hardy boys fan fiction

WHILE THE BOMB TICKED

hardy boys nancy drew fan fiction

by

Rottweiler7692

The Story

hardy boys fan fiction

THE CHAPTERS

INTRO

THE STORY

Why does this always happen to me?  Here I am again, blindfolded, gagged, and bound to a chair in some abandoned warehouse.  Oh, well.  Frank will find me; he always does.  But this time seems worse than usual. 

I spit the handkerchief out of my mouth and work on the ropes that bind me.  Unfortunately, despite all my experience untying ropes, and believe me, it’s a lot, I can’t get them off.  They’re tied in an awkward position behind my back and I can’t even reach the pocketknife concealed in the back pocket of my jeans.  Could be because I’m shaking so hard, my whole body and the chair are quivering.  And it’s not because of fear, mind you.  Well… maybe a little. 

Because my eyes are still blindfolded (“We’ll keep the blindfold on so he can’t see the flames approaching and won’t know how much longer until he blows up”), all my other senses are working on overdrive. 

I can hear the bomb on the ground in front of me despite the sound of the flames demolishing everything in their way.  Tick.  Tick.  Tick.  It’s mocking me, I know it. 

The raw stench of the gasoline used to douse the warehouse makes my stomach churn.  That odor is always associated to times like this one. 

I feel cold inside even though I can feel the warmth of the fire creeping closer and closer.  Drops of sweat slide leisurely down my face.  I want to wipe them off because they tickle but can’t.

I cough and gag at the burning in my throat from the smoke.  I know I should get on the ground but I don’t want to tip the chair over for fear of falling into the fire and causing the fire to ignite the wooden chair or jostle the bomb and make it detonate. 

Thump.  Thump.  Thump.  The beat of my heart is so loud, it sounds like someone’s playing the drums inside me.  It falls into place with the ticking of the bomb.  TickThump.  TickThump.  My own heart is mocking me. 

The fire explodes a bag of unknown substance a couple feet in front of me.  Boom!  I flinch.  Okay, now I’m just a little nervous.  It sounds so close to me.  I freeze and try not to move a muscle, even though it won’t help anything.

I wonder which would happen first, the bomb detonating or the fire burning me to death.  I force myself to think of something more cheerful, like Frank saving me.  He will.  He always does.  He’s the one who always gets me out of tight spots and always has my back.  On top of being my brother, he’s my best friend. 

Thinking back, I guess I shouldn’t have followed the assassins on my motorcycle before telling anyone where I was going.  But they were getting away and I didn’t have time to tell anybody.  This actually happens quite often, as Frank always reminds me. 

It wasn’t my fault that I didn’t have a cell phone.  The last cell phone I had got water logged when I almost drowned in Crater Lake.  Now, Frank and I share his phone because as my family says, he’s more “responsible.”  I don’t really mind because when things like this happen and I really do need my cell phone, I forget about it.  It’s caused me to be on the receiving end of lectures many a time. 

But I am responsible.  Just ‘cause I forget things sometimes when I’m on a case doesn’t mean a thing.  Everybody forgets things from time to time, don’t they?  Not Frank.  On top of always remembering everything, he’s smart.  While I generate the “dumb jock” image, he supposedly inherited all the brains in the family.  Even though he’s just the type to get beat up in school, he doesn’t because he’s cool.  He’s always calm and never reacts when people, namely bullies try to taunt him… except when it’s about me.  He’s really protective.  When I got into fights at school because someone made fun of me or him, he always gets me out of it, sometimes not even fighting at all.  It never ceases to amaze me how different we are. 

Since I’m usually getting into trouble, I’m always going to the hospital.  I actually know a couple of the ER guys because I’ve been taken to the hospital so much.  In fact, in one of my earliest memories, I was in the hospital.  I remember feeling really small and lost on the big, cold, metal table.  I couldn’t move my right leg because it was in a cast.  My parents tell me I broke my leg falling down the stairs.  They were really scared because I always would crawl down the stairs by myself when I was a baby.  I was adventurous… and reckless even then.  It was night and everything was pretty dark.  My mom was asleep in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs.  I remember how terrified I was.  It was a different fear than right now, but I was still really scared.  I wanted my mom to comfort me but couldn’t call out to her.  I felt so alone, like I was the only one awake and everybody else was asleep.  I still hate it when I share a room and I don’t fall asleep first.  It makes me feel lonely and abandoned.  Like right now.

