“Off the internet,” Frank answered quietly.

“Who the hell told you about this?” Fenton demanded furiously. “Was it Mike?”

“Mike?” Frank repeated. “Why would Mike tell us? He wanted us off the case to begin with.”

“Yeah, but he also wanted to tell us about it after you were attacked,” Joe pointed out.

Ten seconds of ringing silence followed this pronouncement, during which Joe clapped his hand over his mouth.

“And just how would you know that, Joe?” asked Fenton, his tone dangerously quiet.

“I overheard you and Mike talking about it the night of Frank’s attack. I was in your office,” said Joe as he dropped his hand from his mouth and raised his chin in part defiance, part apprehension.

“You WHAT?” Fenton exploded and took a step towards him. Joe, looking slightly alarmed, took a step back.

“I warned you to butt out!” Fenton yelled, looking angrier than either boy had ever seen him. He grabbed Joe by the arm and shook him hard. “I told you I didn’t want you involved in this case!”

“DAD! STOP!” Frank yelled and pulled Fenton’s arm as Joe stared up in shock at their father.

The anger on Fenton’s face disappeared instantly to be replaced by a look of horror. He dropped Joe’s arm and took a step back.

“Oh, God!”

Shaking, Fenton sank into the chair by Frank’s desk and buried his face in his hands. He felt sick. He didn’t believe in physical violence, yet here he was shaking one of his own sons like a rag doll because he couldn’t control his obsession with this case. It was all he could think about, even before Frank had become a target.

His time in NYPD had taught Fenton one thing; all cops have a case. It was like some cruel twist of fate. If a cop dodged the bullet, the bottle, the cancer, God gave him a case. This one had been Fenton’s. He had spent years dreaming of the murdered boys with their wide, staring, glassy eyes and the expression of terror etched on each of their faces. The gruesome details of their last few days on earth had haunted Fenton and every fibre of his being had screamed for justice for those boys. But with each new victim, the laughter of their killer echoed in his ears; sneering at him. This case had driven Fenton to his breaking point once before, and now it was doing it again.

Except this time he had more to lose.

Dragging his hands in a downward motion from his eyes to his mouth, Fenton looked up at his sons who were watching him in silence. He saw the apprehension in their eyes and swallowed. He had made some terrible mistakes with this case.

“Boys, I am…so sorry,” he said hoarsely.

“That’s okay, Dad,” said Frank quietly.

“No, it’s not!” Fenton insisted. “My behaviour has been unacceptable these last few weeks. I should have given you more of an explanation as to why I didn’t want you involved in this case, and I certainly owed you more than shouting at you and threatening you to stay out of it!”

Frank shrugged a little uncertainly. “You were just trying to protect us.”

“And I did a real good job of that, didn’t I?” said Fenton bitterly, glancing at the cast on Frank’s arm.

“Dad, that wasn’t your fault!”

“Yes, it was!” said Fenton, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I should have caught this guy years ago.”

“Dad?” Joe spoke up. “Are those…are those true?” He pointed to the newspaper articles that Fenton had clutched in his hand. Barely glancing at them, his father nodded.

“Oh.” Joe dropped his hand.

It was clear to Fenton that Joe was terrified of anything happening to his brother. Not that he blamed him, every time he closed his eyes he saw Frank as one of those boys and it was slowly driving him mad.

“Dad, why didn’t you tell us?” asked Frank quietly.

Fenton sighed. “This case was the worst I’ve ever seen and I’ve never forgotten it, even after I left New York. It’s just one of those things that haunts you…” his voice trailed off and he stared broodingly ahead of him for a moment before continuing. “I realise that this doesn’t excuse the way I behaved, but I hope it explains some of it. I’m sorry for how harsh I’ve been towards both of you. And, Frank, I also owe you an apology for what happened with Callie. I know how much you like her and I behaved like a complete ass in front of her…I’m sorry.”

Frank blushed, shrugged and then muttered something inaudible under his breath to which Joe gave a watery grin.

