Wednesday, October 18, 2000 (12:40 AM)

            A press of patients and family members rushing toward the double-door entryway pressed Fenton Hardy back against the wall as he tried to see over the thankfully small group of people trying to vacate the patio.  The doctors and nurses who were present managed to make order of chaos and even as more arrows skittered across the tiled patio, they managed to vacate the area in good order, leaving only Fenton’s family in residence.  The dark-haired detective drew his gun and stepped around the slight inset of the open door, his eyes first for the family members left on the patio.  Mandy and Laura both lay on the ground though Mandy gestured wildly with one hand, obviously urging both her mother and her friends to their feet.

            Fenton saw several more arrows had been fired off but none, fortunately, hit any of his family or the other kids.  Mandy kept them all mobile and moving and for once Fenton was grateful that his usurpation of talk at the dinner table seemed to have paid off in common sense in his daughter.  He loved her dearly but sometimes… Right now he couldn’t be prouder as they raced behind one of the tables.  She and Laura turned it until it fell over and all four of them ducked behind it as Fenton continued his forward track.  Two more arrows flew over the table just as they ducked behind it and another clanged right off the table, skittered backward and landed about five feet from where Fenton stood.

            The detective could see the archer now, just on the other side of the metal railing, perched in a tree on a hill to that side of the hospital.  Fenton very carefully made his way along the hospital wall and walked very, very slowly, in a half-crouch, toward the edge of the patio.  The archer fired off another arrow, this time at Fenton, but the detective ducked, rolled and came up with his gun trained on the archer. 

            “Drop it!” he yelled.  “Or I’ll fire!”

            The assailant froze in profile for just a moment, the bow held loosely in his hand before he suddenly made a move.  Fenton frowned as the archer suddenly dropped out of the tree and scrambled behind it.  The assailant said nothing as Fenton slowly – very slowly – made his way to the far edge of the patio.  Fenton tucked his gun into his pants and climbed up over the patio rail then, to an accompanying scream from Mandy, dove off the patio.  The hill made an abrupt drop just below the edge of the patio, into the parking lot below and Fenton barely managed to stop in time before he rolled off onto the hard concrete nearly twenty feet below.

            Bad construction, he thought grumpily as he pushed himself back to his feet. 

He slid several more feet down the natural curve of the hill, stopped from his downward slide only by the occasional bushes and a few tufts of grass that jutted out at odd angles.  He winced as, more than once, his hands slid along something much more substantial than a patch of grass, usually sharp rock or the more frequent thorny shrub.  Finally, the downhill slide ended as the hill came up next to a drainage ditch that ran along the nearby street.  

Typical, Fenton grimaced as he made a running jump over the drainage ditch and saved himself falling backward by a conveniently placed birch tree.  He held on until the urge to fall backward was gone and pulled forward until he was very firmly on the sidewalk.

He saw, about fifty or sixty yards ahead, the archer race down the street toward a large residential area to the north side of the hospital.  A pure feeling of anger, rage and determination swept through the detective as he sped up, ignoring his own fatigue, his aches and pains and everything but his objective.  That man ahead of him had tried to kill his family and, perhaps, had kidnapped Joe. 

Just the thought was enough to give Fenton another burst of energy.

The archer sped up and ducked into what looked like from Fenton’s point-of-view, a side yard of one of the residences on the street.  A half-minute later, Fenton ducked through as well, to the surprise of a young couple sitting with their children in the back yard and vaulted over a short fence and into an alleyway, just in time to see the assailant turn into still another side yard.  Fenton raced down the alley in that direction and turned into the side yard but stopped.  Nothing.  He turned back to the alley and took it to the nearest street.  He peered up the street but, again, saw nothing.

            You, he vowed silently to the unknown attacker, are not going to kill my family.  You are not going to kill my family!

            Fenton shook his head in disgust and walked slowly back to the street that ran beside the hospital.  He scrambled back up the hill – he hadn’t seen a quiver on the assailant though he did remember the outline of a bow jutting up from the archer’s back.  The detective scrabbled back up the hill, a steeper grade than he remembered when he went down it, and found the tree from which the attacker did his shooting.  If the man didn’t have the quiver, then that meant the quiver still had to be here, somewhere. 

            I, Fenton thought rather grumpily.  Am not a monkey and have no desire to be one.  How in the world does Derak manage all of this tree climbing?

            Fenton took off his crumpled, dirty jacket and laid it on the ground beside the tree and, with a small prayer, jumped up, grabbed a branch and began the arduous trek up the tree.  It, unfortunately, took him several tries to make it up onto that first branch and he wished he had one of his children here to do this instead.  Mandy could climb trees like she was part monkey but in her present state there was no way Fenton was even going to suggest such a thing to her.  She was almost worse than her brothers when it came to knowing her limitations. 

