Thursday, September 21, 2000 (1:40 AM)

       Joe’s feet moved of their own volition, one after the other, step after faltering step as he was forced along through the underbrush of the woods that lined the edge of Bayport U, prodded along by a man at least three inches taller, much thicker and several times stronger than he was.  The man had not once moved the knife from off of his throat and Joe already felt several nicks and cuts from careless handling.  As soon as they had gotten clear of the building, one of the man’s friends had tied Joe’s hands behind his back and tied a sort of halter line between his hands and his feet. 

       He was standing now only because his captor was basically holding him up.  His back ached from the fist pressed into it.  He was exhausted from a late night, an unplanned hike, two unplanned fights and from the rest of the day’s stresses.  He had not been allowed to put his shoes back on and his feet scraped along rough rocks, branches and one or two thorny brambles in the woods.  He still wore the pajama bottoms he changed into, pajama bottoms meant for indoor use and the cool air bit at his bare arms and chest.  He hadn’t dared make a sound.  The knife made sure that he would be nice and quiet, no matter how much he hurt.  He only wanted to know two things.  Who where these people and why were they bothering him?

       He was led along no particular path in the woods until they came to what proved to be a very small lean-to built up against the side-face of a sheer cliff that later would drop off into Barmet Bay farther down.  The man who had been holding the knife on him removed it suddenly and thrust him under the lean-to, then fastened another rope around his feet and tied it to a tree outside of the lean-to.  Joe shivered as a cold breeze washed through the lean-to and looked up at the two men who stood over him.

       “Now then, Mr. Hardy,” the man said in a sneering voice that turned Joe’s blood cold on the spot.  “Let’s have a little discussion you and I.  I tried to send my message along to you through two associates but now it seems that I must give you this message myself.”

       “And what would that be?” Joe tried to sound hard and tough, but the words whistled through his mouth and he grit his teeth, trying not to let them chatter. 

       The knelt down beside him and gently ran the knife he held along Joe’s neck.  Back and forth, back and forth the knife slid, until it came to a stop at a point just under Joe’s chin and he gently forced Joe’s face up, so that they looked squarely at each other.

       “You are to no longer interfere in things that do not concern you, Mr. Hardy,” the man said to him.  “You are to keep your nose into your own affairs and never step outside of those again.  I am willing to let you off this time with merely this warning.  Next time, I promise you, things will be much less unpleasant.  For instance…”

       And this time, he deliberately drew a line along Joe’s neck, causing a thin line of blood to appear.

       “I can pick just how slowly I wish to kill you, Joseph Hardy,” the man whispered to him and Joe shuddered.  “And I promise you that by the time I am done with you, not even your twin sister will recognize you.  Do you understand me, Mr. Hardy?”

       Joe sat shivering for a moment, trying to draw up his usual bravado and antagonism but all he found was sheer fright and terror.  He nodded his head once and swallowed, unable to do anything else for the moment.

       “Very good, Mr. Hardy,” the man said to him.  “Very, very good.”

       He motioned to his accomplice and stood, turning away to leave.

       “You’re… leaving me?” Joe whispered to them?  “I thought you weren’t going to kill me.”

       “I’m not going to kill you,” the man turned back to him and smiled beatifically.  “But, of course, if you should die of exposure tonight, well, that shall have to be your problem, won’t it?  I want you to understand me perfectly, Mr. Hardy.  I think a night out here in the chill autumn air should prove my point nicely.  I’ll tell someone in the morning where you can be found.”

       Joe watched in dismay as they walked away from him, leaving in the too cold for comfort night air.  He shivered as he tried to huddle back into the lean-to, to see if it would afford him any protection from the light breeze that was blowing around him.  He shivered, tears finally falling down his cheeks.  His hands were almost completely numb already.  His teeth started chattering together and he wished he slept in his pajama top too.  At least he’d have a little more protection.  He heard his Aunt Gertrude scolding him for wandering around the house without his slippers, that he would catch his death of cold. 

       Save yourself, a small voice told him from inside.  You have to save yourself, Joe.  Don’t wait for someone else to do it!  Save yourself!

       He whimpered, unable to help himself.  How could he possibly save himself?  He couldn’t even feel his hands!  His feet felt like they had fallen off already.  His back was killing him and his throat hurt.  No, it would be much easier to just go to sleep instead.  He was so tired!

       Save yourself, idiot! Moron! Get up and save yourself!  You’ll freeze if you don’t!  So it’s 60 out.  Have you ever spent a night outside at 60 degrees in just your pajama bottoms?  Move!

 

       He whimpered again but forced himself to try and obey that harsh inner voice.  His teeth continued to chatter together as he tried to work at the ropes around his wrist.  He fumbled around in the dark on the ground until he brushed against a rock he thought might work.  It would take forever.  By the time he finished, he would either be dead or found.  Why even bother!

       Bother because you aren’t going to let them beat you, that inner voice declared, relentlessly.  Bother because you aren’t a quitter!  You haven’t ever run away from anything in your life! 

       He continued to whimper and saw at the ropes.  He felt something warm and sticky running over his hands and realized that he had cut something, either his hand or his wrist but he kept sawing.  His toes were already so numb now he couldn’t feel them.  He still kept sawing.  His teeth wouldn’t stop chattering.  Twice now he’d already bit his tongue when it got in the way.  Twice he thought he was going to pass out but he forced himself to stay conscious. 

