hardy boys fan fiction
HOLE IN THE WORLD
hardy boys nancy drew fan fiction
by
Medieval Liz
Chapter 9
hardy boys fan fiction
THE CHAPTERS
Tuesday, March 26, 2:55pm
The entire block was cordoned off as police and paramedics converged on the area. Police barricades kept the public and the press on the opposite side of the street as they came to watch the real life drama currently taking place before them. An event such as this one was not an every day occurrence, even in New York City.
Fenton and Adam were escorted down the alley by Detective Cameron. The two fathers were anxious to get to the suite at the end of the alleyway. They moved off to the side as a squad car rolled slowly back toward the street, a red haired man sat grimly in the back.
When they came to the stairs to the residence, they were greeted with a sight not that unlike a war zone. Bullet holes littered the wall inside the small entrance way that also served as the kitchen and living room. A body bag was being lifted onto a gurney by the medical examiner.
“They’re back here,” Cameron motioned to the crowded hall.
Members of the forensic team were just coming out carrying neatly packed bags of evidence from the rooms. Weapons, money, voice distorters, even the clown masks Melanie had spoken of.
Then Fenton felt bile forming at the base of his throat at the sight of the bloody shackles.
A second body bag was wheeled out of the darkly lit room. Fenton looked in and saw the paramedics tending to Detective Younger. His eyes took in the sight of the dingy mattress and cold iron framed bed, and he felt sickened by it. The sense of abandonment and hopelessness that one could feel being held under such conditions would be over-powering for an adult. And to know that his twelve year old son had been subjected to that for only God knew how long, had almost unmanned him on the spot. It did not take long for overwhelming fury to overtake all of his other emotions, and he longed for just a moment of time with those animals who had taken his son.
Fenton looked around the room. Where was his son? He turned to face Cameron, who gave him a reassuring smile and gently led him down the corridor to a second room.
“Given what had happened, we felt it best to move Frank into another room.” Cameron said.
Wordlessly thanking the Detective with a brief nod, Mr Hardy hurried the few feet to that open door. A sense of nervousness suddenly surged over him and he hesitated in the doorway.
His baby was sitting there looking very lost and lonely, on the edge of a fairly clean double bed, being attended to by an EMT. In the dim lighting of the room, he could see that Frank looked pale and exhausted. He could see the blood-stained bandages which the EMT had just finished wrapping around his son’s ankles. Looking further up, the father could see the bleeding and sore wrists which the EMT was currently attending to. And the father wept, unmindful of the tears of sorrow and tears of joy that cascaded down his cheeks. A sound, the tiniest squeak escaped his lips, totally out of his control.
The sound alerted the young boy, who looked up in his direction. For the first time, the father saw the bruises on his son’s little face, and he could take it no longer. He rushed in, and soon had his son held close to his heart in a tight embrace from which he never ever wanted to let go. He took great care not to crush his baby, and his shoulders shuddered powerfully from his efforts.
The tears continued to flow as the shuddering intensified, and soon burst into heart-wrenching sobs. His first-born, whom he thought lost to him forever, was back in his arms again. And he would not have to face another morning of agonized uncertainty, hoping and despairing, wondering if his son was dead or alive, doing well or suffering. And then there was the heavy burden of having to be strong and to hide all those pain and sorrow from his wife and younger son.
Now, with his eldest son back in his arms, he felt all those burdens and all those sorrows and all those fears slowly fall away from him bit by bit, following the path of his tears as they flowed from his face down his cheeks, and finally to disappeared back into the atmosphere. The process of purging and recovering continued. Till once again he was the man he was before. Almost, for who could have survived such traumatic experiences with a scar or two to mark their tortured soul?
But finally, for the first time in six months, Fenton Hardy felt at ease.
He held Frank at arms length, looking him over, and gently ran a hand over his son’s hair. “Oh god! Are you okay?”
He turned to the paramedic who stood beaming at the sight of father and son once again reunited and asked urgently: “Is he okay?”
“The skin on the wrists and ankles are pretty much rubbed sore and bleeding,” The paramedic said gently, “but I don’t think he’ll need any stitches. The bruising will fade in a day or two.”
“I kept trying to get away,” Frank said quietly with a sniffle, wiping at his watery eyes with the back of his hand, “Every chance I got. Like you always told me to.”
A mixture of pride and guilt filled Fenton’s heart. Pride that his son remembered his lessons and guilt because those lessons had, perhaps, gotten Frank more hurt than he should.
The EMT closed his case and smiled at Fenton. “He needs a few good nights of sleep, something to eat, and he’ll be just fine. Make sure he gets lots of fluids. If there’s any sign of infection or fever take him in to the ER. Otherwise, I think this young man just needs to go home.”
Fenton half cried, half laughed at that thought. Frank was coming home! “Thank you, I’ve been wanting to do that for months!”
The EMT smiled again and left the room, and only then did Fenton realize that Detective Cameron was still standing there in the doorway. There was a warm smile was on the man’s face as he looked down at them.
“You have had us worried, Frank.” Cameron said to the boy.
“Sorry,” Frank tried to give the man a half smile, but it faltered almost instantly and he looked to his father. “Dad, I want to go home.”
“Detective?” Fenton queried.
“We’ll be here all night collecting evidence, but I think we can get Frank’s statement in a day or two, when he’s feeling up to it.” The blonde haired man smiled widely and stepped aside. “We’ve got a car waiting for you. Take your son home, Mr Hardy.”
Frank started to reach for his socks when Mr Hardy just scooped him up into his arms. Without another word Fenton carried his son out of the bedroom and into the hall, taking great care to block Frank’s view of the room that had been his prison.
