She crouched down beside the wet, sandy, bedraggled figure, and grasped his arms. With a strength belying her years and slenderness, she pulled and tugged her surprise visitor out of the hallway and into the living room. There was a small fire still burning in the fireplace, despite the late hour; once she had the young man situated satisfactorily, Helen quickly added more wood and encouraged it to blaze up with renewed vigor.

"Wake up now, lad." She knelt down and began chafing his face with her hands, then moved on to his hands. The poor boy’s like ice! Hastily, Helen brought extra blankets from the cedar chest in her bedroom, and wrapped them about the young man, moving him as close to the fire as she dared.

Helen peered out through the front window. The light wasn’t lit tonight, at Stone Point. No sweeping band of illumination tonight; she hadn’t expected it to be, for it seldom was, any more. She missed it – missed the old days, when it was shining every night.

Well, first things first. Mrs. Merrick went to the telephone and dialed 9-1-1. When the operator answered, she gave the needed information about her mysterious visitor. Assured that an ambulance would be dispatched immediately, Helen returned to a seat on the rug before the fireplace, kneeling beside the still, slack-featured boy lying there. She touched his face gently; he was starting to feel a little warmer, but still, he was much too cold.

"Boy? Wake up, please?" She shook his shoulder gently.

The young man moved his head slightly, but didn’t open his eyes. After a moment, he muttered thickly: "Frank…hurt….get help. Matt – cave….Cliff, the cliff…." And then lapsed into unconsciousness once more, although he was shaking and shivering, even so.

Helen frowned. She knew hypothermia could cause dementia, but this didn’t sound quite like what she thought dementia would. Well, she wasn’t going to desert this youngster, demented or not, she decided. Years spent dealing with ten children, eighteen grandchildren, and fourteen great-grandchildren stood her in good stead; at the moment this young man needed her help, and she wasn’t likely to turn her back on him!

She got to her feet and went into the kitchen, where she proceeded to heat water for tea. He needs to be warmed inside as well as out; I can do this much for him before the paramedics get here, she decided. It won’t hurt him, and the way he’s shivering makes my very bones ache! He reminded her a little of Ryan, one of her grandsons. While she waited for the water to boil, Helen fetched two heat packs and warmed them in the microwave, then tucked them into the blankets wrapped about the stranger. She was rewarded with a sigh, and what looked like a relaxing of his muscles, as the heat began to penetrate and do its job. She felt his face again, and was glad to see it was no longer icy, merely cool to the touch.

A muted siren’s whoop and red and blue flashing lights drew her attention outside, and then there came the abrupt ringing of the doorbell, startling in the stillness. Recovering her poise, Helen made her way to the door and admitted two paramedics and a young police officer accompanying them.

"Ma’am? I’m Officer Jeremy Isaacs," the policeman introduced himself. He waited, politely, while Helen showed the medics the reason for her call, then went on. "Can you tell me what happened here?"

Half-watching as the medics began checking the young man over, Helen complied. "I stayed up late – I was listening to the radio – the classical music station – and doing some knitting. And then all of a sudden, there was this pounding on the door. When I opened it, that young man started babbling about needing help, about some other people needing help. People he called Matt, and Frank, and how they were in a cave somewhere on the cliffs. And then—" she gestured towards the floor. "—he just…collapsed. Right there by the door. I dragged him in here and wrapped him up. He’s soaked through; freezing cold!"

Jeremy Isaacs stepped over to the little group in front of the fireplace, careful to stay out of the way of the paramedics as they worked, and stared down. His eyebrows elevated. Joe Hardy! I’ll be damned! What’s going on?

With a suddenness that surprised them all, Joe abruptly opened his eyes, staring wildly about himself. "What – where?" He pushed at the medic who was attempting to check his blood pressure. "Let go of me…."

"Sir, lie still please—"

"NO!" Joe fought off the restraining hands. "I’ve got to save my brother; the tide’s coming in, and Frank’s going to drown, and Matt, and I’ve got to get back to them with help—"

"Joe! Joe, calm down." Jeremy knelt down beside the overwrought younger Hardy. "Hey, remember me? Jeremy Isaacs? We played football at the park, and I got shot…."

"Jeremy…." Joe’s brief moment of strength was over; he sagged back down on the carpeting.

"Okay, tell me what’s the deal. What’s this about Frank and a cave? Which cave? Where?"

"It’s…there’s a cave, below the lighthouse," Joe struggled to think clearly. "Tide’s coming in….Frank’s there…and our friend, Matt. And Cherise, from the Historical Society. She’s been there, tied up, for several days, and she needs medical help more than I do – so you guys should just go take care of her, right? What are you waiting for?" He pushed at the nearest medic impatiently. "Go, go!"

"Take it easy." Jeremy gripped Joe’s shoulder gently. "We’re on it, okay?"

"My lands," Helen Merrick interjected crisply. "There’s plenty enough saving for all of you – now why don’t you just stay still, and give these nice people a chance to make you feel better, young man?"

Joe wanted to argue – but for some strange reason, his strength seemed to have deserted him, along with his voice. He found himself falling backwards once more, on the soft blankets…in front of the wonderfully warm fire….He let his eyes close, unable to form a coherent thought. Or words.

