A mocking laugh sounded from just above him. “Awww, too soon? That’s okay, I can wait.” The words were loaded with insinuation and left no room for doubt; Joe felt bile rise in his throat. His heart started to race as the hand touched him again, but it was only to remove the gag from his mouth.

“Who…who are you?” he managed to choke out, fear making his throat tight.

“My name is Ben,” the man answered, before lifting Joe from the floor and placing him in a chair. The boy shivered as he heard the man sniffing his hair before a coil of rope was wound around him, securing him to the chair.

“You smell nice,” Ben whispered suddenly in his ear and he jumped in fright.

The mocking laugh sounded again and the blindfold was removed. Joe blinked several times before a brightly lit basement came into view. It was sparsely furnished, the only things in it being the chair he was sitting on, an easel with a stool and side table containing paints, and a bed in the corner.

Joe’s heart gave a sickening lurch at the sight of the bed and thoughts of the killer his father was investigating flashed through his mind. Was this him? Remembering what had happened to the other boys, he prayed it wasn’t.

“How do you like your new home?” asked Ben, coming out from behind Joe and stopping in front of him. “Cosy, isn’t it?”

Joe didn’t answer. Instead, he kept his eyes on his muddy jeans, too afraid to look at this man. Ben laughed again and Joe cringed, already hating the sound of that cold, mocking laugh.

A hand reached down and cupped his chin, forcing his gaze upwards. Sharp, piercing blue eyes met his and Joe swallowed at the disgusting leer that unfurled slowly across a pale face.

“You don’t like me much, do you?” asked the man quietly, his tone venomous in its softness. When Joe didn’t answer, he grinned. “That’s okay, the other boys didn’t like me much either.”

For a moment, Joe’s heart stopped beating and his eyes grew wide.

Ben smiled wolfishly. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

Even though he was sitting down, the boy felt his legs go weak.

The man licked his lips, enjoying the horror that flickered across Joe’s face. “That’s why you’re so quiet, isn’t it? You’re afraid me.” The smile on his face grew monstrous. “The other boys were afraid of me too, although they screamed a little at first.” He ran a thin finger down Joe’s check and smirked nastily. “But they all went quiet in the end.”

Without warning, he dropped his hand and spun around, crossing over to the stool and easel. As he settled himself in the stool and picked up a paint brush, he addressed the boy. “I think I’ll leave you covered in mud for your first picture, it adds a nice touch.”

As he started to paint, Joe closed his eyes. He wanted to vomit.

“Eyes open,” the man commanded. Reluctantly the boy opened them. He sat in silence for several minutes, watching the man rake his eyes over him while he painted. There was a horrible, excited expression on Ben’s face and his insidious silence was filled with a meaning that Joe found both terrifying and repulsive. Finally he could no longer stand it and blurted out, “why are you doing this?”

The man looked up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Why…why hurt people like this?” Joe ventured, his voice shaky. “All those other boys…what you did to them…why?”

“The same reason that anybody does anything,” shrugged Ben. “Because I wanted to.”

“You…you wanted to?” Joe whispered.

“Yes.” Ben lowered his paintbrush. “I know there are dozens of police officers and detectives and criminal profilers out there trying to psychoanalyse me, but the truth of the matter is there’s nothing to psychoanalyse. My parents were wealthy, I had a good childhood and a decent education, there’s no great trauma in my past…I just like causing pain.”

Joe grappled with the man’s words, his mind reeling. When his father had told them about this killer he had imagined someone crazy with wild eyes and a demented mind, but this man was so coldly sane, so calculating, that the horror of his crimes were all the more terrifying.

“Why would anyone like causing pain?” he asked before he could stop himself. But he was just so stunned, so appalled by this man’s admission that he couldn’t think clearly.

Ben smiled. “To someone like you, I’m just a monster, a freak of nature born without a conscience. I’m the kind of person papers are written about because I’m the human abnormality; the man with a defective gene or chemical imbalance, the man that was just born wrong. But you see, here’s the funny thing, Joe, I’m less of a freak than people realise.”

