On Friday morning however, the Hardys arrived at the hospital to find chaos outside Frank’s room. Sam Radley was standing in the hall while a doctor and several nurses pushed past him into the room.

“Frank!” Joe cried at once and moved to dash into his brother’s room.

Sam threw an arm across his chest and held him back. “Joe, stop! It’s okay, he’s awake! Frank’s awake!”

“What?”

“He’s awake,” said Sam gently. “But he wasn’t able to talk so the doctors are just examining him now.”

“What do you mean he wasn’t able to talk?” demanded Fenton, while Joe stared wild-eyed towards Frank’s room.

Sam sighed. “He opened his eyes and it looked like he recognised me, but when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. He got a little panicked then, so I called for help and the doctor cleared me out here.”

“He couldn’t speak?” Fenton repeated.

“It’s probably just a side effect of the temazepam,” Sam was quick to reassure him. “The doctors did warn you there could be some, right?”

The three Hardys turned to stare at the door of Frank’s room. Joe could feel his heart hammering painfully against his ribs and swallowed in an effort to ease it. Would Frank be okay?

They remained outside the closed door for nearly twenty minutes before it finally opened and several nurses emerged. Trailing behind them was Dr. Whitehall and another doctor. Dr. Whitehall stopped in front of the Hardys while the other doctor followed the nurses back up the corridor.

“How’s Frank?” asked Laura. “Will he be okay? Sam said he couldn’t speak!”

Dr. Whitehall held up his hand. “Frank will be fine. He does seem to be a little disoriented and there appears to be some speech coordination problems; he can speak, he’s just having a little trouble getting his words together. But all other physical reactions and motor-coordination seem absolutely fine, so I imagine this speech impediment is only temporary. We will run another CAT scan, just to be sure and I’d like to keep Frank in for several more days for observation. But all in all, I think the young man will be fine.”

The Hardys heaved a collective sigh of relief.

“Can we see him?” Joe asked, looking longingly at the closed door.

“You can go in,” the doctor smiled. “But he’s a little confused and very groggy, so try not to over-excite him, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Doctor,” Laura whispered gratefully.

As he smiled at them and started down the hall, the three Hardys rushed into Frank’s room. The dark-haired teenager looked up as they entered and his face split in a wide smile.

“Oh, Frank!” his mother exclaimed, rushing over to the bed and hugging him gently. “I was so worried! Thank heavens you’re okay!”

“Frank, how are you feeling?” asked Fenton anxiously, when Laura stepped back to survey her injured son.

“Ti…red,” Frank admitted slowly. It was obvious he had trouble getting the words out. “What…happened?”

Fenton frowned. “You don’t remember?”

“No.”

“Someone attacked you after Karate,” Fenton explained gently.

“Who?” Frank asked hoarsely.

“We were kind of hoping that you might be able to tell us something,” Fenton admitted. “What’s the last thing that you remember?”

“Driving to…class.”

“Nothing after that?”

Frank shook his head and Fenton sighed. With no DNA, fingerprints or clues to the identity of the murderer, the detective had hoped his son would be able to give them a description of his attacker…but it seemed that their last chance at a lead had just disappeared.

As his father seemed to disappear into a reflective fug, Frank turned to study his brother. Joe was staring at him as if he had seen a ghost. He gave the younger boy a lopsided grin. “Hey…bro.”

Joe’s response was to fling himself on his brother and hug him tightly.

“Easy, Joe,” said Fenton as Frank’s face took on a pained grimace.

Joe let go of Frank and straightened up. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m just really glad that you’re okay.”

Frank nodded, then winced. His head was throbbing and his eyes felt so heavy. They started to close and he forced them open.

“Honey, if you need to sleep then go ahead and sleep,” his mother told him gently. “We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Frank gave her a drowsy smile as his eyelids fluttered and he drifted off to sleep again.

***

It was Monday before Frank was allowed home from the hospital, with strict instructions to rest. His speech had returned to normal and the only other side-effect of the drug was somnolence; something the doctors assured them would pass within a few days.

Joe had returned to school that morning, under the escort of Sam Radley who had warned him not to leave the school grounds and to wait for him by the doors after school…much to the boy’s irritation. Sam also dropped him home again after school. Hurrying through the front door, Joe said a quick hello to his mother and aunt before dashing upstairs to see his brother.

Frank was lying on his bed reading a book but looked up as Joe entered his room.

“Hey, how was school?”

“Fine. What about you? Did the doctors say it was okay to come home? How are you feeling? Do you still have a headache?”

Frank laughed. “No, but if you keep up the rapid fire interrogation it might come back!”

“Sorry,” said Joe sheepishly as he closed the door. Sitting into the chair by Frank’s desk, he surveyed his brother.