            Fenton searched the tree very carefully and he almost missed the quiver.  The archer hid it in a small hollow about halfway up the tree.  Fenton, still feeling very foolish, reached out and snagged the quiver’s strap, and pulled on it until he pulled the brown and green camouflaged container from the hollow.  He pulled a pair of gloves from the pocket of his pants and put them on then turned the container over and over again in his hands.  He dropped it down out of the tree before he climbed back down and walked over to the edge of the hill nearest the patio.

            “Mandy,” he called to his daughter.

            Mandy sat on a bench near the edge closest to Fenton and she stood when he called her name.

            “Yes, dad?  Had enough of being a squirrel?”

            Her blue eyes danced with amusement and Fenton tried very hard not to frown at her, but did anyway.

            “Very funny,” Fenton said, a quirk of a smile on his face.  He just couldn’t help it.  Mandy could be an awfully cute daughter sometimes.

            “I try to be, my father.  What do you need?  Are you all right?” Mandy asked in concern.

            “Just fine,” Fenton lied.  He was exhausted, truth be told.  He’d been up for too many hours.

            “You look about ten years older, daddy,” Mandy said seriously as she came to the very edge of the patio.  And he was too old to go running around chasing bad guys on no sleep.

            “I’m doing good then,” Fenton quirked.  “I feel about twenty years older.”

            “Don’t let me keep you, daddy,” Mandy said.  “Did you want me to do something?”

            “Yes, take a look at this,” Fenton held up the quiver to her.  “I want to know all about it when I get back.  Use gloves, just in case there are prints on it.  Leave the rest of the scene intact.  Look at the arrows too but don’t move any.”

            Mandy nodded and caught the container by the strap when Fenton threw it over the rail.  Fenton turned to walk back down the hill and then down about a five feet before he could turn into the parking lot itself.  A car alarm was going off with reckless abandon and kept blaring.  Fenton saw why a moment later.  Against all odds one of the arrows had impacted with the windshield and still stuck out of it.

            Fenton frowned and looked closer and then turned to look up at the patio.  It was about five feet in front of where he stood and up about twenty feet.  There was no way an arrow could have hit this car, not from the angle of the tree to the patio to this spot.  Fenton saw some arrows had just dropped but not with force.  Others were near the edge of the parking lot.  Fenton looked back at the arrow and up at the tree.  He couldn’t even see the tree, even under the patio.

            This makes no sense, he thought.  This isn’t my car.  It’s not Laura, Mandy, Sam or Connor’s car.  It’s not Vanessa’s…

            Vanessa!

            Fenton reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out his cell phone.  He dialed a number but didn’t get an answer.  He raced for the entrance to the hospital, past several startled nurses, patients, orderlies and one doctor and to the elevator.  He took it up – not to the second floor but to the IC on the fourth floor.  An overly officious nurse stopped him at the nurse’s desk in the ICU.

            “I need to speak to Andrea Bender,” he explained.  “She should be with her daughter, Vanessa.  It’s an emergency.”

            The nurse took careful note of the fact that Fenton did look serious and finally ducked into one of the rooms located off the massive nurse’s bay.  She came out again with a very puzzled Andrea Bender.

            “Fenton?” Andrea said.  “What is it?”

            “What does your car look like?” Fenton asked.

            Even more puzzled Andrea said, “I have a silver 1999 Legacy.  Why?”

            “Someone just shot an arrow into the windshield,” Fenton said.  “I mostly wanted to make sure you weren’t in it when it happened.  Do you have the alarm trigger?”

            “Yes,” Andrea looked even more shaken than before.  She dug into the pocket of her jeans and came out with the keys and the alarm trigger. 

            “I’ll bring these back,” Fenton promised.  “Don’t worry, Andrea, we’ll figure out why this is happening.”

            Andrea nodded and Fenton quickly walked back to the elevator, went down to the second floor and went out to the patio again.  The Bayport PD, represented by six uniformed officers and Lieutenant Con Riley, were already taking pictures, marking off the crime scene and talking to witnesses.  Fenton walked to the edge of the patio, aimed the trigger and turned off the car alarm.  He walked over to Mandy who was talking to Con.

            “…something like twelve shots, thirteen counting the one that nearly hit dad,” Mandy was explaining.  “From there, to there and he followed us to here.”

            She pointed to the tree, the bench where they had been sitting and the table the finally hid behind.  She shivered once and Fenton put his arms gently around her shoulder.

            “Did you see the assailant?” Con asked as he continued to write down notes in his pad of paper.

