Frank awoke with a start.  His heart was pounding and he had to take a couple of steadying breaths.  Looking at the time – nine a.m. – he quickly jumped out of bed and hurried into the hall.  He didn’t care that his brother was probably going to rag him out for calling him so early; Frank needed to hear his voice!

“Come on, come on, pick up,” he muttered to himself as he heard the rings going through to his aunt’s place but no one answered. Slamming down the receiver, he stalked back into his room.  “Where the hell could they be at this hour Sunday morning?!”

Storming into the bathroom, he slammed the door shut and then stared at the reflection in the mirror. “Get a grip on yourself, Hardy,” he chastised the dark eyed teenager looking back at him, “it was just a dream – a bloody terrible one – but just a dream, nevertheless!”

Taking another settling breath, Frank undressed and hopped in the shower, hoping the hot water could help wash away the residue of this particular nightmare.  He was surprised to find himself trembling as he leaned forward, placing his forehead against the cool tiles and feeling the water cascading down his muscular back.

‘I don’t have nightmares,’ he thought to himself, ‘Joe has nightmares…’ which was only partially true. While the younger teen did tend to have them more frequently, Frank had been known to have had a couple in his time…but nothing that had shaken him up this badly, in a long time!

Frank thought about the dream again, hoping that if he dissected it, it wouldn’t be waiting for him again that night.

It seemed to start out okay; he and Joe were walking across an iridescent green field towards a group of people. Frank couldn’t see what the people were doing but there seemed to be a fair number and they all had their backs to him and Joe. As he walked, the field began to change – it still shimmered, more like a green ocean than grass now though, and it was dotted with little oddly shaped rocks. Frank looked at the rocks and felt a growing alarm as the rocks morphed into gravestones.

As they got closer to the group of people, Frank was finally able to read the inscription on one of the headstones, and it started his heart pounding – even now, safely awake in the shower – he looked from one headstone to the next, desperately seeking one that said something different. But they didn’t, they all said the same thing: chilling words etched in cold marble: HERE LIES MY BROTHER.

Instantly Frank turned to Joe but he was gone! Frantically, he raced through the graveyard yelling for Joe but not receiving any answer. The crowd of people were oblivious to him even as he grabbed faceless mourners and shook them.  “Where’s Joe? Have you seen Joe? Where’s my brother?”  But none had any answers – until finally he got to the front of the crowd, and then he froze.

A glass coffin was being lowered into the ground and inside the coffin, Frank could very clearly see his brother – he was being buried alive!

Joe thrashed and screamed but no one moved to help him. Frank tried to get to him, to stop this insanity, but he was held back!

“Joe!” he screamed, “That’s my brother!”

And then he heard a woman’s voice murmur in his ear, “That’s not Joe Hardy – that’s Paul Scott…”

“No!” he screamed again, breaking loose from the restraining hands and pushing his way to the glass coffin. It was lying on the ground now and Frank was alone – all the mourners gone….He approached the coffin and looked inside.  Joe was gone.  All that was left was a rotten, decaying corpse with a tuft of blond hair….

Frank shuddered, turned off the water and got out of the shower – he needed to try calling again.

* * *

As Laura stepped into her childhood home for the first time in almost eighteen years, she felt her breath catch in her throat.  It had been so long since she had been ‘home’.

“Wow,” Joe said, impressed by the simple splendor of the old house, “you grew up here, Mom?”

Laura nodded, at a loss of words for a moment as she wandered around the room noting the changes Gwynne had made – most of them just in the furnishings, which surprised her.  “I would have thought you’d have changed the color scheme,” she said absently.

The other woman shrugged.  “Why fix something that wasn’t broken? I always thought your father had impeccable taste, and his choice of palette for this whole house truly reflects that.”

Joe just said “Wow” again.

Gwynne led them into a large country kitchen and pointed at the ornate oak table placed squarely in the room. “Do you recognize it?”

At first Laura wasn’t sure and then she looked at Gwynne, “It isn’t, is it?”

Their dark haired hostess just grinned and indicated with her head, “Take a look, and find out.”

Joe watched, puzzled, as his mother leaned over and looked under the table.  He heard her gasp and then look sharply at Gwynne, her voice incredulous:  “This is my father’s table!”

