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

Frank Hardy sat alone, huddled up against a tree, his jacket pulled tightly about him as he listened for…something. Anything that indicated he was no longer alone, no longer without help. Blind for the last six weeks, Frank Hardy was bewildered at the idea of being on his own, of having to try to find his way out of this wooded area by himself. It was much easier to sit here against this tree and hope, wish for rescue. To pray that, despite the death of his aunt only hours before, that someone might go for help anyway.

He knew she was dead. After hearing the gunshot that ended her life he felt around on the ground until he came across her body. She lay bent over a fallen tree, body splayed in all directions. Frank found the bullet hole in her neck, felt her open eyes and closed them, and he scrambled away as fast as he could, wondering what happened.

Who shot his aunt?

And why leave Frank alive and alone?

Frank had no answers, though he asked them. Frank shouted for nearly an hour, demanding that whoever was out there talk to him. He yelled and ranted that they should come out and face him like a man, despite his disability. No one answered. No voices were heard and there were no tell-tale rustlings of leaves or cracking of twigs on the ground. He hated the very idea of being out here alone, of not having anyone to help him.

And yet, if he wanted to live, he was going to have to help himself.

You, Frank Richard Hardy, are absolutely not allowed to give up on yourself. Just get on with it, already. You may be blind but you have four other senses and you have your brain.

And as Dad always told you, a brain is a better weapon than anything else, if it's trained right. Dad spent a lot of years teaching you. Now it's time to put that into use.

Frank sighed and got to his hands and knees. He wouldn't crawl for long, just long enough to find what he needed. It took several minutes to come up with what he wanted – a branch long enough to use as a walking stick – and he finally stood upon his feet. He used the branch to tap his way to a tree, taking each step only after he used the branch to feel in front of him for any obstacles.

It would take forever. Days, maybe.

But I'm going to live, damnit! Frank thought ferociously. I am going to live!

Frank felt along the entire circumference of the friendly little tree until he found the moss that inevitably grew on the north side of the tree. Thanking his lucky stars that he remembered that bit of trivia from his days at camp, Frank oriented himself. He batted at his arm when he felt something bite it and groaned. He didn't need bug bites on top of everything else. He hoped it was just a mosquito and not something worse, like a spider. Spider bites sucked big time. He had one of those when he was seven or eight and it swelled up like no tomorrow, itched like crazy and actually hurt for a while. He had to take some foul tasting medicine for several days so it wouldn't get infected.

Nope, don't need any spider bites here. Stay away, spiders. Far, far, away.

Was it any wonder he didn't like spiders? And Joe had the nerve to pick on him for his spider phobia. Frank thought he was pretty reasonable about it, all things considered.

Facing north, he closed his eyes. A breeze washed across his face, coming from the west and the sun, when it made it through the trees, came from west-northwest. He had two solid directions he could pinpoint, and if he did this right, he could get all four directions.

Frank hoped.

Frank thought for a few minutes, wishing he knew the direction back to the main road Cathy used to bring him here. Then it occurred to him that he had an even easier way to get back to the road. If he could just find that gravel road, it would be smoother than anything else. First he'd need to find the car.

Too bad I can't drive that, Frank sighed. I'd crash it in two seconds. It was worth considering for about that long, though.

Frank shrugged and turned around, knowing the car was probably beyond where his aunt's body lay. He walked slowly in that direction, stopping only when he got to the log. He carefully climbed over it to the other side, using his stick to feel along the path before him.

Frank stopped for a moment and said a brief prayer for his aunt. She might have left him here, she might have tried to kill him and she might be involved with kidnapping Joe, but she didn't have to die.

Maybe that's easy to think because I want to believe she really was going to tell my family how to find me.

The Hardy boy found the car several minutes later and he stopped long enough to dig inside. He found two bottles of water – handy – and a small plastic sack. He put the bottles into the sack and looped the handles of the sack through his belt loops before he continued on his trek to the main road.

Frank stopped a little while later and leaned forward, putting some of his weight on his walking stick. He scratched at the bite on his arm and rubbed at it, trying to decide if it felt like a mosquito or spider bite or something else. Maybe a chigger? What did chigger bites feel like?

Frank tapped the ground again and sighed with relief. He found the gravel road, finally and tapped until he had the edges of it with his stick. It was about six feet wide, not wide enough for two cars to go side-by-side but wide enough for one car. It was big enough for one college student to walk down without getting off the path too often.

Frank tapped some more and found his way to what he thought was the middle of the path and started walking some more, being careful to not take a step until he tapped it out first. Just like he had been taught.