Slipping off his stool, Ben crossed over to Joe and crouched down in front of him. “Humans are all about morality and ethics, we learn the difference between right and wrong at an early age. More importantly, we’re taught the consequences of doing wrong and that’s where people fail to see the truth behind having a conscience; it’s not something we’re born with, it’s something that’s morally imposed on us by society. I find it funny that people like me are saddled with tags like sexual deviant or sadistic personality disorder when we’re the only ones being truly honest about our baser instincts.”

He reached out and caressed Joe’s cheek, enjoying the shudder than ran through the boy’s body. “I may be a monster in the eyes of society, but at least I don’t lie to myself about my wants.”

Joe’s blood turned to ice at the look on Ben’s face and he closed his eyes. Horrible choking fear seared through him. Despite his best efforts, his mind started to fill with thoughts of what this man was going to do to him and he could feel burning behind his eyelids. Hurriedly, he scrunched them tightly so that this man would not see him cry.

Ben laughed his horrible laugh. “Do you know what irony is, Joe?”

Careful to keep his eyes closed and his breathing quiet, Joe nodded.

“Want to know what the irony in this situation is?”

He waited a moment for Joe to answer, but when the boy never responded he merely leaned forward and continued speaking with unnerving relish. “It’s a rather cruel irony really. You see, the fact of the matter is…I was going back to New York today.”

Joe’s eyes shot open and he stared at the malicious expression on the face in front of him.

Ben gave an evil chuckle. “Ironic, isn’t it? I had just given up on your brother when fate presented me with you!”

He leaned forwards even more and brushed a lock of Joe’s hair away from his ear before whispering, “do you know how much I wanted your brother?”

Evil insidiousness oozed from every word he spoke and it was too much for Joe, he couldn’t stop the tears from spilling out. This man was disgusting and depraved…and he was terrified.

“Stop,” he whispered.

“You mean you don’t want to hear the whole story about why you’re here and he’s not?”

Joe shook his head.

“Well, too bad!” snarled Ben, his coldly dulcet tones changing abruptly to a harsh growl. “You’re going to hear it whether you want to or not! Before your stupid brother came along, I always got what I wanted!”

He got to his feet and walked around Joe, stopping behind him. He reached forward and started to twirl a lock of the boy’s hair between his fingers. The teenager started to shake and tried to suppress a sob. He was mortified and ashamed by his tears.

Ben leaned forwards and started to speak in Joe’s ear. “A few weeks ago, I was getting the train back to New York when I saw two delightful creatures getting off the train in Bayport. So entranced was I, that I followed them home instead of catching my train.”

He moved his hand through the boy’s hair, stroking it. Joe swallowed the urge to be sick as Ben continued. “I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that they were you and your brother.”

Using both hands, he forced the teenager’s head back until he was looking at him. “By the time I discovered who your father was, it was too late. I had my heart set on your brother.”

He laughed at Joe’s terrified repulsion. “Oh, I admired you too, Joe, but I dismissed you as too much work.” He let go of the boy’s head, pushing it forward roughly and walked around the chair so that he was facing him once more. “You’ve probably never noticed this, but you’re almost never alone. Between your parents and your friends and your brother, there’s nearly always someone with you.”

The boy shivered in response, dropped his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He wished he was with his brother and his parents right now.

“I thought it would be much too hard to try and get you alone,” Ben continued, “so I decided to focus my attention on Frank. And I was glad I did; he’s a beautiful boy and most unusual for a teenager. He would have been the prize of my collection. My paintings,” he added, as Joe’s eyes opened in confusion. “I paint all my boys. Their faces sometimes blur a little in my memory and my paintings keep them clear…I like to remember.” He ran his tongue over his lips tasting the words as he said them. “I even send one as a little memento to the boys’ parents.”