*****

Frank rocked back and forth on the unyielding rock, arms wrapped tightly about himself in a vain effort to conserve a little heat. He was no longer worried about the ache in his head; that seemed a minor inconvenience when compared to the discomfort of the chill wind which now whipped straight into the cave off the froth-capped waves of the bay. Occasionally, he forced himself to get to his feet and walk across the cave to the opening; to look out and see for himself the waves crashing ever higher, ever closer to the cave mouth. Calculating as best he could, Frank surmised that it would only be another hour or so, at best, before the waves would make their insidious way into the cave…and then, it would be Cherise alone who might survive. He and Matt had moved the unconscious young woman to the ledge where Erik’s bones rested – obviously a safe place from high tides, as they had lain undisturbed for all these decades.

"Hey – you want my jacket for awhile?" Matt was leaning over him, already beginning to shrug out of his coat. "You look like ice, dude. Ice in pain."

"No, no, that’s okay. Thanks just the same, but you keep it. We may as well both not freeze." Frank waved away the offer. "I’ll be fine a while longer." He forced a wry grin. "Cold, but fine." He closed his eyes, holding them closed and drawing in a long breath as he heard Matt’s reluctant retreat. Okay, Hardy, up on your feet. Moving around will keep you warmer, remember? He forced himself up, and prowled the little cave again, coming to a halt near that ledge. The ledge which held Cherise – and Erik. Emily still hovered there, seemingly unwilling – or unable – to leave. Frank sighed again. I thought she’d leave by now. I wonder what it will take for her to…to…let go. To stop holding on, and just…well…move on.

"You are most cold," Emily’s light, disembodied voice startled Frank out of his reverie. "It’s dangerous for you. I’ve brought you to this…."

"Nah, you didn’t." Frank shook his head in denial. "You didn’t have anything to do with us being here; that was those crooks. It wasn’t your fault." He wondered, inside his head, just why he was attempting to make a ghost feel better, to not feel guilty about the situation. That’s a question, Hardy, that maybe you don’t really want an answer to…. He tamped down on the thought, deciding to just ignore it, and began to pace again. "I guess I’d better keep moving – Matt, I think you ought to move around too. You don’t want to get so cold you’re too stiff to function."

Grumbling beneath his breath, Matt got to his feet. Frank caught a few words of the muttered complaints. "…Macey’s gonna kill me for this…good thing she’s way long distance; man, she’ll chew me out for weeks…months…" He moved over to the ledge, to stand next to Frank, and they both stood regarding Cherise somberly, shielding her from the relentless bite of the wind.

Frank, calling upon all that he could remember from first aid classes, checked her over again, concerned with his findings. Cherise remained unconscious, she hadn’t waked at all, she was slowly succumbing to hypothermia and who knew when the last time she’d been given water might be? Had their captors tended to her at all? Surely, they must have; she would have died before now, if they hadn’t.

All right! Frank chastised himself sharply. Stop it, Hardy, just stop it! Don’t go there. Stop thinking the worst! Joe’s strong, and he’ll make it. He’s in better shape than you are, at the moment, remember? So stop worrying about him. Now. That’s an order.

Right.

It was easy to say it to himself, but not so easy to believe it. He began to pace again, in the cramped confines of the cave, swerving to avoid Matt, to avoid running into – through? – Emily, who was now watching him with sad, regretful eyes. Occasionally he glanced out at the water, morbidly fascinated by the ever-rising waves. I don’t like waiting here to be rescued. I should have gone for help instead of Joe. I could have done it….

He sighed. I could’ve splattered myself all over the cliff, is what I could have done. Joe was right. I was already hurt, and he wasn’t. Matt isn’t experienced enough at climbing cliffs, and doesn’t know the territory. Joe was the logical choice. I had to let him go.

Turning once again, he walked back to the ledge where Cherise lay, with Matt crouched near, trying to shield her from the cold whips of the wind. Frank checked her, discouraged. She was so still and pale and so very cold, seeming to huddle into Joe’s jacket even in her unconscious state.

Knitting his dark brows, and straining to see in the soft moonlight – his eyesight had adapted to the low light conditions, but still, there were limits – Frank peered curiously at something which had caught his eye; something half-hidden behind the skeleton’s remains, half-concealed in the wall.

"Emily – excuse me, please," he murmured, stepping forward. He found no incongruity in the fact that he was excusing himself to a ghost. Emily was…well, she was a friend, in a way. No reason to be rude, right? Very gently, he shifted a few of Erik’s bones to one side, then poked a finger into a small crevice in the wall behind the skeleton. He concentrated, digging in further, and after a few seconds’ probing search, he tugged on something, pulling out what appeared to be a moldy leather pouch.

"Whoa, dude," he heard Matt say, "what did you find?"

"Not sure," Frank shook his head. "I don’t know what it is," he continued softly. "Something in the wall…."

Experimentally, he tugged on the cord that held the pouch closed. It had been knotted, and the strings were seemingly frozen that way; it resisted his efforts. Wishing once more for his knife, Frank glanced around the cave and finally spotted what looked like a promisingly sharp rock. He took his find over to it, and began to rub the cord across the edge in a sawing motion. Matt came to hang over his shoulder, watching in fascination.

Finally, it gave way with a dull popping sound, and Frank managed to pull the pouch open. Turning it upside down, he held the other hand beneath, cautiously pouring some of the contents into his palm. Even in the pale moonlight, the bright flash and glitter was startling…and mesmerizing.