But an icy fist was forming in his stomach as he drove recklessly into the campus of Bayport Community College, and headed along the paved road towards the auditorium and the bell tower. He squealed to a stop in the circular drive. Throwing open the car door, heedless of his aching, imprisoned left arm, Frank lunged out of the Saturn and raced towards the tower.

She wasn’t there. Megan wasn’t there.

"Megan! MEGAN!" Frank stood at the bottom of the ladder to the carillon tower, shrieking her name at the top of his lungs. He knew she’d gone up – her purple backpack lay discarded nearby, mute evidence that she had been there. And she’d said she was going to follow Kirk – going to ascend the tower….She should never have gone after him! "MEGAN!"

No answer. Silence, broken only by a few sleepy bird calls, and the usual traffic sounds. And then – was that noise coming from above? A scuffling, scraping sound….

"MEGAN! Are you there? Answer me!"

Silence again.

Frank grasped the side of the ladder with his right hand, and stepped onto the first rung. Unable to grip the other side, and thrown off-balance by his cast and sling, Frank swayed outward before he could try ascending. He made a futile grab at the ladder with his left hand, missed, and dropped back to the ground, swearing helplessly.

"Damned cast! Damn it!" Frank pulled his sling off, then seized the edge of the cast with his fingers and yanked hard, hoping he could loosen it, break it, tear it off – SOMETHING! Desperately, he clawed at it, tried smacking it against the ladder in hopes of breaking the plaster – and only succeeded in causing pain to shoot from his wrist all the way up to his shoulder. "OUCH!" He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily. Obviously, this wasn’t working.

"All right, I’ll just manage to climb it one-handed," he gritted. Again, he grasped the side of the ladder and mounted the first rung. Clinging like a leech with his right hand, Frank managed to haul himself up another rung, then halted, stymied. How could be move his hand? Tentatively, he stretched the fingers of his left hand to hold the rung nearest, but could only manage a feeble, insecure grip. Still, it was better than nothing. He slid his right hand up slowly, not daring to completely let go.

It worked…sort of. Holding tightly with his right hand, Frank drew up first one foot, then the other, and moved higher. This is too slow! Inch by frustratingly slow inch, Frank moved upwards – aware that precious seconds were ticking by, and who knew what might be happening to Megan while he snail-paced his way up?

He had gone perhaps ten feet up when a sudden scrabbling, slithering sound above him alerted him to the presence of another person on the ladder. Frank tilted his head backwards to see who was descending, and was suddenly hit by a body hurtling into him from above! Torn roughly from the ladder, the Hardy boy fell to the ground, landing with an impact that drove all the breath from his body, and sent pain coursing through him. Momentarily stunned, Frank lay still; darkness overwhelmed him.

"Stupid idiot!" Kirk Moncrief skidded the last few feet down the ladder, and leaped over the inert form lying on the ground. He started off, then suddenly wheeled about and stared at Frank thoughtfully. "Can’t let you go up and find her," he muttered. He shrugged out of the backpack momentarily, and unzipped it, pulling a couple of sneaker laces from the main pocket.

Kirk then stooped and tugged Frank’s body the few feet to the very bottom of the carillon tower, where he propped him into a sitting position, and proceeded to use the shoelaces to lash his hands and feet tightly. "That ought to slow you down – maybe you’ll just go with the tower too!" Without a backward glance, he grabbed his backpack, and ran down the sidewalk as fast as he could go. Far above, curling tendrils of smoke began to rise into the air, and a soft crackling sound could be heard.

*****

"I’m telling you, he’s up to something tonight!" Dave Wahlstrom said urgently. He had found Joe after football practice, and had lain in wait for him outside the locker room at Bayport High, where practice had been held. Joe – while changing out of his practice clothes and trying to clean up a little – had been listening to him say the same things over and over and over again, for the last 15 minutes.