Gwynne nodded – obviously very pleased with herself.

“When Paul and I were kids we carved our initials under the table,” Laura explained to her son, and then indicated for him to take a look. Joe did, and sure enough he saw the initials LS and PS hacked into the surface under the table.

“Your father never knew,” Gwynne grinned, and Laura shook her head, chuckling fondly as she thought of her father.

“No, he never did, and if he had ever found out, he’d have skinned us alive!”

“Oh that’s bad, Mom,” Joe groaned and then laughed, “seeing that your dad was a surgeon!”

The other two women just looked at him, and then joined in his laughter. Laura reached out and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze.  “You’re very right, sweetie.  Bad… but appropriate!”

* * *

Gwynne’s eyes hardened briefly as she saw the open affection between her guests…and then she was moving towards the living room.  “Well, enough time wasted – let’s ride!”

“Good idea,” Laura nodded, as she looped her arm around her son’s waist and then walked with him, side by side, out of the house and towards the barn.

* * *

“What’s wrong, son?” Fenton asked as he stepped into the hall in time to see a peeved-off-looking Frank glaring at the phone he had just hung up.

“I tried calling Mom and Joe, but no one’s answering!” he said, frustration clearly evident in his voice.

The detective was mildly amused to see his son so obviously upset over this. It wasn’t like Frank to get bothered over something as mundane as no one being there when he called.

“Well,” he said, “they probably decided to go out for breakfast.  Your mom had no definite plans for today – she was going to see what your brother wanted to do…so Lord only knows, what they’re up to right now.” Fenton saw the resigned look cross Frank’s face. “Is something wrong?”

Frank sighed, “Well yeah – no – maybe, geez, Dad I just don’t know!”

“You want to talk about it?” the sleuth pressed, wondering what had unsettled his older son like this.

“You’re going to think it’s stupid,” the teen muttered as his father followed him into his bedroom.

“Try me,” Fenton implored, sitting down at Frank’s desk chair.  It never ceased to amaze him how very different his two sons were. Joe’s room was a danger zone, looking like something nasty had chewed up a teenager and his belongings, before spitting them out all around the room; while Frank’s was impeccably clean.  Everything had a place, and was in its place.  Fenton doubted a dust bunny had ever known this room!

Frank flumped down on his bed and sighed, again.  “I just had a really weird dream – a nightmare, I guess.”

Fenton waited patiently for his son to continue, and he did:  “Joe and I were walking across a field towards a group of people, and to make a long story short – turns out it was Uncle Paul’s funeral; the only thing was that instead of it being him in this horrible glass casket, it was Joe.”  The teen looked at his father, his eyes bright.  “It was horrible, Dad!  I tried to get to him to get him out, but I couldn’t.  And then when I finally did, he was gone and it was just a skeleton…”

Reaching across, Fenton gave his son’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.  “So now you really just need to talk to your brother,” he speculated softly, his own heart aching for the grief he could hear in his son’s voice; for the horribleness of the dream; and for his own memories of that day – that funeral….

Frank nodded.  “Stupid, I know.”

“Not really,” his father said and then gave his son a thoughtful look.  “Considering the physical similarity between Joe and your uncle, your Mom’s impromptu trip to New York to see Paul’s girlfriend, and then your brother’s own desperate flight – I’d say your psyche has just picked a disturbing way of correlating it all.”

“Disturbing?” Frank muttered, rubbing his tired face with his hand, “geesh, thanks Dad.”

“Do you have a better word?” Fenton asked, raising his eyebrows teasingly.

“Well no,” the teen grumbled, “but I had hoped you would!”

Fenton gave his shoulder another squeeze as he stood up.  “Okay, let’s try ‘sleep depriving’ or ‘interesting’, how’s that?”

“Better,” Frank grinned, and then the grin was replaced with a sigh.  “I just wish I knew where he was – where they both are.”

His father shook his head.  “Frank, you aren’t Joe’s mother.  And the last time I looked he was actually with his mother, so don’t worry.  She got him through infancy, I’m sure she can keep him in one piece for a day or two in the Big Apple.”

Frank scowled and then slowly the scowl turned into a wry smile.  “Good luck to her, then. I doubt that’s one task I’d be up to!”

