Unable to stand still, Joe fidgeted nervously in the elevator as it made it’s way to the floor of Andrew Worth’s law firm.  Despite his seeming state of perpetual motion, he was exhausted.  He had gotten almost no sleep, again, as the little boy had come back during the night and this time he was not alone.  The screams that had tortured Joe in his sleep, echoed in his head.  Instinctively, he covered his ears.  Almost immediately, he realized what he had done and shoved his hand in his pockets, thankful he was alone in the elevator.  No matter how hard he tried, he could not get this dream out of his head.  It seemed to be playing on a continuous loop in his mind.

During the drive to Andrew’s office, Joe had argued back and forth with himself about whether or not to tell Frank about this dream and the frightened little boy who would not leave him alone.  But he was afraid if he confided in his brother, Frank would only confirm what Joe had already started to believe – the events of the past two weeks really were more than he could handle and he was starting to lose his mind.  Even though he and Frank had mended their relationship and were actually closer than ever, in the end he decided to keep it to himself.  No, he did not want anyone to know his dreams had suddenly turned so hideous. 

‘You are not losing your mind.’ He told himself as the elevator came to a stop. ‘There has to be some reasonable explanation for it.’

As the vile images flashed through his mind, he felt slightly queasy.  There could be no reasonable explanation for this.  No, he would have to keep this horror to himself.

As he approached the receptionist, Joe put on his most charming smile.  It almost scared him how easily he could conjure up that smile whenever he needed it.  Even from a short distance away, he could see the young, blond woman respond.  She sat up a little straighter, unknowingly smoothed her hair and leaned slightly forward on her desk.  As he came to a stop in front of her, she smiled at him suggestively.

“Good morning. May I help you?” she asked, blatantly staring.

“I hope so…” Joe began.

“So do I.” She winked at him.

He chuckled politely, at the same time rolling his eyes behind the sunglasses he had yet to take off.

“I have an appointment with Andrew Worth.”

“Your name?” she asked, her eyes still glued to him.

“Joe Hardy.”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly as she made the connection between him and the articles in the paper.

‘Guess I better get used to that.’  He sighed inwardly, keeping the smile plastered on his face.

 

Back in the conference room, Andrew and Fenton stared at Frank and his rather graphic description of the realities of life in prison.  A beep from the phone on the table broke the uneasy silence.

Andrew leaned forward and pressed a button on the phone.  “Yes?”

“Joe Hardy is here, Mr. Worth.” A female voice floated out.

Andrew looked at Fenton, knowing he wanted to speak with Joe privately.  “Are you ready?”

As Fenton nodded, Andrew spoke again.  “Send him in.”

“Yes, sir.”

Andrew rose and gathered up several files.  “Frank and I will be in my office whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Andy.”  Fenton replied.

“Don’t worry, Dad.  Everything will turn out fine.”  Frank said, following Andrew out of the room.

Less than a minute later, Joe appeared in the doorway.  Standing on the threshold, he glanced around the room uneasily.

“Where’s Frank?  And Andrew?”

“I asked them to give us some time alone.”  Fenton replied, deciding to jump right in.  “We need to talk, son.”

“Oh, ok.” Joe replied not sure if this was good or bad.  He tentatively entered the room, closing the door behind him.

Fenton pulled out a chair and turned it to face him.  Joe sat down studying his father from behind his sunglasses.

Fenton sat quietly for a moment, watching his son and trying to collect his thoughts.

“Could you take the sunglasses off?” he requested.  He always hated talking to people when their eyes were concealed in any way.  You could sometimes tell their true feelings by the tone of their voice, but the eyes never lied.

Joe hesitated a second knowing what his fathers reaction would be.  Reaching up, he removed the sunglasses and waited for the involuntary gasp he knew would follow.  He had done it himself when he looked in the mirror that morning.

His father didn’t let him down, inhaling sharply and automatically reaching forward to place the back of his hand on Joe’s forehead.

