Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Chapter Twenty-Two: What Happened

"So what do you remember?"

I turned my head and looked at Joe, shifting position slightly and then wincing as the ache shot through my abdomen again. I'd just been given my midday dose of pain medication, but it hadn't quite kicked in yet.

Joe was sitting in one of the plastic chairs beside my hospital bed, and he looked uneasy. Sunlight coming through the window on my left streaked through his blond hair and cast a bright square on the front of his light-blue summer shirt. His hand was resting on the back of my wrist, below the IV line that was taped into my vein. His hand was much browner than my own pale one, but it wasn't nearly as tan as it should have been during summer vacation. But that was no surprise, not when he'd been spending all day, every day with me while I recovered.

At least now he looked like he’d been sleeping at night. The first time I'd seen him- rather, recognized him- he'd looked awful: pale, red-eyed, rumpled and disheveled. Mom and Dad hadn't looked much better: Dad unshaven and tired, his usually calm face etched with worry lines; Mom lacking makeup, her hair hanging loose and her clothes wrinkled. For a while- a few days, most likely- they had been there every time I opened my eyes. I had wondered vaguely about that, but hadn't had the strength or words to ask questions, so hadn't tried. And by the time I was well enough to figure out that regular visiting hours had been suspended while I was hurt, there was no longer any point in asking about it, for the visiting hours were back in effect. So I didn't inquire.

What did I remember...? I remembered Mom coming in to spend her lunch break with me this afternoon and telling me she'd make a habit of it for as long as I was in the hospital. She had also called every two hours or so, to 'check in' on me. I remembered Dad dropping in twice so far today as his investigations brought him near the area. He'd said he couldn't predict very well when he'd be by, but he'd drop in as often as he could. And they'd both be here in the morning and at night each day, spending at least the first and last visiting hours with me, and probably breakfast and supper, too.

I remembered yesterday, how they'd both hesitantly talked about their work; how they didn't want to go while I was still in the hospital, but if Dad was going to find the man who'd injured me, he had to get busy on it as soon as possible. And Mom's vacation days were almost used up; we couldn't afford to have her taking unpaid leave. I'd assured them that I didn't mind if they weren't constantly there, and mostly I didn't. I would be fine, I didn't need to have them hovering over me all day, and they did have other responsibilities. Besides, Joe insisted on staying with me in case I needed anything and the nurses were busy...

And the days before that, when they had come in the morning and talked and left briefly to do errands and then returned to keep me company until night came... and before that, when they were constantly there...and before that, the confusion and struggling to understand and speak...and the darkness that came and went, full of bright, vivid flickers and incomprehensible noises...

"Frank?"

I blinked up at Joe. My brother remained a constant, but remarkably silent presence in my room. When Mom and Dad were there, they spent a lot of time talking to me; I didn't mind, but it still took some concentration for me to understand them and reply. I usually fell asleep very soon after they left, for all the thinking tired me out fast. The drug, they'd told me; the medication that I was being given to control the pain was making me sleepy, affecting my concentration.

That was why I was grateful that Joe seemed content to sit beside me and say very little. It troubled me sometimes that he was spending so much time cooped up with me; it was high summer and he ought to be out doing things, enjoying himself. But I knew that if our situations were reversed- if he was the one hooked up to the IV and the vital-signs monitor, and I was the one uninjured- I'd be at his side until he was well. Besides, I was glad he was there. It wasn't a very big room, but when I was alone in it, it seemed huge and empty...and dull.

Until now, I hadn't wondered much at what was happening. I'd been told I'd been injured and had had surgery and would be fine once I healed. It had been several days before I was aware enough even to recognize my surroundings as a hospital, and my curiosity had been strangely stifled. Now, weak and achy as I was, I wanted to know what had happened to injure me, how badly I was hurt, why, when, where...

“What do I remember?” I repeated at last, frowning a little at Joe. "Why?"

“If you'll tell me what you remember, I'll know what parts to fill in,” he explained quietly. "No sense in me telling you stuff you already know- it'll just tire you out to listen to it."

I regarded him for a moment, frowning, realizing what else was bothering me. He was so quiet, so still- it wasn't like him at all and the change in his personality worried me. He should have been his usual bundle of energy: fidgeting, pacing, talking, making jokes and smart remarks... I’d often teased that he needed to add a K to his name to make it accurate. “Good point. Okay,” I answered slowly. I closed my eyes and images swirled randomly through my mind. I struggled to bring them into focus. “I was...standing at a light,” I murmured. “It was red...and then...the car, the black car. There was a- a noise- a horn beeping, and I turned to look and there was that car by the curb, in the turn lane.” I frowned, trying to find the right words to match the images. I could see the car, the passenger. “He- the passenger, he looked at me and- and he nodded at me, like he recognized me. And then he turned away, like talking to the driver, and I thought he was putting out his cigarette.”

“Cigarette?"

