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

Joe pulled into a parking space and shut off the engine. It was Wednesday afternoon and he was supposed to be at wrestling practice. Frank had ridden home with Callie so that Joe could have the van. Joe sighed and rested his hands on the steering wheel. Coach Drummond wasn't going to be very happy after this.

Joe glanced to his right at the mall entrance. To say he'd come here to buy Vanessa that special present wasn't entirely the truth. After the sighting Monday, Joe hadn't seen the girl all day Tuesday - not at school, not around town, not anywhere. All day today he'd kept a sharp eye out but he hadn't seen her.

He was honestly beginning to wonder if he'd conjured her up out of thin air. Joe sighed and got out of the van. Valentine's Day was less than a week away now and he really needed to find something for Vanessa. He headed into the mall and stood there for a moment, trying to pick the store that would have the ideal thing. He veered away from the fancy jewelry stores - they were way out of his price range. He bypassed the athletic shoe stores and the gaming stores and realized that didn't leave him with a lot of options.

Joe let out a grunt. There was the bath and body shop over to his left next to a lingerie store. Joe blushed at the thought of even getting near that store - a house wares store to his right, alongside a book store and a music store. Since he knew what kind of music Vanessa liked, he headed into the music store.

He threaded his way among the racks of CDs and audiocassettes, looking for that one specific band when he bumped into someone. "I'm sorry..." Joe turned to see who it was and felt a chill.

She smiled, her violet eyes twinkling. "It's okay. I won't think you did that on purpose."

Joe forced himself to breathe. Iola had said that once when he'd bumped into her at the mall one day before they'd started going steady. "Really, I didn't mean to," he managed to say.

She laughed. "Oh don't fret, I don't mind running into handsome blond guys. Did you know I have a weakness for blue eyes?"

He gave a weak laugh and held out a hand. "I'm Joe, by the way."

She shook his hand. "Ione Martin."

Joe stared at her and swallowed hard. "Really."

"It sounds dreadful doesn't it." She looked away and sighed. "But it was the only name that fit."

"That...fit?" Joe realized his head was throbbing and he felt dizzy, like he was on the edge of a vortex or something.

The girl blushed. "I'm sorry. I..." She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "I have amnesia. I don't remember anything about who I was before I woke up in that hospital. One of the few things I had in my possession was a half-burnt ID card. All that was readable were the letters I, O, M, R, T, and N. The doctors said that the last four letters were probably part of the name Martin and since the I was capitalized, they thought the first name was Ione."

Joe's chest hurt and it dawned on him that he needed to breathe. "Wh-what hospital?"

She frowned, wrinkling her nose in such a way that Joe wanted to actually cry. Iola used to do that. "It was in upstate New York-" She shook her head. "Silly me, it was in Maine."

Joe shivered, the events of two years ago flooding back with painful clarity. The Assassins had tricked him once before with a girl who looked like Iola. Her real name had been Sally but the Assassins had brainwashed her into believing she was Iola for the sole reason to get at him and Frank. "I think I'd better go."

Ione Martin gave him a sad look. "Okay."

She looked so much like Iola; he felt his heart break just a little bit. But then anger flooded his entire being and he took a step back. Without saying another word, he left the music store and headed for the nearest exit.

He left the mall and without so much as a glance to his left or right to see if a car was coming, he started across the parking lot toward the van. The sound of an approaching car finally made him look to see a large truck barreling toward him. Joe took off for the van but the truck veered with him. Something small and hard slammed into his thigh and he fell - right into the path of the truck.

***

Frank Hardy finished up his homework and glanced at the clock above his computer desk. He turned to put his books back in the backpack and then looked back up at the clock. Joe's practice had finished half an hour ago. Why hadn't his brother gotten home yet?

Frank got to his feet and walked through the bathroom to his brother's room. He tapped on the door and then pushed it open. "Joe?"

The room was empty, so Frank went back into his room and out the door. He hurried down the stairs and headed into the kitchen. "Joe?"

His mother looked up from stirring something in a pot on the stove. "Joe's not here yet. He'd better hurry. I fixed his favorite - Irish stew."

Frank tried not to sound concerned. "He's been fretting about the perfect Valentine's Day present for Vanessa; he probably went to the mall."

Laura glanced back at Frank. "Oh, he has to pass the supermarket to come home then. Call him and ask him to pick up milk and a five-pound bag of sugar."

Both their parents had decided to call it a late Christmas present, but after what had happened on New Year's Eve, they had purchased a cell phone for Joe - on the condition that he'd be solely responsible for it. If he damaged this one, it was coming out of his allowance and he'd have to pay for the next one.

Frank walked over to the phone hanging on the kitchen wall and dialed the cell phone number. It rang four times and the voice mail message came on. Frank hung up and dialed again. This time someone answered. "Joe, hey...." Frank broke off at the unfamiliar voice on his brother's phone. "Hello?" Frank heard a click and decided to hang up. "Uh, he got cut off, probably hasn't kept the phone charged up. Why don't I run to the store for you, Mom?"

"Well, okay. Just use the debit card and we'll work it out later."

Frank nodded, grabbed her keys and the debit card and hurried out of the house, his heart racing. The stranger's voice had said there had been an accident and the paramedics were on their way. Frank got into his mother's car and roared out of the driveway. Oh God, what had happened?

He drove as fast as he dared to the mall and made a sharp turn into the parking lot. He spotted the ambulance and headed in that direction. Joe was seated on the back bumper, scowling. From a quick look, his brother seemed all right. Frank braked to a halt and got out of the car. "Joe!"

