The voice was soft, but insistent, and it seemed to tug at the bonds which held him bound so tightly; to unravel them just the slightest bit. Frank struggled against them, trying to draw in breaths, trying to free himself from the silken ties, trying to cut through the fog in his mind. Still hearing Emily’s taunting laughter, through the insistent voice. ‘Dear Elliott’….Elliott? Who is Elliott?

"Frank." The persistent voice was fiercer now. "Frank, listen to me. You need to wake up now."

The voice was familiar, and it enticed Frank, but it was so hard to follow the instructions. This isn’t Emily…this is someone I know. Nicer than Emily…safe. She’s safe….

"Mom?" Frank’s voice was low and raspy as his eyelids fluttered open. He blinked hazily up at the woman beside him.

Laura was standing close beside the bed, tugging at the blankets encasing her elder son. She’d never seen Frank so wrapped up in his bed coverings before; he was ordinarily a very neat sleeper, not prone to tossing and turning. "Honey, you’re all tangled up – you need to get yourself untangled, here. Did you have a bad dream, or something?"

"Uh…something like that, I guess. I don’t really remember," Frank dodged the question. He tried to ignore the cold voice he could still hear in his head. He knew for a fact that he wasn’t likely to ever forget that particular dream, or the chilling feeling of…death? Had he really come so close to dying, before his mother had come to rescue him? Now there was a scary thought!

"It must have been a doozy," his mother commented, still tugging at the twisted blankets. "Are you all right?"

"I’m fine." Frank added his struggles to Laura’s efforts. He managed to get one arm free, and used that to unwind the blankets and sheet. With a shudder, he kicked the blanket off the end of the bed. I may never sleep using a blanket again! Hell, I may never sleep again! He sat up and rubbed his head for a moment, then touched his cheek, feeling Emily’s caress there. He rubbed at his lips, remembering her kiss – and shuddered, closing his eyes. The kiss had been so cold – like touching ice.

"Frank?" Drawn back to the present, Frank opened his eyes and looked at his mother, who had seated herself on the edge of the bed beside him. Her blue eyes were full of loving concern. "What’s wrong? Do you want to talk about it?"

Frank managed a smile. "Nah, thanks Mom, but I’m okay. I guess I just freaked out a little, not being able to move. I’m fine. Thanks for coming to help. How’d you know? Was I yelling in my sleep, or something?"

Laura nodded. "Talking, more than yelling, but enough to wake me up."

"I’m sorry." Frank reached to hug her briefly. "You should go back to bed. I think I’m going to do downstairs and get a glass of milk, or something."

No way am I going back to sleep tonight! No way. No how. In fact, sleep may become a lost art, as far as I’m concerned! Frank could see that Laura was still worried, but he summoned another smile. "I’m okay, Mom; really. People have nightmares all the time and manage to survive; I will too. I’m just going to get a glass of milk and relax and then go back to bed." I’m not lying to her, he reasoned. I’ll go back to bed. I just won’t go back to sleep!

"All right, if you’re sure. Goodnight, sweetie." Laura leaned to kiss her son’s forehead, then stood up and exited the room.

For a long time, Frank didn’t move to get up; instead, he sat on the edge of his bed and tried to figure out what had just happened. He’d had a dream…he knew it was a dream…but it was real. The question was, was the dream prompted by him getting tangled up in the blankets, and thinking he was being slowly strangled…or had Emily been the malevolent cause of him getting tangled up in the blankets?

Damned ghost is making me insane, he thought. Totally insane. She’s insane, and she’s making me crazy too. I’m going to be blaming her for everything, now!

Sighing, he got up and tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen, making an attempt to keep quiet and not disturb his mother again, or Joe or Matt. No sense in everyone losing sleep just because Frank Hardy is taking up a career as an insomniac, after all….Joe usually awoke when things were amiss with Frank; he was sleeping hard tonight – Matt, too.

Well, it wasn’t odd that Joe should sleep soundly; he’d nearly been killed too – by the same vicious spirit!