He shook his head. “But your brother, I’m sorry to say, proved to be more trouble than I expected. I never intended to take him quite so soon; but he was alone, it was after dark and I couldn’t resist.” For the first time, Ben looked angry, clenching his jaw as he continued to speak. “He put up quite a fight. The damn janitor nearly caught me because of your brother. That’s never happened before.”

“I guess my brother’s not a coward like you!” Joe spoke up, pride in his brother’s actions giving him courage. A vicious back-hand to his face quickly put paid to that and he dropped his head, trembling in fear and tasting the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.

“Don’t you ever speak to me like that again, or I will make you very sorry, do you understand?” growled Ben, his voice low and frighteningly dangerous.

Joe, keeping his eyes on the ground, nodded.

“Good boy,” Ben sneered, mock-patting him on the head. Joe didn’t respond this time.

The man smiled to himself before continuing with his story. “I actually visited the hospital a few times in the hope of getting to Frank there. Everyone was expecting a monster so no-one paid any attention to me and I was able to blend in. Not a single person ever looked twice at me…including you.”

Joe slowly raised his head and looked at Ben. The man was watching him with a mocking glint and suddenly Joe realised, he had seen this man before.

“You…you were at the payphone in the hospital,” he choked out, shock sweeping over him.

“Yes. And after hearing every word of your conversation with your little girlfriends, I decided never to use temazepam again. It was too risky after what happened to Frank; what if I procured some other delightful companion and it killed him before we got to know one another? That wouldn’t do at all.” Ben gave a disgusting smile. “I like getting to know all my guests.”

He squatted down in front of the boy and stared him directly in the face. “After my first attempt at kidnapping Frank, your father kept an annoyingly close watch on him. If it wasn’t your father then it was a police officer or some detective. I finally realised that I was wasting my time; your father was never going to let him out alone until I was caught. I decided to go back to New York.”

Using his hand, he forced Joe to look him directly in the eye. “And that brings us back to the irony, Joe. You’re here because I was going back to New York.”

Ben smiled cruelly at the boy’s growing distress. “You see, I wanted a last look at Frank so I camped out in the bushes across the road from your house…and I heard a most interesting conversation between your father and his friend, Sam. You had football practice and because your father had to stay with Frank he needed Sam to pick you up. Fate handed me the time and place of where you were going to be so I thought, why waste it?”

Leaning forwards, the man put one hand on Joe’s leg and his mouth to the boy’s ear. “You might not be my first choice,” he whispered huskily, “but you make a lovely consolation prize.” He ran his fingers over the boy’s lips and Joe jerked back, retching in disgust.

“Don’t touch me!” he hissed.

“Try and stop me,” Ben smirked, getting to his feet. He crossed the room and settled in the stool by the easel once more. “It’s time to finish your painting,” he said, and picked up the paintbrush, dipping it in some paint before giving the boy a monstrous smile. “But make no mistake about it, when I’m finished I will get to know you better.”

Shaking with fear, shock and revulsion, Joe closed his eyes. They were burning hotly once more and he gave an angry, choked sob. Why was he crying? Why couldn’t he make them stop? Why the hell was he being such a coward? Wasn’t it bad enough he was in this situation with having the added embarrassment of behaving like a child?

You wuss! he berated himself, trying desperately to regain some semblance of control, but he had never felt so ashamed or angry or terrified in his life.

“NYPD! FREEZE!” a voice roared suddenly and Joe opened his eyes in shock.

The massive frame of Mike Wilson stood framed in the doorway to the basement, a gun pointing at Ben’s head.

***

Frank gawped at Fenton. He had never heard his father use words like that before.

Fenton Hardy stood in the centre of the living room, breathing heavily and staring at his shattered phone. His countenance bore a close resemblance to that of a raging dervish as fear, horror and fury raged across his features.

“Fenton?” Sam ventured uncertainly. The others could only stare in open-mouthed shock as he struggled to get his emotions under control.

The detective never answered and Sam took a step towards him. “Fenton!” he repeated, more insistently. Wordlessly, Fenton turned to face him. “Are you alright?” asked Sam anxiously.

