FINDING ME
by
Stormwatcher
Chapter 6
The Chapters
I
was halfway into my nightclothes when the hinges of my bedroom door
squeaked. I didn’t turn around, knowing it would be Joe. I pulled my
t-shirt over my head- I wear a t-shirt and shorts to sleep in the summer,
sweats in the winter- and when I got another look at my room, Joe was
sitting on the side of my bed. He was holding something white and looking
over at my desk, which was not as organized as I usually keep it. I’d
been cleaning out the drawers when Dad came in and asked us to try and
locate Slicer.
“Even
when you’re messy, you’re not a quarter as messy as I am,” my brother
remarked.
“If
I’m the expert at dishes, that leaves you for the expert at messes- your
room being an example of your absolute mastery of the art,” I suggested
fancifully, sitting down beside him.
“The
art,” he repeated, smiling. “I like that.” He handed me the white
thing he was holding, which turned out to be a brownie wrapped in a paper
napkin.
“Thanks,”
I said, and started in on it.
“You’re
welcome. I thought of bringing two, but since I only had one...”
I
stopped chewing and looked at him. “One?”
“One.”
“Whoa.
You feel okay?” I asked, only half teasing. He looked at me a moment,
then tried to smile, but it didn’t work very well. I put the brownie down
and laid my hand on his shoulder. “Seriously, Joe. Are you
okay?” Maybe he was hurt worse than we’d thought. Maybe his ribs had
been cracked after all, or-
“I-
I’m okay,” he said slowly. “Physically, anyway, the shower loosened
me up.” He paused, frowning, and seemed to consider what he would say
next. I kept quiet. I have a lot of experience in dealing with Joe’s
moods, and the best way to get him to clam up is to second-guess him. If he
wants to talk, he’ll talk. If not, it would take a crowbar to get his
mouth open.
In
that regard, I’m worse than he is; it takes a crowbar on me any day of
the week, even when I do feel forthcoming. And Joe’s the only one who
knows just how to wield that crowbar. So I don’t get after him when
there’s something on his mind that he’s not sure he wants to talk about
yet. We’re close, very close, but we know how to give each other space,
too.
“I’m
just...glad you’re okay.” Joe’s voice was very soft and I felt his
fingers brush ever so lightly over my cheek, avoiding my bruise but making
clear what he meant. I closed my eyes and saw the dark circle of the
shotgun pointing at me. A completely involuntary shiver ran over me and I
opened my eyes quickly.
Maybe
I’ll sleep with the light on tonight...
“I’m
sorry,” Joe whispered, sounding penitent. “I shouldn’t’ve-”
“It’s
all right. I’m glad to be in one piece, too. And I’m real glad you were
there to bluff the jerk out like that.” I took a breath and sighed it
out, trying to untense my muscles a little. “You knew he had me cornered,
didn’t you?”
He
nodded, looking at me, anger and fear in his eyes. “I saw him drop down
from the crate, just out of the corner of my eye, and the next thing I
knew...”
“I
was kinda hoping you’d be able to slip out and alert someone.”
“Would
you have done that? Left me alone with a pissed-off ex-con pointing a gun
at me?”
“No,”
I replied at once.
“Well,
so...neither could I.”
He’d
switched from would to could, I noticed. And he was right,
neither of us was emotionally capable of leaving the other in danger. “I
admit I wasn’t thinking quite as clearly as usual at that moment,” I
offered, hoping to see some of the seriousness leave his eyes. It worked,
sort of; a hint of a smile twisted his mouth up for a moment.
“I
can understand that.”
Silence.
I picked up the brownie again and started eating, a nibble at a time. It
tasted delicious. I glanced at the clock that stood on the nightstand.
Two-fifteen. Tomorrow would definitely be a day to sleep in. I wondered
briefly where Dad was, when he’d be home. I wondered how long it would
take me to get to sleep...and what I’d dream.
“I
think you’re falling asleep sitting up,” Joe said, leaning over to take
the napkin from my hand. I started to protest, then realized there was
nothing left of the brownie but a few scattered crumbs.
“Just
about,” I agreed, yawned, and got up to go brush my teeth. When I got
back, Joe stood up from my bed, moving out of my way so I could lie down
and pull the sheet up. “That storm must’ve veered off,” I commented
through another yawn, only then recalling the earlier rumbles and the
spatter of rain.
“Oh,
I forgot about that.” Joe sat down again, reached over and flicked off
the one light that was still on, the one next to the clock. Abruptly, I was
wide awake, the darkness of the warehouse vivid in my mind. I tried to blot
out images of dismantled cars, crates and equipment, but it seemed as
though I could still smell the oil and gas and exhaust. Slicer- his voice-
his laugh-
His
gun pointing at me...
I
was shivering, wondering if I should turn the light on now or wait till Joe
left. Wondering if I would sleep at all tonight, light or no light.
Then
he laid his hand on mine, turning it over until his fingers brushed against
my wrist.
When
you know someone as well as my brother and I know each other, you find that
you don’t need too many words to communicate. That goes double for us;
there’ve been so many times that we’ve needed to exchange information
without talking that we’ve developed our own private language. It’s not
limited to signs and facial expressions, either- we learned the hard way
that those don’t work when it’s dark, which means we often have to rely
on touch. We never have tried to sit down and work out an actual code, we
just...know.
His
hand rested lightly on my wrist, feeling the rapid beat of my pulse. Easy,
he was telling me. Easy now, calm down. It’s okay.
I
stared at the glowing numbers on the clock without seeing them,
concentrating on that calm touch. Slowly- very slowly- my body stopped
shaking and my pulse returned to normal. Joe’s fingers gently smoothed
over my lower arm, still ‘speaking’ to me of comfort and security. I
turned my hand and our fingers laced together. My silent thank you,
though ‘thank you’ wasn’t very exact. Gratitude and appreciation
really become inadequate when you try to put them in words; touch conveys
them both much more clearly.
A
few moments later, I felt that feather-touch on my cheek again from his
free hand: I wish you hadn’t got hurt. I smoothed the back of his
hand in agreement/resignation, then gave a little reassuring
squeeze: Me too, but at least it wasn’t worse. Then I laid one
finger against his ribs and felt him breathing. Glad you didn’t
get hurt.
Joe
shrugged. Not dismissive: unconcerned. He leaned down then, and his
forehead touched mine. I cupped my hand behind his head and for a moment we
were a single unit, think-saying the same thing.
Then
he sat up again, released my fingers, patted my arm gently, and stood up. I
watched the door open and close, then turned on my side, still feeling the
warmth of his hand on mine. I was sleepy, my anxiety gone; my eyes closed
on their own.
The
first time I woke up- unnerved but not terribly so- I managed to turn over
and go back to sleep.
The
second time, half an hour later, I gave up and turned the bedside light on.
After
that, I didn’t wake up until Joe shook me out of a peculiar dream about
trying to navigate a car in a city whose primary transportation seemed to
be ‘Jetsons’ -like hovercars.
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Disclaimer
The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency 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.