“Yes, I feel ok.  No, I’m not sick. No, I don’t have a fever.” Joe said irritably, before his father could get the questions out.

Fenton sat back and stared at his son.  “I’m sorry, Joe but….you look terrible!”

“Gee, thanks.” 

“Just be glad I’m not your mother.  She’d have you half way to the emergency room by now.  Have you been sleeping at all?”

“Some.”  Not quite the truth and not exactly a lie. 

“Try getting a little more.” Fenton said, taking in his son’s pale, drawn face and bloodshot eyes with the dark circles underneath.  He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but Fenton sensed something was very wrong today.  Even in the worst of times, Joe’s normally outgoing personality always came through to some degree, but this morning it was nowhere to be found. 

“I’ll try.”  Joe thought of the little boy and knew it would be futile.

“Joe, I owe you an apology."  Fenton began.  "A very big apology." 

‘Better late than never.’  Joe thought sarcastically.

"Your mother and I always said as long as you told the truth we would always believe you." His father continued.  "You held up your end of the deal.  Unfortunately, I didn’t.”

"Why not?"  Joe asked angrily.  "When have I ever lied to you?!"  His eyes started to burn and he quickly looked away.  He didn't want his father to know how deeply his mistrust had hurt.  "You said you'd always believe me…always." 

Fenton shook his head sadly, hating himself for all the pain he had caused his son.  "You've never lied to me."

"Too bad you can't say the same thing."  Joe replied harshly. 

 “I’m so sorry, Joe.  It's just…I've always relied on my senses.  If I didn't see it with my own eyes or hear it for myself, I questioned it.  I've always needed proof.  Everyone always says they didn't do it."

"I'm your son, for God's sake!"  Joe finally exploded, his blue eyes blazing with anger and pain.  "Couldn't you at least give me the benefit of the doubt?"

"I…I…I'm sorry.  I was thinking like a detective when I should have been thinking like a father.  I know this will never make up for how much I've hurt you, but I truly am sorry. I should have believed you right from the start.  I didn't and there is no excuse for that.  I don't expect you to forgive me, Joe.  I know I'll never forgive myself.  I know you didn’t kill Chris Taylor. I never should have doubted you.  I never will again.”  He held his breath, watching his son warily, having no idea how Joe would react.

Joe sighed heavily.  "You did hurt me, Dad.  You have no idea how much."  His voice dropped. "Please don't ever do it again.  I don't think I could forgive it a second time."

While still incredibly guilty, Fenton was immensely relieved.  He thought he'd lost Joe's trust forever.  "Never, son.  Never again." 

"What happens now?" Joe asked.  With both Frank and his father now believing he was innocent, he knew they would do everything humanly possible to prove it.  For the first time since he had realized the state prison could soon be his new home, he allowed himself a little bit of hope.

"Your brother thinks Taylor might have left something behind that can be used as evidence."  He hesitated a moment, choosing his words carefully, making sure to leave out any information Joe was not yet aware of.  "He obviously hated you with a passion.  He took the time to learn as much as he could about you."

"So he was stalking me for who knows how long."

"It seems that way. But that could actually work out in your favor.  He must have done a lot of research to know you so well.  The fact that he was extremely intelligent will mean he kept meticulous notes. Frank thinks whatever information he gathered on you is still around - somewhere - and he intends to find it."

'Don't worry, little brother.  I'm back.'  Joe smiled, remembering his brother’s words from the night before.

Relieved to finally see Joe smile at something, he continued.  "With any luck, he may have detailed, in writing, exactly how he planned to get his revenge.  If he mentioned anything at all about suicide, dying or trying to frame you for his own death, that would corroborate your story and be all the evidence we need."

"And if we're not that lucky?"  Joe's smile disappeared.  Thoughts of a prison sentence came rushing back to him and with it, the fear of what would happen once he was inside those prison walls.  "I could still end up in prison."

