HDA - Living in Darkness Trilogy - Pt 2 - The Search

I had a very bad feeling about that scream. Call me crazy but I could have sworn it was Jenna. Considering what had happened to Lopez... “Come on, Frank.”

I didn’t wait for him to answer, I took off like a bolt of lightning, sprinting as fast as I could toward the concrete overpass. Frank’s footsteps echoed behind me. Other skaters and bikers were dashing toward the half-pipes as well. Worry over Jenna made me pass them all.

A group of people were crowded around one of the pipes. I spotted a dark-haired girl hunched down in the middle of the circle and felt my heart skip a beat. “Jenna!” I yelled, pushing past the onlookers.

Jenna sat on the curve of the ramp, leaning over the lifeless body of a curly-haired boy. I dropped to my knees beside her. “What happened?” I asked, trying to breathe at the same time. She seemed okay. “Is...he okay?”

Jenna looked up at me, with tears in her eyes. “I don’t know,” she managed in a shaky voice. “We were practicing our air jumps, and Jeb just collapsed in front of me. Then my skateboard slammed into his head. I tried to stop, but...”

I carefully examined the boy’s scalp, parting the curly hair. “I don’t see any obvious trauma. He’s still breathing. Somebody call 911!”

“I already did,” said Frank as he crouched beside us. He shoved his cell phone in his jeans’ pocket and looked at Jenna. “Who is he? Do you know him?”

Jenna nodded. “Jeb Green. He’s an old friend of mine from California. An amazing skateboarder. He knows how to take a fall. But this time...it was weird...he fell with a bang.”

“A bang?” I said, glancing at Frank.

“It’s all my fault,” Jenna whispered, crying softly. “I tried to stop before I ran into him, but my skateboard shot out from under me. I might have given him a concussion.”

“I don’t think your skateboard did this,” I said, pointing to the upper curve of the ramp. “There’s blood on the half-pipe.”

“And here too,” Frank said quietly. “In the middle of the guy’s chest.”

We quickly unbuttoned the guy’s shirt – and exposed a small bullet hole in his skin. Jenna’s brown eyes widened. “Jeb was shot!”

The crowd started buzzing with that statement. Some ran off but others crowded closer. One man kept saying, “Excuse me, pardon me, coming through,” until he pushed his way in.

I was expecting a paramedic but it was the reporter from the Philadelphia Freedom Press. “So...what happened here? Any eyewitnesses?”

Jenna started to speak but I gave her a small head-shake. There was something about this guy that I didn’t like. Maybe it was the way he hoisted up his camera and started snapping pictures whenever someone was injured.

I glared up at him. “Go away. This guy needs medical assistance not your flash going off in his face.”

“Are you kidding? This is front page material.”

I felt like punching the guy and maybe when I moved to straighten up, Frank thought I was. So he stood up and blocked the reporter’s view. No matter how the guy tried to get a shot, Frank was in his way.

In the distance, we heard a siren go off. “Okay, everybody, move out of the way,” Frank yelled to the crowd. “Make room for the ambulance. Come on, guys. Move it!” He gave the reporter a glare. “Means you too.”

Slowly everyone made way, leaving a space for the approaching ambulance. It stopped in front of the ramp and the doors flew open. I recognized the two EMTs – Carter and Jack – as they came forward.

“Busy day,” I said, stepping out of their way.

“Not really,” replied Carter. “Accidents happen every day.”

Frank crouched back down beside Jeb as the paramedic did too. “This wasn’t an accident,” he said in a low voice.

I pulled Jenna close to me as Carter leaned forward. “Oh, I see,” he said, examining the wound.

“Will he...live?” asked Jenna in a small voice.

“Well...the hole’s too small for a standard bullet. This looks like it might have been made by a pellet gun.” Carter lowered his head, continuing the examination. “Yes, here it is, lodged in his sternum.”

Jenna sucked in her breath. “But is he...?”

“Yes, he’s going to live,” said the paramedic.

The crowd of onlookers cheered. Even the reporter from Freedom Press seemed happy but he never did stop taking pictures. The EMT guys ignored all the attention. They were completely committed to their work. And they were fast. They had Jeb safely strapped to a stretcher and an IV hooked up in just a few minutes. I figured they had probably been partners for a long time.

I caught an odd expression on Frank’s face as he watched the men load the boy into the ambulance. I put my arm around Jenna’s shoulder. “Jeb will be okay. These guys know what they’re doing.”

Jack, the shorter paramedic, climbed into the driver’s seat while Carter stayed in back with the patient. Just before the ambulance pulled away, Carter peered out the rear window and gave the skateboarders a thumbs-up.

“Beautiful. Just beautiful,” said the reporter, capturing the whole scene with his camera. Then he pulled out a handheld tape recorder and started asking people questions.

Jenna looked pretty shell-shocked so I led her over to a metal bench. “Here, sit down for a minute.”

The three of us sat down on the bench and found with it tucked under a shady tree, it offered a panoramic view of the skateboard park. Nobody was riding or skating though, they were just milling about and talking among themselves. We didn’t talk for a while, just watched the others from a distance.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” whispered Jenna, staring at the ground. “Why would anyone want to shoot Jeb?” She moved a half-crumpled soda can with her foot and started kicking it back and forth.

I glanced over at Frank and knew he was just dying to ask her some questions but he didn’t say a word. In fact, a second later, I wondered if he was even listening. He still had that odd expression on his face.