       God, he was so cold!

       Tears continued pouring down his cheeks as he worked, as new pains developed.  He started coughing a while later.  More tears streamed down his cheeks, as he thought about giving up, when he wanted to give up, but couldn’t.  Wouldn’t it just be easier to wait?  He could wait and someone would find him.  They had to find him! 

 

*******

       Mandy Hardy sat up in her bed then, her eyes wild with fear, shivering from an intense cold she shouldn’t be feeling.  She shivered as she wrapped her comforter more tightly about herself and saw Elizabeth, her roommate, stir in the bed next to Mandy’s.  Mandy felt tears streaming down her cheeks as well, though she had no idea why she cried. 

       Terror.  Mandy realized that she was shaking in pure terror.  She wiped the tears that streamed down her cheeks looked toward the window.  It was closed tight against the cool weather outside.  A check of the thermostat read at 72 degrees.  The room was nice and warm and yet Mandy shook from cold and fear.

       Oh, God, she whispered.  Joe.  It had to be Joe.  There was no other explanation for it.  She and her twin were not really telepathic, more empathic she supposed.  They felt the others more intense emotions, really intense emotions but never more than that.  If Mandy felt terror and such extreme cold then that meant something was wrong with her brother.

       She sat on her bed, shivering then, wrapping her comforter about her once more, she closed her eyes. 

       Joe, she thought.  Joe… if something’s wrong, fight it, Joe.  You have to fight it!  Please, Joe, come back to me.  Come back to us Joe.  Whatever’s wrong, tell me!  You have to fight it!

       Mandy huddled against the wall behind her bed and clutched her pillow close as she waited.

 

********

 

       Joe wanted to sleep.  He had to sleep.  His body ached for it, but something… something refused to let him stop and it urged him on.  He wouldn’t be alive in the morning if he waited.  He had no guarantee that his captor would keep his word.  So he kept sawing, desperation filling him.  He had to live because he had to help Frank!  Frank needed him now more than ever.   The inner voice or whatever it was demanded he keep trying.  A Hardy did not surrender!

       After what seemed a small eternity to Joe, the ropes gave enough that he was able to slip his hands free.  He had to stop then for a moment as he wrapped his arms around himself and tried, desperately, to find any warmth.  There wasn’t any to be had.  He coughed again and then took his rock to start on the rope around his ankles.  His fingers wouldn’t work well enough to try to untie the knots.  He shivered and sawed and cried and sawed.

       Another eternity later, he had his feet free and he collapsed back into the lean-to, temporarily spent.  His whole body felt like one massive spasm.  He shook so hard that he thought he would never stop.  His inner voice pushed him on, ordering him to his feet.  He had a long hike back to the dorm.  He had to just take it one step at a time, but he had to get out. 

       Joe had no idea where he was going.  He stumbled along, not able to see well in the tree-shrouded darkness of the forest.  He stubbed his toes several more times, caught several more thorns in his feet and fell several times.  Each time he forced himself back to his feet as he continued to shiver, his hands held in his armpits.  The forest seemed to go on forever.  He vaguely remembered walking a long time when they had brought him into the forest but he had no idea how long.  His watch was lying on the desk beside his English Book. 

       Movement through the trees made him stop, suddenly and he pulled himself up beside a log as he listened, hoping for a rescue, praying that it wasn’t his captors again.  He buried himself into the hollow of a tree as he waited and, finally, the noises died away and he pulled himself out again.  He continued forward, finally clearing the forest sometime later to find himself several hundred feet away from his dorm.

       One step, one step, one step, he told himself as he continued to walk along, forcing himself to concentrate merely on the act of walking without falling.  Each step was agony.  The wind was more brisk up here and seemed to blow right through him, chilling him to the bone.  It was late enough that there were no other students out and about, all of them had finally quit partying and sought out their own beds.

       Joe pulled up to the backdoor of Tauhausen Hall and leaned against it for a moment, praying that it wouldn’t be locked.  It was supposed to be locked.  Every rule of the dorm said that this door was supposed to remain locked after ten pm but Joe knew all too well that the rule was usually not enforced.  He pulled on the door and almost cried out with relief when it opened.

       “Oh, God,” he whispered as he stepped into the warmth of the back foyer and contemplated the four flights of stairs ahead of him.  He fell against them, leaning his head on one of the steps before he finally forced himself to crawl up them.  He had no strength for this, each step was as agonizing as the one before it and he had to stop to rest halfway up each flight and the top of each flight before he could attempt the next one.  At his floor, he somehow managed to get up on his knees high enough to open the door there and then he crawled, inch by inch, until he got the door of his brother’s room.

       He knocked, feebly, the first time.  He knocked just as feebly the second and third and fourth times.  Finally, he thought he heard someone moving around inside and by the amount of crashing, he assumed that it was Frank.

       Suddenly, the door flew open and Joe looked up for just a moment into his brother’s annoyed and startled face before he whispered, “Help,” and fell forward onto his face at his brother’s feet.

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. I've only borrowed them to play with for a while but I promise to return them whenever I've finished with them.  (I make no promises as to condition, that's entirely up to them).  I promise, I'm only writing for fun and I'm not making a single dime off of this (unless you count personal fulfillment).