Frank was pale but cheerful. The bruises on his face had already started to fade to a dull yellow, and the swelling around his eye had gone down. But it was to the large cast on Frank’s left arm that Joe’s eyes were drawn; he couldn’t believe someone had hurt his brother like this.

Frank rolled his eyes. “Stop that.”

“What?”

“Stop looking at me like I’m going to break or something, you’re freaking me out!”

“Sorry,” Joe apologised again. “It’s just…this last week really sucked, Frank.”

“I know.” Frank studied his brother. “Joe, what’s really going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“With Dad. I asked him about the attack but he wouldn’t tell me anything.”

Joe frowned. He had planned on telling Frank everything he had overheard between Mike and his father the week before, but not until he was fully back on his feet.

“Joe?”

“I did sorta overhear Mike and Dad mention something,” he admitted.

“What did you hear?”

“You can’t tell Dad you know this,” Joe warned. “He doesn’t know I was listening.”

“Exactly where were you when this conversation was taking place?” Frank frowned suspiciously.

Joe blushed guiltily. “Behind the chair in Dad’s study.”

“What?! Joe!”

“I couldn’t help it!” Joe defended himself. “Dad came home earlier than I expected!”

Frank sighed. “You’d better start at the beginning.”

Joe told Frank everything that had happened the night of his attack, beginning with what had transpired in the hospital and the snippets of conversation he had overheard between their parents and Mike. He finished by telling Frank how he had come to be in his father’s study and what he had overheard when the men had returned. Frank remained silent throughout the whole story and when Joe finished, he stared thoughtfully out the window.

“So Andrew Watson’s death wasn’t just a one off,” he mused. “It’s happened before. This might be a good thing, Joe.”

“Excuse me? Are we discussing the same case here? How can this be a good thing?! Frank, some nutcase serial killer is out to get you! Aren’t you scared?”

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m not scared.”

“How can you not be scared?” Joe demanded.

“Because he’s tried once and failed,” said Frank simply. “Dad’s not going to give him the chance to try again and I don’t think he’d be stupid enough to try.”

“He could be stupid enough,” Joe muttered.

“I don’t think he is. How else do you think he’s avoided capture for all these years?”

Joe grimaced. “That’s not exactly a reassuring thought, Frank.”

Frank shrugged.

“So tell me, why is this a good thing?” asked Joe.

“Because it makes it easier to find out about the case.”

“How?”

“Use your head, Joe. If it’s happened before then that means there’ll be media reports and police reports. We should be able to find out something about the old cases through sources like that.”

“And how exactly will we know where to look? The only name Dad mentioned was Gallagher.”

“We can use Andrew Watson’s death to see what cases are similar,” Frank replied.

“But all we know is that Andrew was missing for five weeks and his body turned up in Barmet Bay!”

Frank frowned. “You mean there haven’t been any news reports on it?”

“Not one. The police are keeping it very quiet.”

“That’s weird, I wonder why?”

Just then a knock sounded on Frank’s bedroom door. “Frank?” their mother’s voice called. “You have a visitor.”

Frank pulled open the door expecting to see one of the guys, but was shocked when his mother stood aside to reveal Callie Shaw holding a bouquet of flowers.

“I’ll just leave you guys to it,” said Laura with a knowing smile as she disappeared back downstairs leaving Frank staring dumbly at Callie.

“Hi, Frank,” she greeted him softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he mumbled, blushing as she smiled at him.

From inside the room, Joe rolled his eyes.

“These are for you,” she said, handing him the flowers.

“Th…thanks,” he stuttered.

“You’re welcome.”

“Um…come on in.”

“Thanks,” Callie smiled. “Hi, Joe,” she added as she entered the room.

“Hey,” Joe greeted her.

“Have a seat, Callie,” Frank told her, using his good arm to turf Joe out of the chair he had been lounging in. The younger boy glared at him indignantly.

She hid a smile. “Thanks, Frank.”

“So…how are you?” he managed to get out while his mind screamed at him, Callie Shaw is in my room! Callie Shaw is IN my room!

“I’m good,” she answered, sitting in the chair Frank had just forced Joe to vacate. “Frank, I’m really glad that you’re okay.”

As they stared awkwardly at one another, it dawned on him that this might be a good time to ask Callie out while there was no danger of any interruptions. But he would have to get rid of Joe first.

“Er, Joe. Would you mind getting us a drink?” Frank asked.

“You just threw me out of a chair!” said Joe. “What do I look like?”

“Callie might be thirsty, Joe,” Frank insisted through gritted teeth. “She might like a soda.”

“She’s your guest!” cried Joe indignantly. “Are you trying to guilt me into being your slave just ‘cause you’ve got a broken arm? Emotional blackmail is my thing, bro!”