“Yeah, he was smoking.” I could see the thin smoke curling into the air, remembered wrinkling my nose as the breeze brought a hint of the odor to me. “An’ then he...turned back around and he- he put the gun out the window and-” I opened my eyes and blinked at Joe. “He shot me,” I realized, baffled and suddenly shocked. “He shot me...I remember the gun going off and-” The ache in my gut seemed to have intensified. “I- he hit me, and I fell down...that was strange,” I added thoughtfully. “It didn’t hurt.”

“It didn’t?”

“No- well, not at first. Not till I tried to sit up. It was just weird- hot- at first. And then...I don’t really remember. Someone-” A man's voice speaking over my head. “Some man, talking about an ambulance, and- you were there!” So that was it? That was why he was so subdued? It did make sense, he was always quiet after a bad scare- but had it been such a short time ago? No- it had been days, several days; he should have got some of his spark back by now.

“Yes.” Joe squeezed my hand and I recalled how I'd clung to his hand when the pain invaded me.

“But what- happened?” I insisted, my voice sounding weary even to me. “I mean, why'd he shoot me? And when'd it happen? How long have I been in here?”

Joe sighed, looking down at the floor, then got up from the chair and sat on the side of the bed. The bedrail was down; the nurses only put it up at night. “The man who called the ambulance was Mr. Dalrymple, he was just coming out of the bank to go to lunch,” he began.

“Mr. Dalrymple.” I remembered him. We’d solved a case for him when he lived and worked in Lakeside . He still lived there, but now he managed our bank, Bayport Fidelity.

“Yeah. When the ambulance got there...you went unconscious as they were putting you on the stretcher. I rode in with you and they rushed you right into surgery, didn’t wait for parental consent or anything. I called the police, and then Mom and Dad- and I think they must’ve broken every speed limit in town, they got here so fast. But by then there wasn’t much they could do, except fill out the insurance forms. And- well, you know we’re similar types, so, um, I donated some blood-”

I squeezed his hand tightly and something that might almost have been a smile touched his face briefly. “Thanks, Joey,” I said quietly, and he got a bit red around the ears.

“You’d have done it for me, Frank. So anyway, we waited for a couple hours, and then the doctor came out and said that...that they had you on a ventilator, just to be safe.”

I felt my eyes widen, despite my fatigue. “I definitely don't remember that.”

“No, you wouldn’t, you were unconscious the whole time. For almost two days. But you kept trying to breathe by yourself, so they took you off it and put that old oxygen tube-”

I nodded, remembering the air tube that had been secured under my nose. The constant stream of air had dried my skin to where it itched terribly; the oxygen hadn't smelled very good, and the never-ending hiss had irritated me immensely. They'd taken that away several days ago, to my vast relief. I was looking forward to the time when the vital-signs monitor was unhooked and the IV taken out, and said as much.

“It won't be for a while. Not until your kidney heals.”

“My kidney?” I was starting to feel a bit unnerved; obviously I was hurt far worse than I’d thought.

“One of the bullets nicked it, they were afraid you’d need a transplant if it didn’t heal right. Dad and I are both down as potential donors- but I told ‘em they’d better take mine, it’s younger.” Joe tried another smile. “Only it seems it won't be necessary. The IV stays in till you’re ready to start eating again- when your intestines are in better shape. You got three bullets in there, and one in, um…” He blushed suddenly.

“I think I know what you're going to say,” I grumbled, embarrassed. I preferred not to think about the catheter that got emptied three times a day. The nurses might be used to that, but I definitely wasn't and it was embarrassing!

“And then the last one was near your stomach, right around your colon.”

I was quiet for a while, considering all that. “I guess I was lucky," I concluded after several minutes.

“You were, big brother. You really were.” Joe sighed. “Then, after they took you off the respirator and you started waking up, they found out they'd been overdosing you on the painkiller. Gave you something called 'aphasia', and-”

“Oh, is that why nothing made sense?” I asked, jolted. I recognized the term; it meant an inability to speak or understand spoken words. And maybe written stuff, too; I couldn’t quite remember. “It was the craziest thing, Joe. I couldn't remember how to talk and nothing I was hearing made any sense at all. I couldn't even figure out who anyone was, or where I was, or- anything! And the really weird thing was that I didn’t care one way or the other. I wasn’t worried or curious or even very confused. ‘So nothing makes sense- so what?’, to put it in a nutshell.”

Joe nodded, chewing on his lower lip. “No one thought to mention that you’re drug-sensitive, until you went two days straight without responding to anything,” he explained. “Then they started to get worried, did some double-checking, and reduced the dose. You're on twenty-three cc's now, but before they cut it back, it was around a hundred.”