Joe tried to shoo the EMT away. "I keep telling them I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"I fell."

The other EMT, a woman, walked around the back of the ambulance. "The report said he was hit by a truck. He says he wasn't."

"Truck veered at the last minute."

Frank had a feeling there was much more to what had happened and he wasn't sure he liked the idea that Joe didn't want to discuss it in front of the strangers. The two EMTs finally gathered their stuff and left, leaving Frank and Joe alone in the parking lot.

Frank spared a glance around and frowned. "Who called 911?"

Joe started for the van, limping slightly. "What?"

"Someone called 911. But there's no one here but us." Frank took note of Joe's limp. "How'd you fall?"

Joe let out a disgruntled sigh. "Something hit the back of my thigh hard." He thought a moment. "Felt almost like a paintball - a very hard paintball."

Frank glanced at the van and then at the mall. "So...you ducked out of practice?"

"What makes you think that?" Joe pulled open the driver's side door. "I just stopped by looking for a present."

Frank noted his brother's empty hands. "I see."

Joe stood there for a long moment, glaring into the interior of the van. He let out a loud sigh. "Okay, I skipped practice."

Frank took a step toward his brother. "Joe, what's going on? You went a little strange Monday and now today you skip wrestling practice. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just got a lot on my mind." Joe got into the van. "See you at home."

Frank heaved a sigh. Something was wrong, he just knew it. He stood there watching as Joe started the van, and then gunned the engine. Then Frank realized he had to move so Joe could back out. He got back into his mother's car and remembered he had to stop by the store. He blew his horn and pulled even with the van so Joe could look out the window. "Hey, didn't tell Mom anything. So I'll go to the store, you head home."

Frank watched Joe nod and then headed out of the parking lot. There had to be some way to find out what was going on, thought Frank. There had to be.

***

Joe Hardy pulled into the driveway and parked the van. He sat there for a moment and took a deep breath. The truck had veered at the last possible second but that front right tire had come so close to his head, he still had the shakes.

He moved to get out and winced as his bruised muscles protested. It had been awhile since he'd done paintball wars but he could still remember how it felt when a paintball hit you from a high-velocity paintball gun. But it didn't make any sense. Who would shoot at him and then try to run him over?

Since the beginning of the New Year, things had been pretty quiet. They'd sat a couple of stakeouts for their father, helped nab a petty cash thief at school, but nothing of importance - definitely not worth running him over with a truck.

Joe shed his jacket as he stepped into the house. He hung it up on the coat tree and started up the stairs. He'd almost made it to his room when he heard the front door open and Frank call out, "Mom, they were out of your brand of sugar..."

Joe ducked into his room and closed the door. He had to do some thinking before he discussed this with his brother. He decided to take a quick hot shower - something he usually did after wrestling practice - and think things through.

There was a tap on his door, coming not from the hall but from the bathroom. Joe sighed and opened the door. "What?"

Frank folded his arms across his chest. "Are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what? I told you what happened."

"Someone called 911, Joe. Who?"

Joe thought about Ione Martin and wondered not for the first time in the last few minutes if she'd set him up. He clenched his hands into fists. "I was about to take a shower."

"That's not an answer."

"It is to me."

Frank let out a sigh. "Joe, you could have been killed-"

"You don't need to remind me."

Frank didn't move from the doorway although Joe motioned him to go away. "Joe, is this about what happened Monday?"

Joe gave him a wary look. "What do you mean?"

Frank glanced over his shoulder and then turned to Joe. "You know damn well what I mean," he said in a low voice. "What happened in homeroom, what happened at lunch. Joe, talk to me."

Joe turned and walked halfway to his bed and stopped. "I saw her Saturday, thought I'd imagined it. Then I saw her again Monday but when I didn't see her yesterday or today, I thought I was losing it. Then I ran into her at the mall."

Frank stared at his brother, taking in the defensive stance, the stiff shoulders. "Who?" he asked, almost whispering.

Joe turned around and stared at the floor. Slowly, he raised his head to look at Frank. "Her name is Ione Martin and she has amnesia."

Frank swallowed hard and felt as if someone had just sucker-punched him. It was too glaring a similarity to think it was just a coincidence. "And she looked like Iola?" he asked softly.

Joe gave a jerky nod. "Same hair, same eyes - she wrinkles up her nose the way Iola used to." Suddenly, he moved to the bed and sat down. "The way she talks...she said she was in a hospital up in Maine…Frank-"

"My God, the Assassins are at it again," muttered Frank. "It's Sally. It's got to be."

Joe shook his head. "I don't think so. Unless Sally was brainwashed or something, I think she'd let me know."

"Then it's that actress that pretended to be her at Halloween that year. The Assassins had doubles of everybody." Frank shuddered. "Damn it."

Joe took a deep breath. "Frank, what if it's really Iola this time?"

Frank turned to look at him and sagged against the door frame. "Oh my God," he said, sounding dazed. All this time he'd been so convinced that Iola had perished when the car bomb went off. What if the Assassins had saved her, waiting for the perfect time to set them up.

Frank pushed himself off the doorframe and shook his head. "No. No, Joe, it can't be. It's some damn trick. It can't be Iola."

Joe stared down at his hands. "But what if it is?"

Before Frank could say another word, they heard their mother call, "Boys, supper's ready."

Joe raised his head and the brothers shared a long look. Frank reached out and helped Joe to his feet. "Come on. Supper's ready."

Joe hung back. "Frank, I'm not going crazy am I? I'm really seeing-"

"No, you're not going crazy, Joe. And we're going to find out what the hell's going on. Let's go eat."

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Disclaimer

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.