Fenton looked at his son and then they both burst out laughing, knowing what a penchant for finding trouble Joe had.  But as the detective followed his son down the stairs, his expression grew a bit more grave, and he decided it might not hurt to give his partner and best friend, Sam Radley, a heads-up that Laura and Joe were in New York.  He was still a bit unsettled by that phone call he received, and decided there was no such thing as playing too safe where his family was concerned.

Sam worked out of New York City, and Fenton was sure he’d have no compunction about keeping in touch with the absent Hardys.  And if it could give Frank some peace of mind – that would be enough for Fenton.

* * *

Laura let out a whistle of appreciation when she saw the three horses Blair had saddled. Joe cast a sidelong glance at his mother, awed by just how very little he knew about this aspect of her life; the expression on her face took the years away and he could easily imagine her as a young girl.

Laura moved away from Joe and took a few moments to run her hands over the large equines, appraising and talking to each one. Finally she turned to look at Gwynne, her blue eyes shining with excitement.  “They are simply magnificent!”

Gwynne shrugged it off.  “Glad you approve.  I know they’re not the Thoroughbreds you’re used to, but I find Quarter Horses to be a more companionable ride.”

“I don’t think I’ll notice the difference! I haven’t ridden anything but farm horses in so many years…” Laura’s voice trailed off and she smiled, “listen to me, I sound like a horse snob!”

The dark haired woman laughed, “And you should be!  You’ve more than earned the right. No one sat on a horse like you did!”

Laura blushed at the unexpected compliment and then turned to her son.  “Ready?”

Joe shrugged and than admitted, “I don’t know. I kind of feel outclassed here – both you and Ms. Smart—”

“Gwynne,” she cut in.

“Both you and Gwynne,” Joe amended, “are horse people and I just hope I don’t embarrass myself – or even worse, Mom – too badly!”

Laura laughed, her eyes shining with pride as she looked at her handsome young son.  “Joseph Hardy, you have never done anything to embarrass me!”

“Never?” he couldn’t help but tease, an eyebrow raised in defiance, and his mother laughed and swatted his arm playfully.

“Nothing you’d want me to mention in front of other people!”

Joe blushed and looked at the horses, desperate to change the subject as it took a nasty turn on him.  “Okay, so which of these babies do I get to ride?”

Gwynne laughed, enjoying his vivaciousness.  ‘So much like Paul’ she thought.  “Actually, your horse isn’t here yet.  Blair is just bringing her out now.”

Both Laura and Joe turned to see the dark haired man leading a large black mare from the barn.  Laura felt all the color drain out of her face as she turned to Gwynne.  “Are you kidding?”

“No,” the woman denied, “Grace is the best horse for Joe. She’s got a very nice, stable temperament—”

Laura cut her off, her voice shocked.  “Grace?! As in Paul’s Grace?!”

“Don’t be so silly,” Gwynne chastised her, “of course not. Laura dear, you really need to get over this obsession – not everything is about Paul.”  But as she walked forward to take the bridle from Blair, she added to herself, ‘then again, maybe it is’.

Blair smiled at Laura.  “I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I would tag along for the ride. I got nothing better to do this morning.”

Oh, Laura minded, Laura minded a lot.  But she forced a smile onto her face.  “No, of course not.”  And then frowned as she looked back at the horse – was it just coincidence that the mount Gwynne had chosen for Joe looked like her dead brother’s horse?  She really hoped so, not liking the possible connotations, if it wasn’t….

* * *

Fenton walked into the kitchen and saw Frank absently stirring his cup of coffee, very much lost in thought, and the detective was pretty sure what he was thinking of.  Bad dreams like that one his son had, were hard to just brush off, Fenton knew that from experience.

Sitting down across from his morose son, the older man gave him a sympathetic smile.  “Will it make you feel any better if I told you I just called Sam and he’s going to drop by your aunt’s place and see how they’re doing?”

Frank’s head snapped up and he stared at his father.  “Really?”

Fenton nodded.  “Yeah, I thought what the heck – what the harm? Besides, you have your first game in an hour, and I didn’t want you anymore distracted than an assistant coach should be during his first game.”