Joe was tired, he was sore, and he was once again exasperated with his football team. Sure, they’d managed to squeak out a win the other day, despite all the predictions of failure – including his own! – but today, it had all seemed like the incredible fluke it probably was. Dropped passes, missed assignments – and somehow, he always seemed to be the one on the bottom of the pile! First game won…and it’ll be the last one we win, too! he thought glumly.

Stop being so cynical, Joe! He could hear Vanessa’s voice in his mind, chiding him. He smiled, thinking of her – what wasn’t to smile about, after all? Maybe he was too cynical. They had beaten Lutheran Heart, against all predictions and odds, and maybe they’d either get lucky again, or….

"Joe, are you listening to me?" Dave joggled his arm.

"Yeah, yeah, sure I’m listening, Dave," Joe sighed. "I’m just tired. I’m sorry. Tell me again – what do you think is going on, and why do you think it’s going on?"

Dave eyed him dubiously, apparently unsure of Joe’s attention. "Well," he began to explain, "I’d gone down to the meeting room in Arbuthnot. I mean, I was going there…but when I started in, I saw Kirk Moncrief. So I sort of dodged back before he saw me – and then I peeked around the corner of the door and watched him."

Joe nodded encouragingly, listening intently now.

"He was alone in there – and he was doing something funny," Dave said earnestly. "Funny-odd, not funny-ha-ha. He was gathering up stacks of the informational fliers and posters, and stuffing them into his backpack."

"You don’t think he was going to put them up, or hand them out?" Joe queried.

"No." Dave shook his head. "Kirk NEVER hands out fliers or posts them! He says they’re not effective….And anyway, he was just stuffing them in – not trying to keep them nice; he was crumpling ‘em. So Joe, he couldn’t be going to put them up anywhere. He must have taken them for some other reason…." Dave’s voice trailed off, and he stared at Joe anxiously. "I tried to call you, and when I found out you were at football practice over here, I came right over. Maybe I should have followed him, instead, huh? I don’t know what Kirk might be planning to do, but it’s been over an hour now since I saw him…he’s had plenty of time—"

"Okay, okay, take a breath, Dave." Joe held up his hands in a shushing gesture. "All right. Let’s check it out. I’ll go with you back to campus, just in case that jerk is up to something. If we could catch him in the act, then the case would be closed. Over and out. Done."

"All right!" Dave grinned in relief, and Joe grinned back. They exchanged high-fives, and raced towards the parking lot and Joe’s Aztek.

"I’ll drop you back here later, to pick up your car," Joe yelled, thumbing his key fob to unlock the vehicle. He yanked open the door and tossed his athletic bag into the back seat.

"Don’t have to – I got dropped here earlier," Dave responded as he jumped into the passenger seat. "My car’s kaput."

"In that case, I’ll take you home, after," Joe offered, and started the engine. "Of course, Kirk might not be planning on doing anything tonight, you know," he cautioned. "He might just be preparing ahead, for some other time."

"No, I know that." Dave shook his head as he clicked his seat belt. "But I still have this feeling that something’s going to happen tonight, Joe! It’s just a feeling, but….Where do you think we should look for him?"

"I’ll decide when we get there," Joe muttered. He shoved the car in gear, and stamped on the accelerator. Dave gulped, and braced a hand against the dashboard; Joe flicked his eyes sideways at him, and grinned to himself as they tore out of Bayport High’s parking lot, burning rubber all the way. Just like the old days…!

They arrived at the community college campus in what Dave was positive was a new record, time-wise. As Joe turned into the main drive, Dave eased his tight grip on the edge of his seat and turned a decidedly pale face towards the younger Hardy.

"Ever think of taking up driving NASCAR, Joe?" he inquired feebly.

Joe snorted inelegantly. "We got here, didn’t we?" He stopped the car in the nearest parking space on the street, switched off the motor and cocked his head, listening. "Hey, I hear sirens!"

Dave opened his door and half-stood, looking around. "Over there!" he cried, pointing. "Look! Smoke – the auditorium? No, wait – it’s the bell tower!"