Fenton Hardy felt a chill wash over his entire body like nothing he had ever experienced before.  Watching Joe just now, he had seen a momentary flash of pure terror in his son's eyes when he spoke about prison.  He knew immediately Frank had seen the same look in his younger brother the night before.  He now understood completely Frank's intense determination to prove beyond any doubt that Joe was innocent.  'The only way he's going to prison is over my dead body.'  Frank's voice echoed in his head.

"No, you won't."  Fenton replied with a conviction he hadn't felt before.

"You can't be sure of that, Dad."  Joe said quietly, wishing his father wouldn't get his hopes up.

"Yes, I can." He said, a fierce resolve in his voice. "You are not going to prison. Your brother and I will never let that happen."  For the first time, Fenton truly believed it.

“Thanks, Dad.”  Joe leaned forward and hugged his father tightly, who returned the embrace.  “And thanks for getting my bail money.”  He added quietly. 

Sitting back, he looked at his father and shook his head.  “Don’t you know it’s impossible to come up with that much cash that fast?”

“Apparently not.”  Fenton winked and waited for the inevitable wise crack or two from his son.  When Joe remained silent, Fenton’s sense that something serious was troubling Joe increased.  No matter how bad things got, Joe never completely lost his sense of humor.  A rapidly growing feeling of apprehension forced him to take the direct approach.  

"What's wrong, Joe?"  Fenton pressed, knowing there was something more to Joe's subdued mood than just lack of sleep.

Joe looked nervously around the room, his eyes darting from the windows, to the pictures on the walls, to the mass of papers and files spread on the table.

Fenton leaned forward and gently took his son's chin in his hands, forcing Joe to look at him.

"There's obviously something else bothering you besides all this.  I know I haven't exactly been Father of the Year material recently but I do love you, Joe, and I'd like to help.  Tell me what's gotten you so upset." Fenton asked, the concern clearly evident in his voice.

"Promise you won't think I'm crazy?" Joe said nervously.

"I thought we established that fact years ago."  Fenton joked, trying to get Joe to relax a little.

"Right."  Joe smiled at his father.  "Promise you won't think I'm crazier than usual?"

"I promise.  Now what is it that has you so upset?"

Joe took a deep breath, not sure where to start.

"The beginning is usually the best place."  Fenton said knowingly.

"The night I was in jail I had this dream.  It was about a little boy who was locked in a room somewhere.  He was confused and really scared.  A man came in and told the little boy his parents were dead.  He said 'You belong to us now and you better do as your told.'  The little boy kept crying for his daddy.  The man slapped him and told him to shut up."  Without even realizing it, Joe put his hand to his cheek, just as he had done when he awoke from the dream.

Fenton tried not to let his emotions show on his face as a knot began to form in the pit of his stomach.  His mouth was so dry he wasn't sure he could speak.

"Was that all?" he asked quietly.

"The man told him no one was coming for him and he had to do what they told him to do."  Joe shuddered, remembering that first dream vividly.  "He was so scared, Dad, and I could feel it.  I could feel how terrified he was."

"I can certainly understand how that would upset you." Fenton replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Yesterday after I got home, I tried to sleep for a while but…the little boy came back."  Joe said, the little boy's fear creeping into his voice.  "The same man was there, forcing him to watch something on t.v.  Whatever it was scared the little boy.  He kept closing his eyes and turning away."  Joe's voice dropped.  "The man kept hitting him, telling him he better watch or else he'd get a real beating."

Fenton's eyes began to water as the past came rushing back to him.  As if the man were standing right next to him, he heard the voice of the emergency room doctor who had examined Joe right after he'd been found.

'The good news is there is no evidence of any kind of sexual abuse.' The doctor said.

'Thank God!' Fenton let out a huge sigh of relief, holding his little boy tighter.  Six-year-old Joe was clinging to his father, eyes wide with fear, shaking uncontrollably.  Exhausted from crying, he did not speak and made no sound at all except for an occasional whimper.

'It's ok, Joey.' Fenton rubbed his back soothingly.  'Daddy's here.'

'The bad news,' the doctor continued, 'is that he has bruises, welts and abrasions over most of his body.  Someone obviously beat him…more than once.'