Somehow, Frank is going to put the pieces together.  I wonder if I should try using brother to brother telepathy.  Frank, I’m in trouble.  I'm in a warehouse that’s burning up and about to explode.  Please save me before I either burn to death or explode.  It’s worked before… I think.  Anyway, I’m willing to try anything right about now.

The sounds of the ticking and my heartbeat are getting louder and louder.  I know that there’s no point in yelling for help because nobody would come out here, and even if they did, the sound of the fire, bomb ticking, and the beat of my heart would drown everything else out. 

I give one last wrench on the rope.  Oww!  I give a muffled cry from the pain.  I think I dislocated my shoulder again.  Great.  The last time that happened was when I was pushed off a cliff.  Thankfully, Frank and Dad were there to save me. 

Why is it always me that all this happens to?  Okay, that’s probably unfair; Frank’s had lots of bad stuff happen to him too, but I’m the one who has the trouble magnet.  Dallas and I joke about it, but I know it’s me who has it but I won’t admit it.  Actually… I’ll admit it if I ever get out of this mess, which is looking more and more unlikely by the second. 

Okay, to keep myself sane, I’ll make a list of why this time is worse than usual.

First, Frank’s not here.  We’re usually kidnapped together.  There’s the occasional kidnapping when the bad guys take us alone and hold us hostage, but usually they figure that our father would miss both of us more and do whatever they asked him.  If Frank was here now, he’d have a plan.  As he always reminds me, when I make a plan, unfortunate things like the house almost burning down tend to happen.

Second, there’s a fire and a bomb.  I mean, what kind of people set a room on fire and throw in a bomb too?  Killers.  If I were to somehow survive one of the two, the other would kill me.

Third, nobody knows where I am.  They have absolutely no idea… but then again, I don’t either.  My family usually has a vague idea of where I might be.  This time, they have none.  The crooks drove me around for almost an hour before bringing me here… I think.  Maybe it was less but it seemed really long.  Probably because when you can’t see, time is illusory.

Thinking about this is depressing me and I can’t breathe from the smoke.  I’m holding my breath but I can only hold it for so long.  My mouth feels really dry.  I’m going to die of smoke inhalation if the bomb doesn’t go off and the fire doesn’t reach me first.  Now, I admit I’m scared.  What do I do?  Frank, where are you?  Are you even coming?

My head hurts and I’m beginning to get dizzy.  My senses are reeling and I’m beginning to get confused.  Okay, now I’m really frightened.  I’m beginning to forget where I am.  I know that these are signs of smoke inhalation from all the first aid classes that I have taken.  I… need… oxygen… 

I slump down in my chair, about to be lost in a world of unconsciousness.  But then, I feel an angel’s touch.  Great.  I’m dead.  I hope I’m going to heaven and all the dishonest things that I’ve done in my line of work to catch criminals won’t count.

My thoughts scramble as I feel a stab of very real pain.  Maybe I’m not dead, after all.  I’m sure of this fact when I feel a knife cutting my bonds and a hand removing my blindfold.

As soon as an indistinct form moves out of my line of vision, I see another blurry shape on the ground, working on what I can assume is the bomb.  In my state, I notice that the fire is out and the windows are broken.  The air is beginning to clear out and I have a coughing fit. 

My “angel” a.k.a. my big brother supports me as I try to stand up. 

“Oww!” I wheeze hoarsely as Frank unintentionally jostles my injured shoulder. 

“You okay?” he asks concernedly.  All I can do is nod tiredly.  My arms are numb and I rub my red, raw, rope burned wrists to get some feeling in them.  I still feel lightheaded so I let him support me.  Not because I need help, of course, but to reassure him.  My legs feel like Jell-O when I stand and I’m glad that I decided to let him help.

The figure on the ground stands up triumphantly.  He holds up the bomb that reads :07.  Both Frank and I breathe a heavy sigh of relief.  I feel weak again.  Success!

Yes!  I have cheated death, once again by a miracle.  But what can I say?  This is just an everyday occupational hazard in our line of work.  I’ve had many miracles in my lifetime and I am sure that there’s more than Frank watching out for me.

I almost do a face plant and Frank holds me steady as I throw up unceremoniously all over the soot covered floor.  Okay, maybe not so everyday.

I sense both Frank and my dad’s eyes scrutinizing me.  I look up wearily and give them a thumbs up before I give up fighting the losing battle and fall forward.  Frank catches me, just like he always does.

I wonder if angels and miracles have brown hair and eyes?

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