“Joe,” Fenton turned to his youngest, “I’m sorry for my behaviour when I entered this room. I wasn’t thinking straight and I behaved appallingly.”

“Dad, it’s okay- ” Joe began but his father cut him off.

“No, it is not! Physical violence is never alright! I was way out of line, Joe and I’m sorry.”

“Well, we should have butted out when you told us,” Joe countered. “Dad, I’m sorry we pried.”

Fenton gave a hollow laugh. “You didn’t pry, Joe. You both had a right to know about this once Frank was attacked. Mike was right about that…” his voice trailed off and he stared at the ground, a pained expression on his face as he thought of how dismissive he had been towards his old friend. That was another person to whom he owed an apology…Fenton had a feeling he was going to spend quite a bit of time grovelling over the next few days.

“Mike and I both wanted to protect you from the sordid details of this case,” he explained in a tired voice, “but once we knew he had attacked Frank, Mike wanted to tell you. It goes without saying that I didn’t.”

He gave them a broken smile. “I was trying to protect you from the brutal truth about this case…you’ve already witnessed enough violence.”

Frank glanced at his brother then back at his father. “Dad, can I ask a question?”

Fenton nodded.

“How do you know it’s the same guy from all those years ago?”

Fenton hesitated for a minute before answering. “When this guy first started to kill, he would send paintings to his victim’s families.”

“Paintings?” Joe repeated and Fenton nodded.

“This guy is obviously an artist. He would paint a portrait of his victims and send it on to their family after he killed them.”

“What kind of paintings?” Frank wanted to know.

“You don’t need to know that!” said Fenton at once. “But those paintings were his signature, his hallmark. And that morning we went to New York, it was a painting of Andrew Watson that Mike showed me in that folder. I knew as soon as I saw it that it was him…and that Andrew Watson was dead.”

“So how do you know it was the same guy who attacked Frank?” asked Joe in a subdued voice.

“We already had our suspicions because Andrew Watson’s body turning up here in Bayport was too much of a coincidence,” Fenton replied quietly. “But when temazepam turned up in that syringe, we knew it was him. He used it to subdue all the other boys.”

Fenton shuddered inwardly. If it hadn’t been for that janitor, Frank would have been one of those boys! Fenton kept turning cold every time he thought about it.

“So…why did he pick me?” asked Frank in a small voice and Fenton could tell that behind all of Frank’s cool composure, he was scared.

“I don’t know,” the detective answered quietly. “We never found out how he selected his victims, only that he stalked them before abducting them.”

“He’s been watching me?” Frank whispered while Joe looked sick.

“Probably,” answered Fenton unhappily as Frank’s gaze slid to the ground.

“Why is he coming back now?” Joe demanded.

“I have no idea,” said Fenton, neglecting to mention that Mike suspected this man had never stopped killing…merely moved his hunting grounds elsewhere. Lying by omission didn’t really count as lying.

Frank looked up from the floor. “Dad, was this guy really the reason you left the police department?”

Fenton nodded.

“Why?”

“Because this case nearly destroyed me,” replied Fenton softly. “It was all I could think about; I was eating, drinking, sleeping and breathing this case…and it wasn’t enough. No matter how hard I worked, parents kept losing their sons. And even though you two were only babies at the time, every time I looked at you, all I could think was what if I become one of those parents? It wore me down in the end. I could have asked to be taken off the case, but I knew if I stayed with NYPD I would never be able to let it go. I never forgot it though…and now here I am again, trying to find this guy!”

Fenton gave an angry sigh as the past flashed before his eyes. The case had not only worn him down, it had nearly destroyed his marriage. His obsessive, angry behaviour had frightened Laura and she had begged him to drop the case because she couldn’t go on like that. Yet here he was again, supposedly older and wiser, allowing this monster to get under his skin.

But I’ll get you this time, Fenton vowed. You’ve destroyed enough lives!

***

Frank returned to school the next day under strict instructions not to leave the grounds. Joe, likewise, was under the same orders.

Fenton wasn’t taking any chances.