The teen’s jaw dropped in surprise.  “The game!  I had completely forgotten about it!”  He jumped up from the chair, immediately forgetting about his coffee.  “I’d better get ready!  You’re still coming, aren’t you?”

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” the detective smiled, and then his smile broadened as he saw the pleased look flash across his older son’s face.

“That’s great, Dad! Terrific,” Frank was halfway through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the living room when he stopped, turned back and looked at his father.  “And thanks for calling Sam – you have no idea how much better that’s made me feel!”  As the teen continued on upstairs to his room to grab his stuff, Fenton let out a sigh and shook his head.

“Oh, I think I do,” he said quietly, picking up the forgotten coffee mug and placing it in the sink.  He had called Sam as much for his own peace of mind as for Frank’s…or I’ll remember how well I know you…and your family….Shaking off a sudden chill; Fenton stood up and headed for his office.  He had a few minutes before they had to leave, and the detective was determined to use every one of them.

‘You might have slipped away from me eight years ago,’ he thought, striding across the living room, ‘but this time I’m not letting you go!’

* * *

The ride turned out to be more pleasant than either Laura or Joe were expecting. The large bay stallion was a bit spirited but nothing the experienced horsewoman couldn’t handle, and in truth, Laura enjoyed feeling the challenge of keeping her feisty mount in line – it was such a change from the docile horses that she rode on occasion, at the Mortons’ farm.  And to her credit, the black mare that Gwynne had chosen for Joe was behaving very admirably and not giving the teen any trouble.

Although nowhere near the rider that his mother was, Joe, like Frank, was comfortable in the saddle and a very competent rider – even Blair remarked on it.

“That one holds his seat well,” he said, almost grudgingly, as they brought the horses out of a canter as they crossed a small field and headed along a tree-lined trail.  “I was expecting him on his bottom by now.”

“Joe’s a good rider,” Laura complimented, looking with pride at her now blushing son.

“Of course he is,” Gwynne commented as she nudged her horse up between the Hardys’ horses, “He’s got too much of his uncle in him, not to be.”

“Actually,” Laura started, feeling that the other woman had given her the perfect opportunity to set her straight a bit, “Joe might look like Paul, but he’s really nothing like him at all.”  That wasn’t exactly true, as Joe did resemble his uncle both in appearance and many of his mannerisms, but she felt justified in her deception.  She didn’t like how Gwynne kept looking at her teenage son, and that was the bottom line.  “Nothing at all.”

“Really?” Gwynne said, looking across at the younger Hardy – Joe kept his gaze firmly fixed on the terrain ahead.  “Such a shame.”  And then she smiled at Laura.  “Come on, Mrs. Hardy – show me what you’re made of!”  And then with a wild whoop, she urged her mount into a gallop.

Stunned, it took Laura all of a moment to rise to the challenge – and with a firm kick to her horse’s side, raced after the black-haired woman.  The response was automatic and she didn’t even think of it; in an instant she was transformed from Laura Hardy, mother and wife, to Laura Scott, intense competitor…and the race was on!

“Shall we?” Blair asked, as he reined in closer to Joe.

The blond teen nodded and then urged his horse to move.  He had no intention of trying to win – that was pointless, the kid knew that wasn’t going to happen – but he’d at least try to keep them in sight!

As his horse picked up speed, Joe felt the exhilaration that could only come from feeling the surging power beneath him, a power controlled by a flimsy rein.

“Come on!” Blair shouted at him, “I know a short-cut.  We won’t beat them but we’ll still make good time!”  He veered off to the right and Joe coaxed his horse after him.

They galloped down into a gully and everything was going fine until they came up to the top and a downed tree forced Blair’s horse to jump right over it. Joe, not a confident jumper, pulled back on his reins to stop Grace, but the reins snapped, just as the horse jumped, and the momentum knocked the teen backwards and out of the saddle!

Joe felt himself falling and grabbed wildly for something to hold onto, grasping nothing but air!  Seconds later his body hit the ground with a sickening thud; his head cracking against a rock—

Blair rode back to the top of the gulley and looked down, dispassionately, at the unconscious teen for a moment.  Sighing, he dismounted and then knelt by the prone body, feeling for a pulse and muttering as he did so, “I just hope the hell Gwynne knows what she’s doing…”