“I’m fine,” he replied, the effort of speaking distorting his voice.

“Yeah, right!” Sam snorted. “Fenton, what the hell just happened?”

The detective looked as though he weren’t quite sure how to answer that, his behaviour having stunned himself, and stared at Sam for a long minute. “Mike thinks he knows where Joe is,” he said finally.

Con’s jaw dropped. “What! How? And how does he even know Joe is missing?”

Fenton swallowed. “He heard the missing persons broadcast go out on Joe over the police scanner.”

“That still doesn’t explain how he knows where he is,” Sam pointed out, watching Fenton closely. The strain on his face was evident and he looked like a man about to crack. Sam wondered what else Mike had said.

“Fenton?” Con prodded when the detective didn’t answer.

“He was near the school when he heard Sam’s radio call,” Fenton explained. “So he decided to drive over there. Some lunatic came flying out of the school gates and nearly crashed into him but didn’t stop. Mike got suspicious and tailed it to some old mansion outside Bayport. He’s still there.”

“But did he actually see Joe?” Sam persisted.

“No. He hasn’t been able to climb the wall yet.”

“Yet?” said Con sharply. “What do you mean yet? Fenton, please tell me he’s not about to break into somebody’s house without any proof?”

Fenton didn’t answer and Con groaned. “Fenton, if Joe’s not there then Mike could get in a lot of trouble, and if he is there then Mike could put him in some serious danger!”

“I know!” Fenton ground out, panic in his voice. “But he wouldn’t listen to me! He said- ” The detective stopped abruptly, looking sick. He glanced at Frank and Laura before shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. We need to go, we need to get out there.”

“What? He give you an address?” asked Sam sharply.

“Not quiet. He’s turned on the GPS in his cell phone, he said we can track that.”

“Excellent idea,” said Con, immediately pulling out his cell phone and calling Chief Collig. As he spoke quickly into the phone, Frank turned to his father.

“Dad, I want to come.”

“No way, absolutely not!” his father told him at once.

Frank opened his mouth to argue but his father held his hand up. “I don’t want to hear it, Frank. It’s too dangerous. You’re staying here.”

Frank closed his mouth, misery etched on his face.

“Frank, if Joe’s there, we’ll bring him home,” said Sam gently, feeling overwhelmingly sorry for the disconsolate and frightened boy. “But we need you to stay here so we can do it safely, okay?

Stiff and shaking, his eyes still on his father, Frank nodded.

Con hung up the phone and turned back to them. “Chief Collig’s activating the GPS right now. He’s going to meet us with a unit on route.”

Fenton nodded grimly. “Let’s go.”

“Wait!” said Sam as Con and Fenton started towards the door. He frowned at them both. “Someone needs to stay here…just in case.”

“I’ll do it,” Con offered quietly, one look at Fenton’s face telling him just how desperately the man needed to go; waiting here would probably drive him insane.

“Thanks, Con,” Fenton whispered gratefully.

“I’ll tell Chief Collig to contact you through Sam’s phone,” the officer told them quietly. “Call as soon as you have word.”

“We will,” Fenton promised.

The two men left quickly, the sound of the front door slamming shut behind them sounding horribly loud to the three silent figures left waiting in the living room.

***

Mike glared with hatred at Ben as he moved slowly into the room. The gun was steady in his hand. “I’ve waited a long time to catch you,” he said quietly.

Ben didn’t answer. Mike kept his eyes fixed on him as he edged across the room towards Joe. The boy’s ragged breathing was painfully loud to Mike’s ears.

Bastard! thought the detective angrily as Joe’s sobs tore through him. This man was through terrorizing children; if he had to kill him to ensure that, then he would.

“It’s alright, Joey,” said Mike softly, as he reached the teenager. “You’re safe now.”

Never taking his eyes off of Ben, Mike indicated with his gun. “Get over by the wall, now!”

