Joe heard another car coming up behind him and whipped around, expecting it to be Peter and his gang again; and he let out a sigh of relief when he recognized his father’s car.  

“Care for a lift?” Fenton asked as he rolled down the window and spoke to his son; his dark eyes quickly took in Joe’s disheveled appearance as he did so.  

Joe was already reaching for the door handle.  “I’d love one.”  

As the teen put on his seatbelt, Fenton used his cell phone to call Frank and let him know that he’d found Joe. And then he pulled back onto the road and continued home, turning up the heat as he did.  

Joe gave him a look of appreciation – oh yeah, he was cold.  

“I thought you were taking the bus home,” Fenton said. “Why are you walking?”  

Sighing, the teen laid back his head and closed his eyes – he was tuckered out – as he admitted, “Didn’t have enough money for the fare.”  

Fenton cast a sidelong glance at him.  “Why didn’t you ask your brother for some?”  

“Didn’t know until after he’d left,” Joe said, kicking himself for not thinking about that himself. Sure, he might have missed the first bus, but he’d still have gotten home sooner than walking. And he definitely would not have ended up rolling down an embankment, that was for sure!  

“So you decided to walk,” Fenton stated, and Joe shrugged, his eyes still closed.  

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”  

“You could have called home for a ride,” his father commented.  “Your mother or I would rather come pick you up than have you walking home.”  

Joe crinkled up his face – he hadn’t thought of that.  

“So?” his father asked, after a moment with no comment from his son.  

“So what?” Joe skirted around the question.  

“So, what happened on this walk home? You look like you’ve had a bit of trouble – or was school just a bit more brutal today than usual?” Fenton tried to keep it light, although he was very concerned that Joe had run into some kind of problem.  

Opening his eyes, Joe moved his head until he was looking at his father’s profile, and then he just shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t take care of.”  

“Joe—”  

“Dad,”  Joe cut his father off, his voice reflecting the weariness his whole body was feeling, “it’s okay. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Please, can we just leave it at that?”  

Fenton opened his mouth to protest, but then stopped himself. He could see how tired Joe was, and decided that it might be better to pick up this line of questioning later.  

“Fine for now,” Fenton finally said, “But I will expect an answer.” As he pulled into the driveway and stopped the car, he looked over at his son.  “Please, Joe – if you’re in any kind of trouble or someone’s giving you a hard time, you need to let me know. I want to help.”  

Joe’s vibrant blue eyes gazed into his father’s dark ones for a moment, and then the boy nodded slowly and was out of the car and limping towards the house before his father could say anything else.  

Fenton followed but at a much slower pace. And then when he got into the house, he headed straight for his study. He needed to make some phone calls.

* * *

Joe hobbled up to his room. His knee was throbbing, and he wanted nothing more than to soak it, and his various other aches and pains, in the tub.   

As he entered the bathroom he caught a glance of himself in the mirror, and shook his head at the reflection.  

He looked a fright. He was dirty, sore and even had stuff in his hair!  Picking out a leaf and a twig, the teen then leaned over, turned on the faucet, and within moments was soaking blissfully in the steam-filled room.  

Closing his eyes, he rested his head back against the wall and tried not to let what Peter and his friends said bother him.  

But try as he might, it still didn’t take away the pain. Almost every day of his life, there was someone there reminding him that he didn’t belong, and that he wasn’t a real Hardy. That he was adopted.  

And every morning his very reflection in the bathroom mirror reminded him of the truth. Somewhere there was someone who hated him with such passion it was terrifying….  

A someone who disguised his true nature behind Joe’s face; a someone who was his own identical twin.  

William.

* * *

Fenton hung up the phone just as he heard Frank pull up in the driveway. He had spoken briefly to his long-time partner, Sam Radley, and asked him to put out some extra feelers.  He needed to confirm that William Doe was still in New York City .  

The Big Apple was the last place that anyone reported seeing William, but that had been almost six months ago, and Fenton wanted something more recent.  

Although the police had put out an APB on the missing teen, and the papers had certainly run the gamut  on what had happened to the Hardys, William was proving to be a lot more wily than anyone would have given him credit for.  

It was like he had just vanished off the face of the earth, and except for a rare sighting, there was no sign of him anywhere.  Well, until six months ago, that was.  

After promising Fenton to let him know as soon as he found out anything else, Sam hung up, and the dark-haired investigator left the office to go talk to his older son.

* * *

Frank pulled up next to his father’s car and hurried into the house. While he’d been told that Joe had been found and that he was all right, the older teen couldn’t relax until he saw the younger boy with his own eyes.  

So he was surprised to see his father waiting in the doorway for him.   

“Where’s Joe?” Frank demanded as soon as he got within earshot.  

“Upstairs, taking a bath,” Fenton said, as he closed the door behind Frank once the teen came inside the house.  “Can I talk to you a moment before you go upstairs?” The senior Hardy knew his sons well enough to know exactly where Frank was going to take off to, as soon as he came into the house.  

Instantly, Frank became wary as he said slowly, “Okay.” And then followed his father to his office, his concern growing with every step – what was this about?  

Once they had gotten inside, Fenton closed the door, beckoned for Frank to sit down, and then he sat down on the edge of the desk and sighed.  “Joe ran into some trouble on his way home—”  

“Is he okay?” Frank cut in as he stood up.   

His father rushed to assure him.  “Yes, yes. He looks a bit worn and is limping again, but all in all he’s fine. However, he’s not talking to me.”   

Frank sat back down, and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair as he nodded for his father to continue.  

“I wanted to forewarn you, but also I need you to talk to him. He’s insisting nothing happened. Well, nothing that he couldn’t handle, anyway. But Frank, I’m concerned. I don’t like the idea that there might be something going on that your brother’s hiding – something that could hurt him….”  His voice trailed off, and Frank felt his face go white, as they both knew what Fenton was thinking about. Joe had hidden William’s abuse for weeks before anyone found out. And then it was almost too late.  

Fenton was determined that something like that would never happen again.  

“Okay Dad,” Frank finally said. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Joe and if he won’t tell me anything, I’ll do some digging and see what I can find out on my own.”  

Standing up, the older man looked a bit relieved.  “Thanks, Frank. I just have a bad feeling about all this, and I never want to see your brother hurt again. Not if I can do anything to prevent it!”  

“Me neither,” Frank immediately seconded, and then stood up again, and followed his father out of the study. They parted ways, with Frank going upstairs to talk to Joe, and Fenton heading into the kitchen to forewarn Laura about the scratches she’d see on her son’s face.  

He just hoped Joe was right, and that whatever had happened was something he could handle.