of the weather yesterday, I’m playing catch-up today. I know you aren’t scheduled, but I’ve got a second run that really, really needs to be done today – preferably before the bad weather hits. Do you think you could take it? It’s just to Hiawatha – it should only take you about two hours, tops! Ordinarily, I’d just have April do it, but she’s down with the flu, and I’m about to leave for my own flight." A wheedling note entered Jack’s voice. "If I kick in overtime pay?"

Frank leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Sure, I can take it," he replied. "No problem here. I’ll grab some breakfast to go, and be out of here within a half hour, all right?"

He could picture the relieved smile on his boss’s face as well as hear it. "Great! Thanks, Frank! It’s already loaded, and I’ll leave the paperwork on the seat. And Frank? Take it easy out there – it’s not started up on the weather yet, but it could hit while you’re out, and I don’t want you taking any unnecessary chances, got it?"

"Sure, ‘Dad’, I got it," Frank laughed. "Keep some of the good advice for yourself, Jack," he added, more seriously, "you’ll be up in it too, remember. Have a safe flight."

He hung up and made his way downstairs, walking softly past the closed doors to his parents’ room and the guest room, trying not to awaken either his mother or Matt. He found Joe making scrambled eggs in the kitchen, and calmly appropriated half to make sandwiches to take along. He also filled a thermos with the coffee remaining in the pot.

"Hey! What’s with stealing my breakfast?" Joe demanded, scowling. He pointed accusingly at Frank’s sandwich. "What’s going on?"

"Change of plans," Frank explained briefly. "That phone call was Jack – he needs me to fly a run this morning, since we couldn’t do them yesterday. Thought I ought to get another one in—" he grinned, "and he offered me time-and-a-half for flying it! I’ll try to meet up with you at the lighthouse later. It’s just a hop to Hiawatha, so I can probably make it there."

Joe nodded his understanding as he prepared to scramble more eggs for himself, eating at the same time. "Okay," he muttered around a mouthful of toast, motioning for Frank to go, "have a good flight. Oh, wait!"

Frank paused, looking back inquiringly, his hand on the doorknob. "Yeah?"

"Forgot to mention to you…" Joe chewed and swallowed hastily. "The Sleuth. You might check it out, while you’re out. If we want to give Matt his ride in it, we’re going to have to do it before the weather gets nasty, otherwise it’s no go."

Frank had no intention of letting Joe realize just how much relief he was feeling about Jack’s sudden request, or how much he hoped the flight would take long enough that he could skip going to Stone Point altogether. No way was he going to admit being scared of a ghost…ghosts don’t exist! he reminded himself firmly. Joe’s suggestion about the Sleuth seemed like divine providence!

"Hey, I’ll be more than happy to check her out! Do you want me to call you when I get back, then, so we can go?"

Joe frowned indecisively, poking at his panful of eggs. "Why don’t you just plan on you and Matt going?" he said at last. "I doubt if Vanessa really wants to go out and freeze to death on that boat, anyway. If the Sleuth is okay, why not just pick up Matt and go?"

"Sounds good." Frank very carefully kept his voice casual. It sounds a whole lot better than going back to that lighthouse! "When Matt wakes up, tell him I’ll call him later. And tell Mom where I went, okay?" He took off out the door, clutching his thermos and sandwiches. He was looking forward to the flight. Maybe once I’m up in the air I can get my mind off…everything. Like ghosts.

*****

It took longer to offload the plane’s cargo than it did to actually fly the run to Hiawatha, located on the far eastern edge of Long Island, New York. The flight itself had been great, Frank reflected, a decent tailwind that helped with both fuel and speed, and then a smooth landing on the small airstrip just outside of Hiawatha.

He did wonder, though, about people who insisted on flying cargo into small towns on Long Island, from Bayport. You could practically drive across the island – traffic notwithstanding – in a couple of hours! Why waste the money on air cargo charges, anyway? Still, there were always people who were eccentric enough – or desperate enough for the package – to demand cargo be airlifted rather than driven to a destination. And as long as that was the case, Frank was only too happy to do it. It brought money into Wayne’s World’s coffers, after all!

The man who offloaded the cargo was big and burly, and reminded Frank a lot of his old friend Biff Hooper – well, what Biff might be like in a few years. The guy would make a great defensive tackle for the Titans, Frank thought with an inward chuckle, thinking of Joe’s hapless football team as he watched the man effortlessly heft the heavy boxes from the plane and trot down the ramp.

But he wasn’t much of a conversationalist, was Jim Boyd. He greeted Frank with an abrupt nod, showed the right ID, signed for the packages, unloaded them, and was gone without anything further being said. Frank shrugged, deciding this guy wasn’t much like Biff, personality-wise, and waited for him to drive off, before he double-checked everything on the plane, got clearance from air-traffic control, and took off for the short hop back to Bayport. Some people just weren’t much for communication.

Frank settled into his flight path and glanced at his wristwatch. One mission nearly completed and it was just coming up on eleven o’clock. He’d left Bayport at 9:45…he’d have plenty of time to check on the Sleuth and then pick Matt up. Maybe they could get the trip done by 2:00 or so. It would be nice if they got back before the threatened colder, wetter weather hit. Unless Matt’s changed his mind about wanting to go on a sea trip in 40-degree weather, he mused. Maybe he has.

Frank stretched a little, flexing his shoulders, and reached for his thermos, pouring out some coffee. He took a sip and checked the instrument panels, smiling contentedly. Another twenty minutes and he’d be back on the ground in Bayport. He felt peaceful and relaxed. The memories of last night’s horrific dream had faded, along with whatever it was that had been bothering him…whatever it was that had made him think he was being chased by a ghost.

Almost killed by a ghost. Twice. Suddenly, the contentment was gone. Frank shivered, and tried to push the disturbing thoughts away again. No way am I going to keep freaking out about this...no way!

Don’t go there, Frank, he warned himself. Don’t go there. You’re still flying through the air in a plane! Not a good place for a freak-out!

He worked his shoulders up and down, then moved his head back and forth, stretching slightly and adjusting in his seat until he could concentrate on his instruments and dials once again. Okay, he warned himself. No freaking out. Stay calm…stay cool.

"Killer! You’ll pay!" The voice echoed in his mind – or was it in his mind? Wasn’t it right here in the cockpit with him?.

Frank let out a choked, startled scream. He didn’t mean to, but the cry involuntarily ripped from his throat without his permission. He took a deep, shuddering breath…and then froze.

Cold wind blew past him – around him – through him. Frank wanted to scream again. But he couldn’t…he couldn’t….

He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t move.