Fenton choked back the rage he felt at the people who could do this to a helpless little boy.

'But he'll be all right?'

'Yes, physically he'll be fine.'

Fenton raised his eyebrows at the doctor’s implication.

'You were adamant that he be checked for any sign of sexual abuse or molestation.  You apparently had a reason to believe that could have happened.' Glancing at the obviously traumatized little boy, he continued. 'You may want to consider taking him to a child psychologist.'

'That's my next stop.' Fenton replied, soberly.

"So you've dreamt about this little boy twice now."  Fenton said.  Blinking back the tears, he watched Joe closely.  Clearly there was something more.  Joe seemed to be debating whether or not he could trust his father enough to share it.

"Joe, look at me." He said softly.

Joe met his father's steady gaze, but quickly looked away.  This was going to be much harder than he had anticipated.

"Whatever it is, it's obviously bothering you a great deal.  You need to get it out."  Fenton continued in the same soft voice.  Pulling his chair closer to Joe's, he reached out and took Joe's hand in his.  The gnawing in the pit of his stomach, and Joe's increasing anxiety, told him Joe had dreamt about much more than just being beaten by Tilghman and his men.  "You can tell me anything, Joe.  Anything at all."

Joe finally looked at his father, tears in his eyes.

"Last night I dreamt about children…little children…" he stopped, choking back a sob.

Seeing his own child in such pain, Fenton wanted to tell Joe he didn't have to say anything more, that he knew exactly what horrors Joe had seen in this dream, but he knew he couldn't.  As far as Joe was concerned, it really was just a terrible dream and not a memory of something he had actually witnessed.

"It's ok, Joe." Fenton rubbed his back reassuringly.  "Just let it out." 

Joe looked at his father with haunted eyes.  "They were being abused…molested..."  His voice was so low it was almost inaudible. "…raped.”  He drew in a ragged, shallow breath. 

“What's wrong with me, Dad?  What does it mean?  Why would I dream about anything so…repulsive?"  Joe shuddered, closing his eyes.  "God, what's wrong with me?" he whispered.

Fenton pulled Joe to him, hugging his son tightly.  He knew this was the next step to Joe remembering everything.  He had secretly hoped the flashbacks would be the extent of Joe's recollection of that weekend and he would never have to face the unspeakable things he had seen.

After watching the videotapes that had been confiscated from Tilghman, Fenton had been so disturbed by what he saw that he had gone to a therapist for a few months himself.  He couldn't begin to comprehend how traumatizing it must have been for Joe, to be forced to watch as it actually happened.  He finally admitted to himself it was simply a matter of time before Joe remembered everything.  He prayed that with therapy and the love and support of his family Joe would eventually be able to come to terms with it.

"There is nothing wrong with you, Joe." He said with conviction.  "Absolutely nothing."  He sat back and looked Joe in the eyes.  "You've been under more stress these past few weeks than most people deal with in an entire lifetime.  I can't explain why it's manifesting itself in this way, but it does not mean there is something wrong with you and it definitely does not mean you are going crazy."  His heart broke at the doubt he saw in Joe's eyes.  "You are a good decent, person.  You've made all of us proud.  Please don’t think this makes you a bad person.  You have no control over your dreams.  They are not you."

Joe nodded and sat quietly for a moment.  Looking at his father, his eyes were filled with pain and sadness.  "It was just so real.  How could anyone do that to a child?"

"That's something I'll never understand, son."  Fenton said shaking his head.

Joe wiped at his eyes and straightened his shoulders as if shaking off the horrible dream.  "Thanks, Dad."

"Please remember, you can always talk to me, Joe. About anything. I’ll always be here.  Ok?"

"Ok." Joe replied.

Fenton now realized he should be very afraid.  Joe was under the impression these were just very bad dreams and it was close to pushing him over the edge.  A feeling of dread came over him and slowly began to build.  He couldn’t even begin to imagine what was going to happen when Joe finally remembered the truth.

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 them without expressed permission of the authors.