Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

The Candyman hummed and sang happily as he prepped his ceremonial chambers for his grand finale. Suddenly he stopped. Something was not right. He could feel it in his guts. He frowned. He glared at his huge looking glass till the veins at his temples were throbbing. He asked:

'Mirror, mirror, on the wall

What caused that trouble down the hall?'

The silvery surface shimmered and moved. Colors replaced the mercurial gray. A youthful face with deep blue eyes and blond hair stared back at him.

The Candyman cursed, checked that everything was in order, and headed down the gingerbread corridors.

oooooo

'Iola' smiled back at him lovingly.

His heart started to pound.

He watched her intently as she snuggled into the crook of his arm as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to do. For some reason, that felt familiar to him too. Yet, he could not help feeling that something was not quite…right. She smiled up at him, reached up to kiss him, and his concerns melted away. She pressed the 'play' button on their DVD player. Then they were watching the movie again…

A dark haired youth had just finished his business at the local bank. He was making his way back to his van when his cell phone rang. He took note of the caller ID before answering with a smile on his handsome but tense and worried face.

"Hey Cal, I'm just about done at the bank." He listened and then laughed a little. "Sure, I'll do that. And Cal? Thanks so much for keeping Mom and Vanessa company; they needed it."

He listened again and his eyes softened. "Yeah, I miss him. But we'll find him. Dad will come up with something, I'm sure." He glanced at his watch. "And Cal, I better get home before Mom gets worried. I'll call you later tonight."

He opened the door to his van and settled himself comfortably into the driver seat. "Love you too, Cal. Call you later!"

He placed his cell phone on the dashboard and started his journey home. Then he heard it. It was a ring tone. Only then did he notice an iPhone on the passenger seat next to him. It wasn't his. For a moment he hesitated, and then he picked it up.

A very familiar voice came over the phone: "Hello, Frank Hardy?"

So that dark haired youth was called Frank. Frank Hardy. Somehow that name, that name.... He returned his attention to the TV screen.

Frank almost crashed the van into the car in front of him.

"Joe! Is that you?" The dark haired youth executed an instant skillful parallel park and turned his full attention to the call. "Where are you, little bro? Are you okay?"

After a short pause, another voice, deep and husky, came through the iPhone: "I see you recognized your brother's voice, Frank. If you want to see Joe alive, go up Shore Road now. And do not try to contact anyone, I will know."

Then the line was cut.

Frank stared at the iPhone for a moment before speeding off. It wasn't long before the van was racing down a long isolated stretch of road hugging the coastal line of the Great South Bay. It was clear that the road led up to the cliffs, and in the distance, a lighthouse stood, looking tall and lonely, yet firm and steady against the strong ocean wind. It was equally clear the van was the only vehicle on that road.

What a perfect setting for a typical B-grade horror flick…

It was clear that the youthful driver was uneasy. His fingers were gripping the steering wheel just too tightly, and worry lines marked a clear pattern across his brow.

Then there was someone standing on the road just round a gentle curve. Frank stepped on his brakes and the van screeched to a halt. A blond-headed youth wearing an NBA top and light blue jeans stood staring calmly back at him through the windshield, his hair flying wildly in the wind, and his face half shaded by the wild orange glow of the setting sun.

A long second flew by, and Frank's eyes lit up in recognition. "Joe," he whispered almost joyfully, and his hand automatically reached for the door.

Yet that joy of seeing his little brother lasted but another second before his eyes became filled with suspicion. Something was clearly not right. His hand rested on the door handle, but did not open it. He checked his rear view mirror, and his side mirror. There was no one there. He made the decision to exit from the passenger side instead.

But Frank was not given that chance. He saw his brother lift his hand and point a gun to his head. His own reaction was instantaneous.

"NO! Joe, DON'T!" he yelled as he opened the driver’s door and jumped out of the car, totally intent on reaching his own brother.

There was a sharp painful jab, and then darkness.