The man obliged, still saying nothing.

“Turn and face the wall,” Mike ordered. Ben did as he was told. “Now, kneel down and place your hands on the back of your head, fingers laced together.”

The man complied with his orders and Mike gave a grim smile. “You move and I will shoot you. Do you understand?”

Ben nodded.

Quickly, Mike dropped to his knees beside Joe and put his gun on the floor. His heart ached when he saw the boy’s pale, terrified face and red-rimmed eyes. “Did he hurt you?” the detective asked softly.

Joe shook his head.

That’s something I suppose, thought Mike, trying to keep a check on his emotions. He would have to play this very cool.

“Let’s get you out of these ropes, okay?”

With another glance to make sure the man was still by the wall, Mike started to untie Joe. It took several minutes as he had to constantly check on Ben, but eventually he removed the last of the ropes and helped the boy to his feet.

“Joe, I don’t have my handcuffs, so I’m just going to use these ropes to tie him up. I want you to wait right here for me while I do that, okay?”

Rubbing his raw wrists, Joe nodded.

Keeping his gaze on Ben, Mike reached down and retrieved his gun plus several coils of rope from the floor. He walked slowly towards Ben and stopped two feet away from him. Holstering his gun, he addressed the monster kneeling on the floor. “Keeping your hands on your head, I want you to get to your feet nice and slow.”

The man started to struggle slowly to his feet, fumbling once or twice. Mike made no move to help him but waited patiently until he was standing facing the wall. He walked forwards and grabbed the man’s right wrist, twisting it roughly as he brought it back behind him. Then he reached for the other wrist.

Suddenly, Ben spun and used his left elbow to smash him in the face. Momentarily stunned, Mike loosened his grip on the other wrist allowing the man to yank it free. The detective reached for his gun as Ben spun to face him. There was a flash of silver and Mike’s world turned blindingly white as fire erupted inside him. Looking down, he saw a large knife embedded in his stomach, a hand still on the handle. His gaze on the knife, Mike missed the look of evil glee that crossed Ben’s face, but he saw the hand twist the knife inside him before yanking it out.

“I’ll do it to him when I’m done with him,” sneered an evil voice in his ear but Mike only heard part of it. His world was spinning into a kaleidoscope of colours; red, white, pink, yellow and black. Something hard hit his shoulder and he raised his hand to fight back before realising he had fallen into the wall and was fast sliding down it. With a painful twist, he turned to face the room and saw Joe watching him in frozen horror. Their eyes locked and Mike wanted to tell him to run, but although his mouth formed the words, all that came out was a strangled gargle.

The pain was horrendous; cold fire exploding in a boiling cacophony of agony. Mike closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths, willing the pain away. Halfway between slumping and standing, consciousness and unconsciousness, Mike heard a loud crash and forced open his eyes.

Joe and Ben were locked in a deadly struggle. The man had pinned the boy against the wall, trying to subdue him by force; one hand was wrapped around the boy’s throat while the other pinned his right wrist to the wall. Kicking desperately with his legs and his free hand scratching viciously at Ben’s face, Joe was putting up a good fight.

But Mike could see he was weakening against a far stronger opponent and he could hear the things the man was yelling at him, perverse things no child needed to hear. His pain melted into a hot ball of anger and by sheer force of will, Mike forced himself to stand. Reaching for his gun, he took several unsteady steps forward and tried to keep his balance in the rapidly swaying room.

Jesus! This is worse than those rides at the carnival! he thought to himself. He had always detested those fairground rides.

A loud thump drew his attention back to the struggling pair. Joe was on the ground in a ball, Ben looming over him. Mike saw the man lift his foot as if to kick the teenager.

“Oh, no you don’t!” he gasped. As Ben turned to face him, he fired.

It all happened in slow motion. Ben gave a little jerk and staggered back. He had barely enough time to give Mike a shocked look before he crumpled to the floor. The detective remained where he was for several minutes, his gun trained on the inert figure before he was convinced that the man would not be getting up again.

