He’d dropped his flashlight, but either it was still on, somewhere on the floor, or whoever had hit him had one too, for he could see a soft glow, and elongated shadows bouncing around the chamber. Not…giving up…this time! Stay calm, Hardy – stay calm. Just stay awake and do what you have to do. Joe shook his head, hoping to clear the fuzziness, and immediately regretted it. OUCH! White-hot spears of pain shot through his head, and he hissed a smothered protest.

Hands grabbed at him, yanking on him. Okay, it’s not Emily! She uses that wind-thing to shove people around, she doesn’t grab! Heartened by the knowledge that he was fighting someone human, rather than the eerie, vengeful Emily, Joe managed to locate his attacker, and swung an arm, one fist connecting with a solid thump against the man attempting to subdue and tie him up. Hearing a guttural gasp, Joe followed the blow by drawing up his knees, and shot both feet into his assailant, shoving him away, hard.

OW! Joe wasn’t sure whether the impact had hurt his foe more, or himself. He blinked against the nearly-blinding pain in his head – come on, Hardy, it’s just a bump; you didn’t get hit that hard! – and managed to scramble unsteadily to his feet. He stood swaying, waiting – and the next instant, his opponent slammed into him, brutally shoving the younger Hardy against the wall.

His head banged the rough surface, and Joe had to fight to keep from screaming, as his vision streaked with hot flashes of pain. He flung himself forward, using his body weight and muscular strength to drive the other man backward. Seeing an opening, Joe lashed out with one foot and managed a solid blow to his opponent’s midsection. The man grunted and doubled over.

"G-give it up," Joe panted, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I’m not…alone. You aren’t…getting away!"

His adversary’s response was a phrase that would definitely have offended Joe’s mother, had she heard it. The thug lunged forward, diving low, and tackled Joe at knee level. Joe went down, hard. He didn’t have time to berate himself for his stupidity; he was too busy raising his fists to ward off his attacker’s blows. He managed to get in a couple of solid punches of his own in retaliation, still keeping up a sturdy defense.

At last, he gathered enough breath to yell as loudly as he could: "FRANK! MATT!"

The intruder swore again, and landed a hard blow on Joe’s chin, momentarily stunning him. Dazed, Joe saw the man pick up something from the floor – something metal…a gun!

A swift scissor kick drove the man back, and Joe saw with relief that he’d lost his grip on the weapon. The gun skittered across the floor, in and out of the illuminated band from the flashlight. Joe dove sideways and kicked at the gun, sending it into a dark corner out of reach.

"Joe? Dude?" The voice was Matt’s, the tone questioning. It came from near the doorway. "Did you yell? Everything okay?"

Joe’s only reply was a muffled grunt as he found his foe on his back again. What the hell does it take to keep this guy DOWN, anyway? He flung him off – barely. He was getting very tired – he was sore and achy, and what he really wanted to do was go home and crash! First things first – stupid bad guys!

"Matt! Careful! I’m not alone!" Joe roared, as he swung a doubled fist and connected solidly with his opponent. The man grunted sharply, startled, and retreated a step, panting. "Get in here, I need some help!"

"It’s not Emily, is it?" Matt sounded cautious, none too eager. "I don’t want her—"

"NO, it’s not Emily! Snap it up, Eckersley – get your rear in gear, before I totally lose it!" Joe sidestepped, managing to evade another blow. He didn’t really want to drag Matt into a fistfight, but he needed some help to capture this guy!

Just as Matt appeared in the doorway, Joe managed to drag his adversary down onto the floor. He flung himself atop the other man and sat there, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

"WHOA!" It happened before he realized what was going on. The figure beneath him heaved up suddenly, and got his hands under him. He shoved up, then flipped – hard. The unexpected move sent Joe flying into Matt, and both young men went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Their shadowy opponent leaped over them and disappeared out the door.

Joe struggled to his feet, he and Matt both shoving at each other as they tried to regain their footing. He slipped a time or two before he could get his feet under him and regain his balance. He raced down the passageway in pursuit, but suddenly the little hallway went dark and Joe heard a slamming sound: the trapdoor entrance had been closed!

He had to feel his way now; his flashlight had been left behind in the secret room with Matt. Reaching the ladder, Joe crawled up – and pushed on the door.

Which didn’t budge.

Joe pushed again, in vain. Well shoot, it’s like it’s nailed down! That’s impossible!

Grumbling, he edged his way back down the ladder, and limped down the little hallway, meeting Matt as the other man approached with the flashlight.

"We’re stuck!"

*****

Frank slid silently through the shadows of the century-old lightkeeper’s cottage, pausing occasionally to admire a particularly old vase or book sitting on a shelf. He hadn’t had time to really appreciate all the things that were here, before – other stuff had kept interrupting! Indicative of what he had learned about Mr. Carter the caretaker, there was no dust to be seen on any of the surfaces. It appeared that Mr. Carter had spent considerable time during the past few days, cleaning! Even the windows were polished; occasionally Frank could see light from outside shining across the rooms. Is that because Mr. Carter is obsessed with keeping the place clean, or has he cleaned everything up to make sure no fingerprints are around?

When he reached the back bedroom, Frank saw that the dismantled fireplace – Emily the Ghost’s former abode! – was already being restored. The room smelled of fresh mortar, and he could see the carefully-placed stones. He stopped, gazing reflectively at the remnant of Emily’s resting place. That’s where it all started – all this weirdness! He stepped back a pace or two, half expecting to see Emily leap out at him again. If she really wants me dead, she has the perfect opportunity right now, with me here alone!