Several members of the SWAT team walked with them out of the apartment and into the alley. The coroners’ van was just pulling out and an ambulance was backing up as close as it could to the door. Detective Younger, strapped to a stretcher, was carefully brought up the stairs by the paramedics and a couple of cops.
“Dad, put me down.” Frank said, suddenly very anxious. “Put me down!”
A little unnerved by the urgency in his son’s voice, Fenton complied and was surprised when the barefoot boy ran up to the side of the stretcher. His hand touched the Detective’s arm and Brian’s eyes opened. He turned his head towards the boy.
“You okay, Frank?” Brian asked.
“Yea,” Frank nodded, “But you got hurt because of me.”
Brian smiled and shook his head. “No, never that… and better me than you.”
A visible shudder ran over Frank. “He- he was going to kill me, wasn’t he?”
“Not on my watch,” Brian looked up at Fenton who stood protectively behind his son. “I think your pop’s eager to get you home, kiddo.”
“Frank, let the paramedics take the Detective to the hospital.” Fenton placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “The faster he gets there, the faster he gets treated.”
Frank nodded, but kept his eyes on his saviour as the paramedics loaded the man into the ambulance. The father shot the detective a grateful smile. Detective Younger had responded in kind with a wan smile of his own. And he was still smiling at the little boy as the doors of the ambulance closed.
HBHBHB
Tuesday, March 26, 4:20pm
The unmarked police car cruised along I-495. Every second took them closer Bayport. The officer in front, a uniformed man in his early forties, kept his eyes on the road but couldn’t help but listen to the two in the back seat.
After helping Frank get his shoes and socks on over his bandaged ankles, Fenton held his son as close as he could while they wore their seatbelts. Frank had started to doze off before they were out of Brooklyn, his head resting against his father’s shoulder, but sleep did not come easy for the boy. Each time he began to fall into a deeper sleep, he would jerk awake from the beginnings of some nightmare. Fenton would whisper softly in his ear, reassuring him that he was safe and going home, and at the same time stroking the boy’s shaggy brown hair.
Then there came a quiet moment. Lulled by the soothing humming sounds of the smoothly cruising car, Fenton’s eyes started to droop. He was so tired himself.
Then a little voice roused him.
“Dad?”
Looking down, he saw Frank staring straight ahead, a wistful longing expression on his boyish face.
“What is it Frank?” Fenton asked.
“How long have I been gone?”
There was a hitch in Fenton’s heart. “You don’t know?”
Frank shook his head. “Not really. I- I know it’s been a while, but it’s sort of hard to remember everything.”
Crestfallen, Fenton kissed the top of his son’s head. The other kidnapped kids had returned with little to no memory of their missing time. He shouldn’t have expected Frank to be any different, but he had.
“Six months. It’s almost April.”
“Christmas is finished…” His voice was the tiniest whisper and Fenton wasn’t sure he heard him correctly.
“Christmas?”
“Before I- I woke up in that room,” Frank shuddered involuntarily, “I can remember someone saying ‘Christmas is finished.’ I guess if it’s March I missed the holidays.”
There was a lot he had missed, Fenton realized. In the short life of an eleven year old – No, Frank was twelve now – six months was practically a life time. It was only now that Fenton realized the potential magnitude of the adjustments Frank was going to have to make. It was going to be very difficult for the boy.
The rest of the drive to Bayport was made in relative silence. Frank continued to doze in and out of a fitful sleep. He finally gave up as the car approached the city limits. He ended up just staring out the car window. A few minutes later, the car pulled into the driveway of the two story house on the corner of Elm Street.
“Here you are, Mr Hardy,” The officer driving said as he put the car into park, looking at the pair in the rear view mirror.
“Thank you,” Fenton unclasped the seatbelts and helped Frank out of the car.
Keeping one arm around his son’s shoulder, Fenton smiled as Frank leaned against him while they walked the short distance to the front door. With one last nod to the officer as he pulled back onto the street, Fenton opened the door and led Frank inside.
There came a faint gasp from Laura Hardy when the door opened and they walked inside. She had been waiting at the foot of the stairs for the last hour and now her heart swelled at the sight of her son.
“Oh Frank!” She was on her knees in a second as Frank bolted for his mother’s arms.
The tentative hold on all emotions gave way to the relief and joy at finally being together again. Frank cried against Laura’s shoulder and the woman whispered soothingly in his ear.
“Shh, baby, you’re home now. You’re home.”
Fenton watched the scene with a warm heart and glanced to the doorway to the living room. Joe stood there with tears in his eyes, watching Frank. Gertrude stood behind the blonde haired boy, her gentle hand on Joe’s shoulder.
The minutes crept by, and reluctantly Laura loosen her hold on Frank. She smiled into the young boy’s face, tears of her own glistening on her face, and brushed the moisture from his cheeks.
Hesitantly, Joe stepped away from his Aunt. Frank noticed the movement and turned his head toward his brother. The two boys stared at each other.
“Hi,” Joe said tentatively with a small smile.
Frank returned the shy smile. “Hi.”
Joe suddenly leapt forward, wrapping his arms around Frank in a tight hug. Frank fiercely returned the embrace. Laura and Fenton shared a look between them, a look that said all was right once again with the world.
Wordlessly, Gertrude stepped back into the living room and towards the bay window. With a prayer of thanks in her heart, she extinguished the candle flickering in the window and closed the drapes. The candlelight vigil was no longer necessary.
Frank Hardy was home.
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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.