Staggering and weaving, Mike made his way over to where the teenager was slowly getting to his feet.

“Is…is he dead?” Joe whispered.

“No loss,” said Mike bitterly and grimaced. The fire in his stomach had started to turn into sharp, piercing ice. It hurt to breathe.

“Are you okay, Mike?” Joe gulped, his eyes glued to the gaping, oozing wound in the big man’s stomach.

“Just fine, Joey,” he answered, his face pale and slick with the gleam of sweet. It cost him a lot of effort to talk but he needed to reassure the badly shaken boy. “Your Dad’s on the way. Let’s go outside and meet him, okay?”

Leaning heavily on the wall for support, Mike led the way out of the basement. He groaned to himself as the huge, winding stairs he had crept down in his search for Joe loomed before him. He had forgotten about them.

This isn’t a house, it’s a damn castle with a dungeon instead of a basement! he thought, staring in angry dismay at the stairs. How was he supposed to get up there?

A gentle touch to his left arm made him look down. Joe was staring up at him. “I can help,” he offered. “Lean on me.”

Mike gave him a crooked smile. “I’m a big man, Joe.”

“That’s okay, I’m stronger than I look,” said Joe, trying to smile back but failing miserably. “Please, Mike, let me help?”

With no other means of making their way out, Mike nodded. “Okay, but just so I don’t crush you, I’ll use the wall for support if you help me keep my balance, alright?”

Joe nodded and together they started the torturous climb, Mike trying to keep most of his weight against the wall. The pain had started to dissipate, leaving in its wake a sort of numb, paralysing coldness that sapped his strength.

It took them a long time to climb the first few steps. They were only steps but they may as well have been a mountain in Mike’s current condition. He was getting progressively weaker and trying his hardest not to lean on the teenager as he did so. But it was impossible to completely keep all of his weight off Joe’s shoulder and he could hear the boy breathing heavily with the exertion.

About halfway up the stairs, the detective stopped. “I just need…to…rest for a second,” he gasped out. He could feel his legs starting to go and prayed they would last him until they at least got to the top. He didn’t relish the thought of collapsing on these cold, damp steps or further frightening the boy beside him.

Mike glanced at the blond head of the teenager who was looking longingly up the steps and for the first time, he regretted leaving his cell phone in the car. At the time he had reasoned that if anything happened to him, at least his cell would still be sitting in his car transmitting its signal so that the police could find this place. It was more than a little off the beaten track and difficult to find. In fact, Mike would never have found it if he hadn’t been tailing that man’s car from the school. Most people wouldn’t have chased after a car that had coming speeding out from a high school; they would have attributed it to some reckless teenager.

But Mike wasn’t most people. Years of detecting had honed his instincts to the point that he was almost never wrong. Hearing the radio call that had urged any unit within the vicinity of the high school to head straight over there and check on Joe Hardy had alarmed him, seeing the silver Denali nearly crash into him as it hurtled away from the school gates had sent his instincts into screaming overdrive, telling him that something was very wrong. So he had followed the car.

The detective had had to be very careful that whomever was driving didn’t suspect he was following them, keeping well back and out of sight. He had even turned off his lights and driven in careful darkness once they had turned off from the road onto a dirt track…with a run-down old manor at the end. A run-down old manor with high walls and modern, high tech security gates that Mike had been unable to open from the outside. Those gates had confirmed to him that there was something in that building that someone needed to hide and he had done the right thing in following the car.

He smiled ruefully to himself as he thought of how hard it had been to get inside.

Unable to open the gates and with the clock ticking, Mike had climbed the tree that stood nearest to the wall and crossed, very precariously, from it’s branches to the top of the wall. Not having climbed a tree since he was a child and being as big as he was, it had taken him the better part of an hour to do it. He had nearly broken a leg jumping off the wall into the grounds of the house, and could practically hear his wife’s voice scolding him. What on earth were you thinking? You’re not Superman, you know!