            Mandy shook her head.  “Just the figure in the tree.  I didn’t see enough to even give you height or weight.”

            “I probably got the closest and I’m not sure even I could give you that information, Con,” Fenton interrupted.  “I chased him for four blocks or so but never got close enough to get any kind of ID or description.  I know he was wearing a mask, like a ski hat with only the eyes and mouth showing.  He ran fast but…”

            Fenton frowned in concentration as he thought of the runner.

            “What is it?” Con prompted.

            “There was something about the way he ran that was… not right.  Or different.  It wasn’t a limp, at least, I don’t think it was.”

            Think, Hardy, he thought finally.  Your son’s life depends on this.  Your family’s life may depend on this!  Think!

            “I just don’t know…” he said finally.  “I can’t put my finger on it just yet.”

            Fenton shook his head and turned to his daughter.

            “Did you look over the quiver?” he asked her.

            Mandy nodded and shrugged the strap off her good shoulder and handed it over to her father.

            “It’s a standard 20-arrow quiver, except it’s designed for slightly longer than average arrows.  It’s otherwise one you could buy at any sports shop in North America.  I’ve seen these in various places.  I did find one thing that’s unusual.”

            “And that is?” Fenton prompted on queue.

            “This,” she reached into a side pouch and pulled out a glove, with no fingertips on all fingers except for the index finger.  She held it up in her plastic-gloved hand to her father.

            “It’s a bow glove.  A lot of people don’t bother with it, most don’t even own one.  I use a knocking glove and a wrist guard though I don’t really need the wrist guard anymore.  There’s just one thing.  This…” she held up the glove.  “Is right-handed.  That means that whoever shot at us is left-handed.  They knocked left-handed.”

            Fenton took the glove from her and turned it over.  He dug inside and found what was left of the tag.  Arrows in… was on it and, written in black permanent marker were two initials.  DM.

            “Derak Mathews,” Fenton said out loud.

            “I knew it,” Mandy almost crowed.  “I knew it was Derak.  I knew it.”

            Con, his own hands now clad in plastic gloves, reached out and took the glove from Fenton.  He turned it over a well and then handed it off to a passing officer and told him to place it with the other evidence.

            “Well,” Con said, slowly.  “It does match the profile, when you think about it.”

            “I don’t know,” Fenton said, slowly.  “I know Mandy here is big on the isolation theory but what if this is just something simple as revenge and has nothing to do with Joe?  Or it does but Derak is after us for putting him away?”

            “Whatever the case,” Con said.  “We’re not dealing with a stable personality here.  And isolation matches profile for sexual predators of this type.  If Derak is behind this he’s following some sick, twisted plan.  But none of you are surprised are you?”

            Fenton shook his head, sadly, and sighed.

            “I think we all hoped it wasn’t him but, in aw ay, I’m glad that we know now.”

            “I say we go get him, dad,” Mandy rubbed her hands together with glee.  “And kick his, well, you know what.”

            “By the books, Mandy-Nic,” Fenton said.

            “This is a lot more than kidnapping and molestation now, Fenton,” Con reminded the older investigator.  “It’s at least attempted murder, felony hit and run, terrorist attacks with the bombing of your house.  He’ll get a lot more than seven years this time.”

            “Good,” Fenton said in a cold voice.  “He deserved a lot more than that the last time.”

            “Mandy, you’re needed back in your room.  Doctor Carlisle wants to check you both out before they release you,” Laura stood at the door with a nurse and Samantha.

            “Freedom at last!” Mandy gushed.  “Are you done with me, Lieutenant Riley?”

            Con nodded.  “I’ll need a written copy of your statement within forty-eight hours, Mandy.  Samantha, Connor and your mother too.”

            “All right,” Mandy agreed.  “Thank you.”

            Mandy kissed Fenton on the cheek and went to her mother while Fenton turned back to Con to tell the officer about his run through the hills and streets after the perpetrator.  He finished with his discovery of the arrow in the windshield of Andrea Bender’s car.  Con went to the edge of the patio then got on his radio and told two of his officers to go and check it out. 

            “Did you get hold of Joe’s roommate about those keys?” Con asked.

            Fenton nodded and rubbed at his head as he knelt to inspect one of the arrows on the ground by his feet.  While he didn’t have his daughter’s expertise he knew enough to know the arrows were graphite and fletched in a unique six-feather style that seemed to Fenton as though it would hamper the distance and flight of the arrow.  Fenton saw that the point, rather than being like the simple round point of an archery arrow instead had the triangular point of a hunting arrow.  Fenton looked more closely at the feathers – teal-blue, hunter-green and yellow, made of a softer type of feather than the more rigid feathers he usually found on arrows.