“I’m just trying to be polite,” said Frank, his eyes bugging as he sent his brother some serious non-verbal signals.

“What? Oh! OH!” Joe’s eyes widened. “You know, I’ve just remembered that I have to go…downstairs. Joe practically ran from the room and Frank groaned inwardly. His brother had been about as subtle as a sledgehammer.

He turned back to face Callie and cursed the fact that his face was on fire.

“So, Callie,” he said, then cringed at how squeaky his voice sounded. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Callie, I’ve been thinking…that is…would you…”

Frank stopped. Why couldn’t his mouth get the words out? He opened it again but no sound came out. His mind had gone completely blank.

He closed his mouth. Why wouldn’t the damn words just come out?

The teenager started to panic. He had lost the ability to speak. Callie was staring at him expectantly and he had forgotten how to speak. Frank wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

As he stared at Callie with a rabbit-in-the-headlights expression, the pretty blonde took pity on him. “Frank?” she said gently. “Would you like to go out sometime?”

His jaw dropped. “Out? With you?”

“Do you see anyone else in this room?”

“No! I mean yes! I mean…”

“No, you don’t see anyone else in the room and yes, you would like to go out with me?” Callie prodded hopefully. She prayed that she wasn’t wrong about his feelings for her, but after the fright of Frank’s attack, Callie was not letting this opportunity pass her for a second time.

“I’d love to go out with you,” said Frank, finding his voice at last.

Callie beamed.

They stared at one another for several minutes as embarrassed but pleased smiles played across their faces. Then Frank realised something.

“Er, Callie?” he said softly. “We’re going to have to wait until they catch the guy who attacked me, I’m sort of under house arrest at the moment.”

“I don’t mind waiting. After all, I waited long enough for you to ask me out!” she gave him a mischievous grin.

“But…you asked me out,” said Frank, confused.

“Exactly! A girl could grow old waiting for you to ask her out, Frank Hardy,” Callie teased.

Frank laughed sheepishly.

***

On Wednesday afternoon, Joe arrived home from school to find his brother sitting pale and silent on his bed.

“What’s the matter with you?” the younger Hardy demanded. “Did Callie cancel your date?”

Frank shook his head and wordlessly handed Joe some pages.

“What’s this?” Joe asked, confused.

“Read,” was all Frank said.

Surprised, Joe looked down at the pages in his hand. They were internet printouts of newspaper articles and police reports. One headline in particular caught Joe’s eye.

The parents of Elijah Marks spoke out today against the New York City Police Department for not informing the public about the presence of a sexual predator. Alex Marks said, “the NYPD have been remiss in their duties. Not only have they failed to apprehend this killer, but they also neglected to tell the public about it. I understand their need not to cause a panic, but we have a right as parents to protect our children by being aware of the possible danger of a predator.”

Joe stopped reading and looked up at his brother, horrified.

“That article was written nearly fourteen years ago,” Frank told him. “I widened my search when you told me Dad said this guy had been killing for fifteen years.”

“Mike said he was the reason Dad left NYPD,” Joe whispered, feeling sick. This was the same killer who was targeting Frank.

“Dad left NYPD a year later,” said Frank quietly. “Elijah Marks seems to have been the last victim until Andrew Watson. I think the fact that they never caught him really got to Dad. You were right when you said this case was personal for Dad…but it wasn’t because of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dad was the one who discovered the first body,” Frank answered quietly.

“What?!”

“He wasn’t even working at the time,” said Frank. “It was his night off.”

“How do you know that?” Joe demanded, riffling through the papers in his hand. “It doesn’t say that here!”

“I hacked into the NYPD database and found this,” said Frank, proffering another sheet of paper towards Joe.

Joe’s eyes popped in his head. “You hacked into the…actually, you know what? I don’t want to know! Let me see that.”

Taking the paper from Frank’s outstretched fingers, Joe let several of the sheets he was holding drop to the floor where they wafted over by the open door. But he didn’t notice; his eyes were too busy scanning the police report that Frank had given him.

Fenton Hardy had been out for a run when he had come upon the body of sixteen-year-old Riley Harris and had called it in. When NYPD had discovered the whole horrifying truth behind the case, Fenton had requested to be put on it. He worked every single case after that, but they had never came close to discovering the killer’s identity.

Joe swallowed as he stared blankly at the page in front of him. This explained their father’s weird behaviour over the past few weeks. The boy felt sick at the thought of what their father had been trying to protect them from, and they had snooped anyway.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?” a voice roared suddenly.

Joe spun around to see their father framed in the doorway to Frank’s room, his hand clutching the newspaper articles that Joe had dropped.