Mike swallowed. Considering the seriousness of his wound and the rashness with which he had barged into that basement, he knew she would have had a point. But he had been afraid of waiting. Waiting meant increasing the possibility of this man doing to Joe what he had done to the other boys and Mike couldn’t risk that. He grimaced as he remembered how brutal he had been on the phone with Fenton when the detective had insisted he wait, asking him if he wanted to give the man time to rape Joe.

It had been a low blow. Fenton had never even used the word rape in relation to the other boys, never mind one of his own sons, and he knew it would upset his friend deeply. But Mike needed to make Fenton understand how urgent it was that he act rather than waiting for back up. He would apologise to him later.

He swallowed again. God, his mouth was so dry. “Okay, Joe,” he rasped. “Let’s keep going.”

Gritting his teeth and with a tremendous grunt of effort, Mike started to climb again. Pinpricks of light were starting to dance their way across his vision and it took every bit of strength he had to stay upright. He was so focused on making it to the top that he never noticed that Joe now had one arm around his back and the other around his stomach. He was panting and straining as he dragged the big man up the stairs. If it weren’t for the support of the wall on Mike’s other side, both boy and man would probably have plunged back down the stairs.

“We’re…nearly…there…Mike,” Joe gasped, struggling not to buckle under the big man’s weight.

Mike gave a nod, speech taking more strength than he possessed right now. Sirens sounded as Joe helped heave Mike over the last step of the stairs from the basement.

“That’s them!” Joe cried, breathing heavily as they paused. “Mike, they’re here! Dad’s here! We’ll get an ambulance and you’ll be okay!”

“S’good, Joey,” Mike mumbled, feeling cold and knowing deep in his bones that that wasn’t good. He was relieved that he’d had the foresight to open the gates using the control panel once he had got into the grounds; it was about the only thing he had done right in this botched rescue attempt.

The pain had come back after the nauseating climb, and Mike had to gulp down a groan as Joe started to drag him towards the door. The lights in the hall felt blinding after the dim of the basement stairs. His head spun and blood started to pound in his ears. Joe’s voice sounded from a long way off, pleading with him. Mike used the last of his strength to focus on Joe and smile at him. “It’ll be…alright now. You’re safe.”

Something wet and tangy filled the back of his throat.

There was a loud, splintering crack and they looked up just in time to see three police officers burst through the front door into the hall, their guns drawn. Fenton Hardy was just behind them, pale and grim.

“Joe!” he yelled, catching sight of his son and shoving past the officers. He dashed across the hall and grabbed Joe, pulling him into a crushing hug. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

Joe shook his head into his father’s chest, unable to speak as relief washed over him. His father was hugging him so tightly that it hurt, but he didn’t care. He was safe.

“Thank you, God,” he heard his father murmur and tighten his hold. The boy sagged, feeling exhaustion overwhelm him. His relief, however, was short lived when a voice erupted behind them. “Call an ambulance! NOW!”

Mike! Joe pulled away and turned around….and for the first time he truly understood what it meant to have your blood run cold. His whole body felt as though it had turned to ice.

Mike was lying on the ground, gasping for breath while Sam Radley knelt beside him, talking urgently to him, although Joe couldn’t hear what he was saying. He was mesmerised by the slim trail of red bubbling from Mike’s mouth and the dark pool collecting slowly on the ground beneath him. Someone screamed as the detective’s body started to jerk uncontrollably.

Joe didn’t know who screamed, didn’t notice the urgent yelling in the hall, nor was he aware of his father dropping to the injured man’s side. The world had gone strangely silent and the only thing he could see was the man on the floor in front of him, flopping up and down like a fish on dry land.

He felt his breath catch painfully in his throat and his heart stop beating as a horrible gargling echoed from Mike’s throat. Joe wanted to help him, wanted to take away his pain, but he couldn’t seem to move; his body stuck in frozen fear. He could only watch as the body of the man who had saved his life gave a final twitch before becoming limp and still on the floor.