“Holy crow. I’m having enough trouble thinking straight as it is, on this little dose,” I remarked wryly. “I musta been seriously stoned...” I trailed off and my brother, without waiting to be asked, picked up a cup of water from the table beside the bed and held it so I could sip through the straw. “Thanks,” I murmured after taking a long drink. I was allowed juice and broth now, but water was best for the thirst, and I had been thirsty a lot. “It was weird, when I started recognizing things,” I added as he put the cup down. “Some things just made sense all of a sudden, but some...like I recognized you right away, but it took longer to figure out what a 'doctor' was.”

Joe nodded again. “The reason it was so erratic was because they didn’t stop it and wait for it to wear off- you’d have been in an awful lot of a lot of pain if they had. They kept giving you doses- but smaller ones, so you were on a sort of drug roller-coaster.”

“Ohhh. So I’d remember quickly as it started to wear off, and then things got fuzzy again when I got another dose.”

“Right.”

It had been such a relief to be able to talk and understand again, though it had taken an incredible amount of energy to do so. I’d felt as though my head was full of concrete and my body made of lead, and I’d spent most of my time lying still with my eyes shut, answering questions in grunts or one-word replies. But that had been a few days ago. My strength still wasn’t anywhere near normal, and I had a feeling it would take a while to come back completely, but it was a great improvement from- from however many days ago it'd been. “So how long've I been in here?”

“Eight days now.”

“I don't suppose they've said when I get to go home.” I took a deep breath and noted that the flare of pain had vanished. Probably psychosomatic.

“No, but they want to start getting you used to sitting up and moving around first,” Joe answered slowly. “Walking, and eating-”

“You mean, other than liquid,” I said through a sigh. It would be a while yet.

“Yeah.”

Another long silence. I regarded my brother, noting his pallor and the way his free hand was twisting the sheet. His face was averted from me, and I felt a sudden rush of sympathy for him. No wonder he was still so quiet and subdued; no wonder he was staying with me constantly. I hadn't even known I was injured, but he'd seen and heard it all...waited and wondered and feared for me... I'd still be scared, too! Even after a week. “Hey, kiddo,” I whispered, tugging on his hand. “It's okay. I'm gonna be fine, you just gotta give me a little time. I'm sorry you had to go through all this-”

“It wasn't your fault!” Joe exclaimed, turning to me indignantly. “It was that gunman-”

“That's who Dad's after, isn't it?”

“You bet it is,” Joe agreed, straightening up. “They found the car abandoned in the long-term parking lot at the airport. Turns out it was stolen, but the guy it was stolen from thinks he might know who did it. Now if we could just convince Mom that this didn't happen because of a case-”

I didn't hear the rest. Mom- convince- a case-

Mom overhearing us talking with Dad in the study, learning that we edited the information we gave her, and her anger-

Mom's attempt to get me to talk Joe out of detective work, and her insistence that she wanted us not to take risks. The explosion of angry and hurtful words. Her denial of her obvious favoritism.

My dash from the house, down the street, hurrying through Bayport in search of a place to sit, undisturbed, and work though my painful emotions.

I laughed weakly, even though it wasn't funny, even though it made my abdomen ache again. “Lovely,” I snorted, bitterly amused.

“You okay, Frank?” Joe looked anxiously at me.

“And to think she goes on and on about how much danger our investigating gets us into. Meanwhile I nearly get killed walking down the street, trying to get away from a family brawl,” I growled. “I guess now we know what's really dangerous, don't we?” I took a breath and sighed it out, feeling more tired than anything but also pretty miserable. “And you didn’t remind me about it, either,” I added quietly, closing my eyes. I felt Joe’s hand tighten on mine. “Why not?”

“I- you didn’t say anything about it.” Joe sounded a little surprised and rather hurt. “So I thought you didn’t want to talk about it. Why else would you start with standing on the curb at the red light? You remembered that I was there; I figured you remembered why you were there, too.”

Defensive, but he had reason to be. I wasn’t being fair. “Sorry.” I opened my eyes and turned my head. “I guess I jumped to a conclusion. I didn’t remember the fight. Just the shooting.”

My brother’s expression relaxed a little. “And you think I’d keep it from you, on purpose?” he asked wryly, shaking his head at me.

“So’s not to start another fight- in a quiet zone, no less- the next time she comes to see me?” I returned. Joe grimaced.

“Well, I didn't think she'd yell, considering the situation,” he remarked, gesturing at the bed. “And you’re not up for much yelling yourself. But mostly I figured you’d talk about it when you were ready.” He paused, then added, “Though I noticed you two seemed to be getting along okay the last couple days. Wondered if you’d talked it out while Dad and I were elsewhere.”

I shook my head, then yawned. “Just forgot,” I murmured, closing my eyes again. Talking was too much of an effort; the pain drug was having its usual effect. I drifted into a doze, musing unhappily over the difference between Mom’s behavior towards me in general, and the attention and affection she’d given me over the days of my hospitalization.

Guess it takes getting shot half a dozen times before she’ll give me the attention she always gives Joe. Good thing it wasn’t him. She’d suffocate him in concern and attentiveness and tender loving care.