            Fenton stood again and wondered when Derak started using hunting tips on his arrows.  He remembered when Derak taught Mandy archery that his brother-in-law very vocally spurned hunting tips as unwieldy and an unnecessary extravagance to any archery, even the type used for hunting.  Obviously, Derak had changed his mind in the last decade or so.  Fenton turned to look up at the tree again.

            What was it about the running?

            “The keys?” Con prompted again.  He continued to jot down notes in the ever-present pad of paper he carried and stopped occasionally for a brief report from one of the uniformed officers.  One officer was making sketches of the scene while others were taking pictures with Polaroid cameras and one digital camera.  Another was taking statements from witnesses.

            “Eric said as far as he knew the keys were still in the drawer.  He was in class when I called.  He said he would look when got back and call me.  That won’t be until later, he has class right up to football practice.  I told him it would keep until then.”

            “I’d like to know if they’re there,” Con said.  “It may not have a lot of bearing on if we’ll find Joe but…”

            Fenton nodded.  He understood. 

            Fenton stood again and futilely brushed off his trouser legs.  The suit had definitely seen better days.  He brushed his hands together and gave up.  He wouldn’t be clean till he showered and changed clothing.  He was exhausted enough to sleep for a week but there was too much to do. 

            “I was thinking,” he said to Con a moment later.  “Would it be possible to post guards on Vanessa and Frank’s rooms?  They’re too vulnerable as they are and I think – I know Derak will try again.”

            “I’ll call the chief,” Con said.  “I’ll let you know what he says.  You may have to get private guards but I’ll push hard for it.  It will really depend on budget.”

            Fenton nodded, still distracted by his mental pursuit of his brother-in-law.  The running again!  Fenton growled and began to pace.  What was it about the running?  He would go insane if he didn’t think of it soon.

            “If you clear your mind you might remember better,” Con said.  “At any rate, get me a written report by Friday, would you?  And be careful!”

            Fenton nodded.  “I will and, uh, let me know if you learn anything else.”

            “Same with you,” Con nodded.

            Fenton, weary to the bone, went back into the hospital and went up to the fifth floor.  He found Laura in a waiting room, burning up minutes on her cell phone.  She was checking off items on a list in her lap.

            Fenton sat in a chair beside her and watched her as she, with her usual efficiency, tried to make some sense of order of the wreck their lives had come.  Fenton laid a hand on top of the hand making the check marks on her pad and smiled at her.  She smiled back at him, a weak smile, a smile that did not bother to hide the fear and the sadness she felt.  Fenton knew organizing was her way of coping and he settled back in his chair again.

            “I’m ordering clothing,” she said to Fenton.  “Right now I’m on with Galfini’s.  Do you need any measurement’s changed for your suits?”

            Fenton shook his head.  Laura looked as tired as Fenton felt; he saw the telltale wrinkles along the edge of her eyes that deepened when she was stressed or past-tired.  Fenton thought it might be both and he wanted that gone. 

            I’m going to find you Joe, he vowed.  And I’m going to make sure that Derak never hurts you again.  Never!

            Laura went back to her conversation for a few more minutes, then hung up and dialed another number.  All-in-all it was three more phone calls before Laura slid her phone back into her purse and leaned back.  She sighed and leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder.  He kissed the top of her blonde head with its lighter strands of blonde than when they married.  Still beautiful after all this time, inside and out, and Fenton felt even more fortunate.

            “I ordered three suits for you, some casual clothes for both of us, shoes, watches and accessories.  We’ll need to hit Walstead’s for more toiletries.  We have enough in our bags to last a few more days but not another week,” she said, finally and yawned.

            Sometimes Fenton just marveled at his wife’s abilities.  Smart, wise and beautiful.  No man was ever as lucky as he.

            “What all did you find out?” the worry crept back into Laura’s eyes and she took one of Fenton’s hands in her own and held tightly to it.  He pushed his chair around so he could put his arm about her shoulders and he held her.  “Anything?”

            “Some,” Fenton said as he stretched.  “More than some.  I had Mandy go over that quiver as you know and she found a glove in it with the initials DM on the tag.  Con’s going to check fingerprints and the like but good money is on Derak.”

            “A glove?” Laura questioned, a curious expression on her face. “What kind of glove?”

            “It’s what Mandy called a bow glove,” Fenton said.  “The right one.  She said the knock glove with the arm guard was missing.”

            Laura was thoughtful then a funny expression came over her face.

            “You said the bow glove… it was the right-handed one.  That would make mean the knock glove was the left-handed, right?”

            “Yes…” Fenton said, slowly.

            “Fenton, Derak is right-handed.”

            Fenton stared at her in confused amazement.

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).