“Boys, don’t leave the school grounds under any circumstances,” he warned one last time, pulling up in front of the school. “If there are any problems or you need to leave early for any reason, call home.”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Fenton pulled out two cell phones and handed one to each of them. “These are emergency only,” he warned. “No calling your friends on them, okay?”

Their mouths open, both boys nodded.

Fenton gave them a weak smile. “I’ll be here after school to pick you up, okay?”

“But, Dad, I have football practice!” Joe protested at once. “I’ve already missed the last two and Coach won’t be too happy if I miss another!”

“I’m sure he’ll understand,” said Fenton. “All the staff have been warned to be alert for any strange men on the school grounds. Con spoke to them at a faculty meeting last week.”

“Which is why practice was cancelled,” Joe grumbled. “Dad, why can’t I just catch a ride with Tony or something?”

“NO!” shouted Fenton and then lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, Joe, but until this guy is caught then I’m going to have to confine you and Frank to the house. I’m not taking any chances.”

“But that’s not fair!” cried Joe. “Dad, it’s like we’re the ones being punished!”

“Couldn’t Mike or Sam pick Joe up?” asked Frank, coming to his brother’s aid. He knew how much being on the football team meant to Joe.

Fenton sighed. “Fine! Joe, what time does practice end?”

“Six thirty.”

“I will be here at six thirty to pick you up. You wait inside the school doors, and I will come in for you, got that?”

“Yeah, thanks, Dad!” Joe gave his father a beaming smile.

“See you this evening, Dad,” said Frank, also smiling as he climbed out of the car.

Joe smiled again and patted his father on the shoulder before following after his brother.

Fenton watched as the boys made their way to the front door where they were surrounded at once by their friends, all welcoming Frank back. A pretty blonde girl stood on tiptoe to give Frank a kiss on the cheek, and although he couldn’t hear it, Fenton knew all the boys were cat-calling and teasing Frank.

Despite the pressure and fear that had been present ever since he had brought the boys to New York, Fenton couldn’t help but smile at his eldest son’s embarrassed yet pleased smile.

His sons were growing up.

Fenton could already see that they would become fine men, sons any father would be proud of, and he was damned if he was going to let anyone take them away from him.

With a last glance at the laughing teenagers, Fenton started the car and pulled away from the high school.

***

Despite the fact that he still felt a little tired and weak, Frank thoroughly enjoyed his first morning back at school. His fellow students seemed delighted to see him back on his feet and welcomed him warmly.

Frank was touched, and felt bad for having scorned them the previous week when they had been discussing Andrew Watson’s death. He supposed it was easier to theorise about the death of someone you didn’t know; Andrew Watson was just another faceless statistic in the newspaper to them.

But he was still somebody’s son.

Frank had thought about the Watsons many times over the last few days. Although he hadn’t mentioned it, the thought was ever present in his mind that it could have been his family…that it could have been him.

And it frightened him.

A large part of Frank wondered if they didn’t catch this guy, would he ever have a normal life again or would he have to be constantly watched and guarded? The thought was not one that appealed to him. For one thing, what about his date with Callie?

Now that the gut-wrenching fear of trying to ask her out was gone, Frank was really looking forward to his date with the pretty blonde. There was something special about her, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. All Frank knew was that no other girl had ever left him feeling speechless or sent his head reeling just by the way she smiled at him.

Yes, Frank Hardy was very much looking forward to his date with Callie.

Smiling to himself, Frank was jerked out of his reverie by a hand waving in his face. “Hello?! Earth to Frank Hardy!”

Frank blinked into the grinning face of Phil Cohen. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Just thinking.”

“Well, your face is bright purple and you’ve got this loopy grin, so I’m guessing you were thinking about Callie, right?” Phil teased, as they started to walk up the hall together.

Frank sighed. “How long am I going to have to put up with this?”

“About a week,” replied Phil cheerfully. “Probably longer. Face it, Frank, we’ve been waiting for you to make a move for months so we plan on getting some serious mileage out of this one!”