Elliott. As Frank got out the milk carton and poured himself a small glass, he remembered the name. He sat down at the table and closed his eyes, forcing himself to remember. He didn’t want to remember – but what if this was a key to solving the puzzle of Emily? A clue. Elliott – obviously this was the name of whoever had killed Emily…and her boyfriend. Frank shook his head. The boyfriend…who was the boyfriend, and where was he? Had he really been killed too? Emily seemed certain of it. Yes, Frank, but Emily is certain that you killed her, too. Just how reliable is Emily, after all? She’s a damned GHOST!

Frank sighed and took a sip of milk. There he went again – thinking of Emily as a real person. Like she exists. And he didn’t want to admit that she did exist…or had existed, once upon a time. Too many scary things in that direction.

Eyelids drooping, he pulled a spoon from a drawer and began to stir his milk, as he had when he was a kid. Clink…clink…the soft sound was soothing in its familiarity. He pulled the spoon out, and sucked the milk off, half-closing his eyes. He nearly tumbled off the chair as he started to doze off again….

*****

Joe meditatively dragged a French fry through a pool of ketchup and took a bite. Elliott….He didn’t know any Elliotts; it was a sort of old-fashioned name. And he wasn’t up on Bayport’s past history enough to recognize a name, although something about it sounded a little familiar. He’d have to read some really old books to find out why; it obviously wasn’t someone on his radar.

But we need to find out, and fast, he reminded himself, recalling Frank’s haggard face this morning at breakfast. The poor guy looked as if he hadn’t slept much, and indeed, Frank admitted that that was the case. The dream had really bothered him, and who could blame him? Joe and Matt, although horrified and sympathetic, couldn’t do anything to reassure him – how do you protect someone from his own dreams, after all?

Maybe Vanessa can come up with something, Joe mused, absently chewing on his fries as he continued his musings. Since she can’t do much else at the moment. She’d sounded okay when they talked, earlier that morning – in fact, she’d sounded downright chipper! She’d mentioned she was going to work on some art projects for Andrea, since she was going to be home, and said she intended to get a start on writing the history of Stone Point lighthouse, for their project.

Of course, she’d been appalled when Joe told her about yesterday’s occurrences, and brought her up to date regarding Frank’s strange visitations – although he’d tried to gloss over the worst of it – but she was anxious to help, in any way she could. She’d promised to do some checking on the Internet, for any mention of Elliotts in historical Bayport.

"Maybe Elliott will end up figuring big in our research, Joe," she’d suggested. "If we could solve Emily’s murder, we could include that as a part of the history of the lighthouse!"

Joe had to admit, that sounded like a very good idea – nothing like combining detective work with schoolwork, to raise a grade! A mystery solved just for a report? Well, not quite, but….

Joe heaved a satisfied sigh as he chugged down a gulp of bottled water. Only one more class, and then he was done for the day. Outta there! Free to go investigate the bad guys – or chase ghosts….

He jumped a little as the ringing of his cell phone cut into his ruminations; he’d been lost in thought. Flipping it open, he smiled at the readout, and answered: "Hey, beautiful! How’re you feeling? Ankle any better?"

Vanessa sounded excited. "It’s okay. I should be back on two feet soon. Joe, I was doing some research, like I said I would…and I’ve come up with something I think is interesting."

Joe sat up straight, all thoughts of lunch forgotten. "What did you find? Something about our mysterious Elliott?"

"You’re reading my mind," Vanessa laughed. "Yes, something about Elliott, and something interesting…I think. Listen, Joe, I’m going to e-mail a picture to Frank’s computer, and I want you guys to look at as soon as possible. I think it will explain why Emily is fixated on Frank."

"Really? C’mon, spill, babe!"

"What sort of tie-in?" Joe snapped.

"So that explains who Elliott is – but what’s the connection with Elliott Pembroke and Frank, for Pete’s sake? Or why Emily’s got this compulsion to off my brother!" And me, Joe said to himself, but didn’t say that out loud.

Vanessa was silent for a moment.

"Babe? You still there?"

"Yes, I’m here. Joe—" she sighed, "you’ll see it when you see the picture, but here’s what it comes down to: Frank and Elliott Pembroke look alike! If they’d been alive at the same time, they could be brothers…twins, even!"

"Whoa!" Joe was stunned. He was positive they didn’t have any familial ties to Elliott Pembroke – after all, the Hardys weren’t from Bayport originally; they’d moved here when he and Frank were little!