This is going to take all day, Frank thought. Or all week. Not a month, though. I won't be alive in a month.

Get on with it, Hardy. One foot in front of the other.

That brought to mind a cartoon he and Joe watched when they were kids. One of those Christmas specials, probably "Santa Claus is Coming To Town." The Snowman in the cave and Kris Kringle came dancing out of the cave singing that silly song

"Put one foot in front of the other," Frank remembered the words and sang them. "And soon you'll be walking 'cross the floor! Put one foot in front of the other. And soon you'll be walking out the door!"

Yeah, he amended to himself. If my knee didn't hurt! And my arm. And my whole body, for that matter.

And now you sound like a whiney twelve-year-old. Cut it out, Frank. Whining is not your style!

Frank took a cautious swallow from one of his bottles of water and put it back into the sack at his belt. He knew he had to be careful drinking the water or he might use it all up too quickly. If he rationed, carefully, he could make those two bottles last two full days, maybe three.

The very thought it might take him that long to get help filled Frank with foreboding. He groaned and nearly collapsed but stayed on his feet by force-of-will. No way, no how were his aunt or his cousin going to beat him. Frank, determined as ever, started down along the path again, careful to make sure that he was on gravel before he made his next step. He knew there was a curve in the road only when he tapped in front of him and found a much softer surface than the gravel. He turned to the right and tapped again, and finding gravel, took another step.

"Let's see, sing something else," Frank said out loud – just to hear his voice. Great, now I'm talking to myself. A sure sign of coming insanity.

But he started singing the first song that came to him.

"Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream," he repeated that over and over again before changing off to another song.

"A hundred bottles of beer on the wall, a hundred bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around, 99 bottles of beer on the wall

There lies madness, Hardy. Anyone singing "A Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall" is definitely in line for a strait-jacket. Nobody should be that desperate.

Frank had to stop to rest a long while later, only because his bad leg refused to go anymore. He sat down when he found a large log beside the road and propped his leg up on an upturned root and rubbed at it. He sniffed, smelling some flowers or something nearby. He didn't know enough about the scents to recognize them off the bat, though he did recognize the pine aroma that was prevalent through the woods. He rubbed at his knee and wondered if he had done more damage to it. He scratched his bite some more and reminded himself not to do that anymore. Scratching just aggravated it.

It had been easy, for a while, to forget his damaged knee and hand. Easy, at least, while he was thinking merely of survival. Trust his knee to remember that it hurt – and badly.

Frank really wanted to hit something but he desisted in favor of getting back to his feet and limping down the road again. Sore knee or no, he was still on his own. If he got back to civilization he could lie in bed and ice the knee for a few days, give it all the babying it wanted. It just needed to cooperate long enough to do that.

Are you trying to reason with a body part, Hardy? Frank asked himself. Of course not. Only crazy people reason with body parts and you aren't crazy. Yet.

Of course, he knew if he got back to civilization, he would get right back on the hunt for Joe. But after Joe was found, all bets were off. He would lie in bed for a week and be waited on hand and foot and enjoy it. Yeah, the people who loved him could bring him food, drinks, change the TV channel for him.... A week of pampering never harmed a guy, did it?

His walk came to an abrupt stop when he heard twigs snapping in the nearby woods and he turned, slowly, walking stick at the ready, in that direction. More twigs snapped as he heard a low grumbling sound, and Frank's heart made a beeline right for his throat.

Moments later he could feel something very large that smelled of fish coming toward him, and Frank had to wonder what a brown bear was doing in the woods in Massachusetts before he collapsed to the ground – and waited.

**** **** **** ****

Time Note: WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 25, 2000 ( Five p.m. – two hours after the end of 'The Search')

"Turn around."

Kacey Turner looked back at Deanna Merrill when she spoke and saw the blue eyes of her leader focused clearly on her face. The younger F.B.I. agent looked from Deanna to Bill Reilly and back again, confused.

"What? Deanna?" Kacey asked.

"I said," Deanna said in a clear, concise, voice. "Turn. Around."

"Deanna, we're heading home," Bill reasoned. "Why do you want to go…go back there?"

"We're not done with the job yet." Deanna straightened and shook her hair back out of her face. She reached into the pocket of her jacket and found a ponytail holder and wrapped it around her hair. "Philip, TURN AROUND!"

The car stopped suddenly and Philip turned back to look at her, eyes startled into shock at the resolute expression on Deanna's face. Though the haunted, lost expression still inhabited Deanna's eyes, the rest of the woman's body held determination. Deanna looked ready to walk back to the crime scene if she had to, regardless of her own loss.