He sat straight on the couch, his breath caught in his throat. He watched on…

The blond-headed youth reached out to take a driver's license that was handed to him by another man dressed in grey. The youth opened the door to the van to place the driver's license and a half of a gingerbread man on the driver's seat. Then he got into the passenger seat of another van parked just round the corner and they drove off.

They did what they were supposed to do.

His heart hurts. He felt guilty. It was a familiar feeling; the one he always got when he knew he did something wrong. He did not want to watch on, yet he felt he must…

Frank Hardy made multiple trips through the gingerbread rooms. And each time he did a trip, he lost a bit of himself. Yet he hung on tenaciously.

From another room, the villain watched with interest the stubborn battle the boy put up. While he admired the will and spirit of that dark haired youth, he had a schedule to keep and could not afford to play for too long. Still, the fire and methodical approach exhibited by that youth to his predicament intrigued him. Too bad The Thirteen had been chosen, he sighed. He perused his notes and soon found a weakness he could exploit. He summoned the younger brother.

"Frank must believe he killed you, do you understand that?" the villain asked and the blond-headed youth nodded.

NO, don't do it! He shouted out loud to the boy. Don't hurt your own brother! The boy on the screen could not hear him…

Frank was making his way through the gingerbread rooms again. But this time it was clear that he was desperate. His breathing was uneven. His hands shook as he reached out to open the door before him. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what lay beyond for a just a little moment longer.

He heard several gasps.

He heard a voice calling out his name in disbelief.

He opened his eyes and saw everything he wanted to see before him. His brother, some other people, and the confirmation that he made it back to the kitchen.

No, don't believe what you see in that room. Come on Frank, you're a logical person. Surely you can see it's all a lie. It's all a lie…

Those soft brown eyes were filled with joy and love for his little brother.

How did he know what sort of person that movie character Frank is? And those eyes, those eyes…

All six of them sat around the table listening intently as Frank explained the mechanics of the gingerbread rooms. He put forth a plan to blast a way out of their prison. They had to do it, or they would be dead by the end of the day.

Why did you not see that you did not have an explanation as to why you would all be dead by the end of the day? You've not even seen daylight for a while now…

The look of horror in those brown eyes when he thought his actions killed his own brother. The pain in there was so raw…

Frank's in trouble. His heart hurts for that youth. His heart actually hurts. Come on big bro, you know something is not right…

Two youths were happily playing ball in a perfect world beyond the looking glass.

But that world is not real! It's a limited world, big bro! Try exploring the place; you'll see what I mean!

Big Bro? His heart started to race.

He pressed 'pause' on the DVD player, and leaned forward for a closer look at the other blond-headed youth that stood still on the screen.

"Darling, what are you doing?" Iola asked. "Let's continue watching…"

He turned to face her. She was as beautiful as he remembered. He reached forward to give her a quick kiss. Then he recalled she did not respond to her name, but responded to 'darling'. His heart started to pound.

How could his love not respond to her name? Then, what was his name? He frowned, what did he look like?

"Darling, what's my name?" he asked.

Iola did not respond.

He tried again. "Darling, tell me what I look like?"

She giggled and reached out to caress his cheek, saying, "You're the most handsome guy around here, and I love you."

She did not answer his question. He started to feel more and more agitated. Who was he? What did he look like? He had a sudden overwhelming need to know. He needed to know because someone he cared about was in danger. And that need overrode his other almost equally strong desire to just stay here and be happy.

His lips tightened into a grim line. If Iola wouldn’t help him, then he had to help himself. There were many ways to solve a real life problem. His father taught him that. He scanned the room; he searched the house.

There were no mirrors in the house.

He had a real bad feeling about the whole situation now. And the movies he watched with that girl replayed themselves swiftly in his mind. Always, the movies ended at the mirror.