Enough! I’m not going to think about Emily – I’ll think about someone much more pleasant…Megan. The smile Frank hadn’t been able to quite find, earlier, now appeared, and he chuckled to himself. Megan hadn’t been any too pleased when she found out just how much Frank had been keeping from her about the latest occurrences – namely, Emily’s actions! Luckily, she decided to be mad at Emily rather than me, the elder Hardy mused, grinning as he remembered his girlfriend’s acerbic comment: ‘Some hundred-year-old floozy thinks she can get away with hurting you, she can think again! I might have something to say about that!’ Frank was fairly certain she’d been merely teasing – trying to cheer him up – but she’d sounded pretty determined, and he’d learned not to underestimate her. For all that Megan was sweet and demure and polite to a fault, she could be a spitfire if she wanted to. She’d half-succeeded in the cheering-up venture, anyway. If I hadn’t been so freaked out by Emily – and the nightmare – she’d have done it!

Deciding that he was wasting valuable time, Frank left the back bedroom and proceeded upstairs, binoculars in hand. Matt said there was a good vantage point from up here….said you could see the both the Bay and the road leading to the lighthouse. If anyone shows up by either of those two routes, I’ll be able to see it. He frowned, momentarily. There was always the chance that someone could hike in from the back; he wouldn’t be able to see that, and it was entirely possible, for someone determined. Well, he’d just have to do the best he could.

Frank peered out the window, half expecting to see Matt wandering the grounds, snapping pictures. Nope, no Matt in sight. He couldn’t see Joe either, and wasn’t sure what he was up to. He’d said he was going to check out the hidden storeroom once more, looking for any signs of the secret jewel stash.

Frank raised the binoculars to his eyes and panned across the relatively calm waters of Barmet Bay. Weather’s actually decent – what a change! Cold, though. I might even have decent weather for my birthday. Where did that come from? I hadn’t even thought about my birthday in a long time! Oh, I know, Joe mentioned it. He said I was getting senile, or something….I suppose I should come up with plans to celebrate with Megan, or something. We’ve both been so busy lately…and for awhile, what with Emily’s shenanigans, he’d started to wonder if he was going to have another birthday!

He looked out over the grassy space again, and swept the binoculars across the roadway. Nothing. Maybe I ought to check out the back of the house. Silently, Frank moved out of the room, and across the hallway. In the next bedroom, he had to scramble over a bed and around a cabinet to reach the window – it appeared that the furniture had simply been shoved in here, with no effort at arrangement! – but at last he managed it, and peered outside into the early-evening gloom.

Still no sign of his brother or Matt Eckersley. Strange, Frank thought, perplexed. Where are Matt and Joe? Shouldn’t they be around somewhere? He stood quietly for a moment, thinking – watching and listening. He could hear nothing in the house; they hadn’t come in. Did they change their minds and go into the lighthouse, or something? He frowned, chewing on a corner of his lip in indecision. If he went outside looking for them, and there was someone watching the lighthouse, he’d blow his cover. Maybe it was too soon to start worrying about Joe and Matt anyway….surely they were all right.

Wheeling about to return to the other side of the cottage, Frank stopped abruptly. Standing there before him was a girl – a girl wearing an old-fashioned dress of soft linen…watching him with eyes filled with sadness.

EMILY! Damn, had he called her up just by thinking about her? Frank froze, but she made no move toward him, and her eyes didn’t contain the murderous, hateful expression he’d come to expect – instead, she merely watched, her tawny eyes surprisingly alive and alert.

"Elliott?" The soft, breathy whisper broke the silence at last – more of a question than the usual murderous certainty.

Frank shook his head. "My name isn’t Elliott," he said softly, hoping that if he stayed quiet, he wouldn’t alarm her. "I’m Frank – Frank Hardy."

"You aren’t Elliott…." Emily said, and sighed. "How do I know you aren’t lying?" she asked, then.

Frank felt just the slightest pressure of wind against his face – the threat of intent, if he didn’t say just the right thing…and say it right now.

"Elliott is a liar," Emily continued, almost dreamily. "He has always been a liar. He smiles and tells you what you think you want to hear…but when you try to tell him what you really want, then he turns on you." She eyed him curiously. "How do I know you aren’t lying to me? How do I know you aren’t really Elliott?"

Frank swallowed nervously. How could he prove his identity to her? Or more importantly, how could he prove he wasn’t Elliott? Would she listen to reason?

"Emily," he said gently, "I’m not Elliott. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since you died?"

The girl looked surprised at that, and Frank felt the wind increase slightly. He stood his ground, but didn’t move toward her; didn’t threaten her.

"Emily, it’s been over a hundred years. You’ve been dead over a century. If I was Elliott, I’d be over a hundred years old – I wouldn’t look like this." He gestured to himself.

She looked perplexed – obviously the time passage came as a surprise to her. Well, what was time to a ghost, after all? Frank reasoned. He was fairly certain they didn’t use calendars or day planners….

"What – what has happened to Elliott?" she asked.

Frank shook his head. "I don’t know. But if him being dead is what you wanted…you’ve got that, Emily. He’s dead now."

"NO!" The eerie shriek sliced through Frank’s head, and he grabbed at his ears, covering them protectively. "NO, I MUST MAKE HIM PAY! I WILL have my revenge!"

Abruptly, the chamber was filled with a roaring wind, which knocked Frank backwards into the wall behind him. Half-stunned, he shook his head and looked up – and found Emily looming over him threateningly.