"We're off the case, Deanna," Bill declared in a raspy voice. "You know that and I know that. We're emotionally involved in this case now. We have a personal stake. If we go back, Trevor will have all of our heads on a platter."

"Then take me back and drop me off. I'll pick up my car," Deanna said. "But I'm not leaving this case. I have never, ever, left in the middle of a case and I'm not about to start doing it now. You know me better than that, all of you."

Her three agents were silent for a moment before they spoke.

"What about…what about…Daniel? Your kids?" Kacey broke the silence for the trio, asking the question they all wanted to ask.

"Daniel would want me to finish this case," Deanna said. "HE would want me to stay put until Joe Hardy is found and reunited with his family. If I go home I'm just going to go crazy. I can't give into that kind of grief again. If…"

Deanna nearly choked on the words but she forced them out, despite tears threatening to fall again.

"If I have to live without Daniel – again – I have to start now. Last time I let it tear me up inside until I was practically useless. I have to start fighting this now. I have to start living NOW. The kids are fine with their nanny. I know they'll need me…but I need to finish this case. Right now. We can wait to tell the kids."

"It will be on the news," Bill reminded her. "They'll know."

Deanna shook her head. "I. Have. To. Do. This."

"All right," Kacey agreed. "Go on, Phil, turn around. Let's get back to the job. What do you want us to do first, Deanna?"

Deanna took a deep breath and relaxed, forcing loss and pain to the back, as far back as she could push it and turning, instead, to the job at hand.

"This was all a set-up," she said. "Another one, to throw us off the case. It's another smokescreen, one in a whole series of smokescreens they've tossed at us. They wanted us off the case – us specifically. I don't know if they planned on anyone dying or just wanted one or more of us hurt badly enough we would have to back down. We go back to Massachusetts , we find the Hardys and we get moving on this case again."

"All right," Bill agreed. "Are you sure? How could they know we would search that warehouse ourselves? There are other agents on this case – because of the explosives and state lines. Not just our team."

"I don't know," Deanna said. "I'm going entirely on gut feeling here, and gut feeling says they wanted us off the case and out of the way. Bill, hand me your cell phone."

Bill did, only because Deanna's was smashed. She dialed a number she knew by heart.

"Trevor, this is Deanna," Deanna said into the phone.

"Deanna, I'm so sorry to hear about Daniel," Trevor said. "Are you going to be okay? Is there something I can do for you?"

"I only called to tell you one thing, Trevor," Deanna said. "I'm staying on the case."

"Deanna!" Trevor Michaels exclaimed. "You can't. You know that."

"I can and I will. Sir," Deanna declared. "I've been monkeyed with, played with, toyed with and I'm not going to take it. Sir."

Deanna heard nothing on the other end of the line for several moments but finally Trevor spoke. "All right, Agent Merrill," he said. "But be careful. I'm going to treat this like two different cases. I'll have a different team looking into Daniel's death so it looks…better."

"Thank you," Deanna breathed. "Thank you, Trevor."

"Just find the kid, Deanna. Good luck."

Deanna hung up and handed the phone back to Bill. She smiled as she leaned back in her seat.

We'll bloody well see who finds Daniel's killer first, she thought as the car sped back to the crime scene. We'll bloody well see.

The car sped back to the crime scene and they parked at the perimeter. Senior Agent Paul Landauer approached them, a stern expression on his face.

"Save it, Landauer," Deanna told the glorified paper-pusher. "I rank you and you know it. I've got Trevor's approval and we aren't staying here to muck with your crime scene. I'm getting my car and heading north."

Landauer glowered at Deanna. "I still don't think this is right," he grumbled.

"And I couldn’t care less," Deanna smiled sweetly at him. "I couldn’t care less than less, actually. Now get out of my way before I move you out of my way."

Landauer glared fiercely but turned and marched away. Deanna and Bill went over to Deanna's Explorer where Philip and Kacey waited.

"Better call Audrey and head her off," Deanna reminded Bill. "Bobby too."

"Got it. Where are we heading?"

"Cambridge ," Deanna said.

"Ah," Bill commented.

Deanna got into her car and started the engine. Soon, she was heading north to Massachusetts . She ignored the conversation between Bill and Kacey and Philip; instead she focused on the task at hand and steered her mind clear of thinking too much about Daniel.

When Bill hung up he turned to Deanna. "She wanted to know what took you so long."

"Shock, mostly," Deanna admitted. "She knew, did she?"

"Oh, yeah," Bill agreed. "She knew."

"Good. ‘Cause it's time to find this creep and take him down. No more Miss Nice Guy."

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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.