Suddenly he felt claustrophobic. It doesn't make sense. The Morton farmstead's spacious. Then it hit him. When did he ever walk out of the house? It seemed that he had been sitting here in this room with his love watching TV forever! That was just not right! He needed to get out of the house. He needed fresh air.

He strode determinedly towards the main door. He could feel something screaming at the back of his mind promising him that sheer terror lay beyond. He suppressed that feeling through willpower, and in a single fluid motion, yanked the door open.

A shiny shimmering silver surface greeted him.

He stared at the mirror, shocked.

He stared at his own shimmery reflection, and saw the blond-headed youth from the movie he was watching. It was him; he was that boy who helped hurt his own brother. He knew it wasn't really his fault. But the guilt was there nevertheless.

His name was Joe.

He reached out to touch the silvery surface. It was cold, so cold it burned. He snatched his hand back.

This house he was in… He ran for the windows. He saw beautifully even green lawns beyond the windows, windows that were all glued shut. He stepped back from the windows, panting. Then he raced back to the shimmering silver wall behind the main door.

And there he stood, trying to gather his courage to step through. He remembered the burning cold and that held him back. Then he steeled himself. The only way out of the looking glass was through the looking glass. He took a step forward.

"If you walk through that, you'll never be with me again," the feminine voice behind him said.

He swiveled around to face her. His first love, and a guilt that never really died. She died so he and his brother could live.

"Iola, please, you aren't real. You died almost a year ago…" his own voice was pleading, for understanding, and for release from guilt.

Iola shook her head angrily. "You promised me. You promised you'd always stay with me. That you'd always love me."

"I can't Iola, Frank needs me."

"Frank's happy where he is, darling." Iola pointed to the TV screen. "And so are you. Aren't you? Don't you love me, my dearest?"

"I do love you, Iola. You know that. But this is not real. Likewise, what Frank has now is not real. I put him there, so I must go and get him out…" He felt torn both ways.

"You never loved me, did you, Joe?" Iola suddenly asked, her voice cold and dull. "That's why you started going out with her…"

He felt as if someone was squeezing his heart.

"You know I loved you, Iola. I never forgot you. And Vanessa has nothing to do with this. You're dead, Iola…dead for almost a year now," he whispered in a voice choked with guilt. "If I could undo the past, I would. But I can't"

"You can, darling, you can. All you have to do is to stay, stay here with me. I promise you that you'll be happy, forever," Iola implored, her eyes huge and glittering with tears.

He looked at her a long while. He remembered their first kiss and their first date. The pale yellow summer dress she wore that hugged her slim frame and highlighted her dark hair and pixie-like features. They went to the movies where they snuggled and laughed at the show. Then they had dinner at a cozy local diner, sharing a huge glass of punch and dancing to the music from the jukebox. That was all he could afford back then...and she paid for the music. He smiled sadly at that bittersweet memory.

"Please, please, don't leave me alone here…I've been lonely for so long, waiting for you to come back to me."

He couldn't help it. He reached out to her and enfolded her in his embrace. He put every bit of love he had for her into that embrace, infused it with every bit of regret he ever felt over the way things turned out. Then he kissed her, long and deep, for everything that they could never have together. He kissed her and his tears flowed...flowed for the betrayal that was to come. He knew now he was hugging an illusion. But the illusion was still her. And again he would be leaving her, failing her…and it would be by choice this time.

But he really had no choice. He would not live an illusion.

He whispered into her ear as he hugged her desperately for a past that could never become the future: "Iola was my first love, always. I loved her. If she lives today, I would do everything in my power to make her happy. I would stay here with her for an eternity if that is what she wanted." He paused to look into her eyes one last time. "But all these aren't real. You're not real. And Frank needs me…I'm sorry, Iola, so sorry…"

With that, he pushed her off him, turned and jumped into the shimmering doorway.

The cold burning pain was excruciating. The pain in his heart was worse. He screamed and screamed and wondered despairingly if he would ever reach the other side.

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.