“I just don’t get it,” Jenna said. Her tone of voice told me she was more just talking out loud rather than explaining anything. “Jeb’s one of those sunny California dudes, always happy, always smiling. No enemies, no rivals. He’s just a cool, laid-back kind of guy. I wish you two could meet him.”

I waited a second to see if Frank was going to actually say something. When he didn’t, I said, “We can go visit him in the hospital.”

Jenna raised her head, her whole face lighting up. She smiled at me. “That would mean a lot to me. I’ll go with you.”

I knew if Frank wasn’t going to ask her questions, he’d definitely want to ask Jeb. “I bet Jeb would want you to practice and kick butt on the ramps tomorrow. Don’t you think?”

She let out a small sigh. “Yeah...but...” She shrugged. “You’re right. Tell him I’m pulling for him and I’ll try to visit him tonight.”

I gave her a hug. “Go practice.”

Jenna smiled and stretched. Then she got up and headed back to the ramp. Someone had moved her skateboard to the grassy edge and she picked it up. She turned and waved and headed off to practice. I watched her walk and found I was even more worried...about her.

“The shooter is still out there, Frank. He could be watching right now...and waiting to pull the trigger again.”

“Maybe not,” said Frank, the first thing he’d said in at least five minutes. “Here comes Eddie Mundy.”

I watched Eddie skate toward us with a red bandana on his head, a backpack on his shoulder and a hot dog in his mouth. He screeched to a stop in front of our bench. “Hey, Mr. School Newspaper Reporter, what did I miss? What was up with the ambulance in the skate park again?”

“There was another accident. Jeb Green ran into a bullet,” said Frank.

Eddie stopped chewing his hot dog and stared at Frank. “No way.” He frowned, looked around the skate park. “Dude, that’s pretty heavy news.” He shook his head. “Is Jeb, uh, is he...dead?”

“No, he’s in the hospital,” Frank answered. He glanced at Eddie’s backpack. “Seems he was shot with a pellet gun. You know, the small kind you could probably fit in a backpack.”

Eddie glanced at the pack on his shoulder and smiled. “Hey, man, I wasn’t even here, so don’t even think it.” He took another bite of his hot dog.

I couldn’t take this guy’s smug attitude another minute. “So, Eddie, where were you?” I asked.

He smirked at me, almost as if he knew that would rile me more. “I was grabbing a dog. See?” He opened his mouth and showed us the chewed up food.

“Where did you buy it?” asked Frank.

Eddie shrugged. “A vendor.”

I frowned, knowing I was losing what little patience I had. “Which vendor?”

He looked at me, startled. “Dude, how do I know? There are like a hundred vendors in this park!” He laughed – until he saw the look on our faces. “You guys are serious, aren’t you? You really think I’m picking off the other skateboarders. Why? You think it’s the only way I can win a medal? Give me a break, man.”

Eddie hopped back on his board and skated away.

I looked at Frank. “I think I’m going to hang around the skate park for a little bit. I don’t like the idea of Jenna practicing while that creep is around.”

Frank nodded. “Here’s an idea. I’ll go question some of the hot dog vendors in the area, see if Eddie was really there during the shooting. Meet me at the park entrance in about half an hour. Deal?”

“Deal.” We parted ways and I headed into the skate park and found a spot under the overpass where I could keep an eye on both Jenna and Eddie. Everything seemed back to normal now. Of course it had seemed like that right before the attacks as well.

“Hey...you,” someone called out.

I turned my head and groaned. It was the reporter from Freedom Press. He had his tape recorder in one hand and his camera in the other. “What do you want?” I wasn’t in the mood to be sociable.

“You were here for both of the accidents,” he said.

“Yeah? Well, so were you.” I kept my eyes on Jenna as she did a perfect jump and landing.

“So what’s your story, kid? You a skateboard freak? Would you kill to win the Big Air Games?” he asked rapidly.

I shot him a dirty look. “How do I know you’re really a reporter?”

He pulled out a wallet and showed me his press pass. I glanced at his grainy face shot and credentials: Maxwell Monroe, journalist/photographer, Philadelphia Freedom Press. They could have been faked but judging from the unflattering photo, I doubted it. I tossed it back to him and decided to ask him a few rapid-fire questions. “So why do you like taking pictures of violent crimes? What do you get out of it?”

“A Pulitzer Prize for journalism if I’m lucky.” He gave me a smile and shrugged. “Maybe I’ll stumble onto another attack today. It’s crazy. Two teen assaults at the same place on the same day? And I happen to be right here to catch it all on camera? I mean, what are the chances of that?”

It slipped out before I could stop myself. “Slim to none?”

Obviously he’d picked up on the suspicion in my voice. His smile faded completely and his brown eyes hardened. “Most reporters would kill for this kind of an exclusive. ‘Big Crimes at Big Air Games.’ I’ll be famous.”

“Sure you will, Max.” I backed away before I did something stupid like punch him out. Gloating over being famous with two teenagers hospitalized.

“Well, kid, gotta get back to the office if I want to make my deadline.” He opened his suit jacket to slip the tape recorder into an inside pocket. I could have sworn I saw a gun holster. He gave me a smirk and patted his jacket. “Good luck with the games, kid. Break a leg.” He turned and walked away, laughing to himself.

I shook my head and turned my attention back to the ramps. Eddie Mundy was leaving the park with a group of friends, so it seemed safe to leave Jenna alone.

I watched her do another amazing jump, waved good-bye and headed off to meet Frank at the park entrance. I couldn’t wait to share the news. If my suspicions were right, tomorrow’s headline might just read, Local Reporter Willing to Kill for Good Story.

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The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors 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.