“Of course you do,” Frank groaned and Phil laughed.

“At least we’re not Joe. You know he won’t let up for at least a month!”

“Probably longer since Callie asked me out,” Frank grumbled.

Phil stopped walking and turned to Frank with an expression of glee. “She asked you out?!”

“So?” said Frank defensively. “Karen Saunders asked you out!”

“That’s true,” Phil conceded, unperturbed. The guys had long since gotten tired of teasing him about that; it was Frank’s turn now. “Must be something in the water.”

Frank rolled his eyes as they started to walk again.

“So,” said Phil, his expression growing serious, “how are you?”

“Fine. A bit tired but that’s it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Frank studied him closely. “Why?”

Phil sighed. “Joe didn’t tell us anything about the attack and he’s been kind of grim about the whole thing even after you were okay, and now you haven’t mentioned it either…Frank, does this have something to do with your Dad’s case?”

Frank’s heart sank. He was still digesting the information he had discovered the day before and definitely didn’t feel like sharing it with any of his friends just yet. Fortunately, he was saved from having to answer by a slight commotion just up ahead of them.

A group of football players were rough-housing, laughing and joking as they threw a football back and forth. Frank wondered where Principal Wood was, he didn’t usually allow such behaviour in the school corridors. As one of the boys threw the ball hard, another one of the boys dove forward and caught it. Lifting his arms in a victory dance above his head, the boy cheered loudly.

Frank felt his blood began to boil as he realised who it was.

Kenneth Nash.

The Hardy Boy had not seen the brash teenager since that day on the Bay. Nash had nearly killed his brother and now here he was, laughing and joking as though he had nothing to atone for.

His nerves already stretched and frazzled by the events of the last few days, Frank could feel the white-hot rage he had experienced the day of Joe’s near-drowning start to seethe within him once more. Despite Phil’s best efforts to stop him, the dark-haired teenager stalked over to Nash. “I want a word with you!” he growled at the other boy.

Kenneth Nash surveyed him, a lazy grin on his face. “About?”

“You know damn well what about! You nearly got my brother killed!”

Again Nash gave him an infuriating smile. “I did no such thing. Ain’t you heard, Hardy? I lost control of the boat, couldn’t help any of what happened.”

“That’s a lie!”

“It isn’t. You go check out my boat and you’ll see the throttle is jammed, it got stuck out on the Bay and I couldn’t control the boat.”

“You seemed to manage getting back to the dock just fine,” Phil commented, coming up behind Frank.

“Just lucky I guess,” sneered Nash.

“Luck had nothing to do with it!” snarled Frank. “You hit my brother, realised you’d gone too far, panicked and went screaming for Daddy!”

Nash’s smile disappeared as his friends behind him snickered. “Why don’t you prove it?! All any cop will see when they look at that boat is a useless throttle; Dad said they can’t blame anything on me ‘cause they have no evidence.”

Phil, afraid his friend might loose control and do something stupid, tried to pull him back, but Frank’s rage was beyond boiling point now.

“You sabotaged that boat so you could cover up what you’d done! Whose idea was it? Your Dad’s? Because you’re too stupid to have thought of it yourself!”

Several of Nash’s friends guffawed and an ugly look stole across his face. “You know what, Hardy? You should consider being a little nicer to me or I might decide to sue that stupid little brother of yours for the damage his thick skull did to my boat!”

Frank snapped.

With a roar of anger, he dropped his books and launched himself at Nash. Swinging his good right arm, he smashed his fist as hard as he could into Nash’s nose. There was a loud crack and a yell of pain from Nash as blood spurted from his nose.

“He broke my dose!” screamed Nash. “Dat badderd broke my dose!”

As his friends clustered around him, Phil pulled Frank back.

“Frank, what did you do?” he hissed fiercely.

Frank blinked, staring in shock at the scene in front of him. The adrenaline was still pumping in his body, but the cold chill of reality was also starting to descend. Had he really just hit another student?

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

Frank’s heart sank as he recognised the figure of Principal Wood.