Warning Take 2: You were warned – this is even more intense than the last one.  Yep.  That’s what I said.  MORE INTENSE!

(Time and Date Unknown)

            Joe finally squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to not look at the hibachi with poker which sat on the table at such a close but unreachable distance from where he lay chained to the table.  If he didn’t look at it, he didn’t have to think about it.  He took several calming breaths, just like Dr. Morgan taught him and then went to work on his 1968 Cougar, complete with running lamps.  He found the car in a car magazine just a couple weeks before as he was killing time waiting for Vanessa to finish up at a beauty shop when they were out shopping.  He took enough time that night to look up the specs on the car on the Internet that night so he knew as much about it as he could.

            It took some time to actual be able to focus on what he was doing; every few seconds his mind took him back to the terror but he doggedly forced his attention back onto the car.  He had to start where all cars started - the frame.  He took a little time debating what size screws to use; he hadn’t read up enough to know that part.  Thinking about the screws helped a lot.  The mental debate took some time before he decided what size worked best and then thought about which tool.  Some of them he could screw in with just a regular screwdriver, though he would have to tighten them with a power drill to ensure everything stayed where he wanted it.  He started on screw one.  Screw two.  Just like Dr. Morgan taught him, he made sure he put in every single screw that he had.  He put a lot of work into his mental garage already; he did that sometimes at night, when he tried to fall asleep, so he knew just where every tool was.

            It was on his seventh screw, which he dropped once, that he heard footsteps once more on the stairs and his eyes popped open without a single message from his head that they should do so.  He stared up at his Uncle’s masked face and felt a stir of nausea from within.  His uncle smiled again, a look that chilled Joe thoroughly once more.  Derak said nothing as he walked from the stairs to the table.  He picked up the poker from the hibachi and Joe swallowed fearfully when he saw that the top glowed a bright red.

            The metal rod was not a fireplace poker after all.  It was a brand with a simple letter on it.  Instead of the ‘D’ for Derak, though, the letter was an ‘M’.  Mathews?

            “And now,” Derak said with a small smile that Joe saw even through the mask.  “Just like all property should have the name of it’s owner on it somewhere, I’ve decided that I should mark you, just so that everyone knows that you are mine.”

            Joe tried to pull away as far as the chains allowed; he may as well not have moved at all.

            “If I didn’t know, better, Joseph,” the mechanical voice said, almost chiding.  “I’d say that you were scared of something but I know better.  What could possibly scare you, my dear boy?”

            Joe said nothing for his voice was caught in his throat, right with his heart and his stomach.

            “Surely you aren’t afraid of a little pain?” Derak asked as he held the brand closer to Joe’s face.  Joe flinched, afraid that Derak would brand him right on the face.  “And just think of how much closer it will bring us to each other.  You’ll just have to look at this little mark and remember who owns you.”

            Joe shook his head.

            “Now, now,” Derak said as he ran a finger along Joe’s chest.  “Pain is a momentary thing after all.  It’s the pleasure that will last forever.  Once the pain is finished and once I have everything else taken care of, the pleasure can begin.  Is that too much to ask, my love?”

            Joe didn’t even move.

            Derak bent his neck to bring his face much closer to Joe.  He smiled again, then leaned forward and kissed Joe, very lightly, on the mouth.  He held the kiss for nearly a minute, the whole time Joe was too afraid to move, in case the brand got too close to his chest.  Finally, though, he couldn’t stand anymore and he turned his face to one side to get away from Derak.

            “No,” he whispered.  “No!”

            “Oh yes,” Derak said and laughed.  He stood back again and touched Joe’s chest with one light finger again.  “That’s just the beginning.”

            Derak stood back and walked back to Joe’s feet.  He held the brand almost carelessly on one shoulder; the red end glowed rather close to Derak’s ear.  He shifted it again and turned the point toward Joe.

            “Remember,” Derak said with a small smile.  “Pain is a fleeting thing that will not last for long.”

            And Joe was not able to stop the scream that erupted from within when Derak pushed the hot end of the brand into the bottom of Joe’s foot.  Joe’s whole body flinched and a long, hard spasm wracked it.  He screamed again and again, even when Derak took the brand away from his foot and took the hibachi. 

            “I could have put that somewhere much more visible,” Derak said through the haze of Joe’s pain.  “I could have put it on your face.  On your head.  On your chest.  But I chose to put that on your foot.  You’re mine.  Don’t ever forget it.”

            Derak sat the hibachi on the stairs and then went back to the table.  He pulled a few items from his pocket and sat them down on the table beside the breakfast tray.  Joe continued to sob in pain as the heat from the burn on the bottom of his foot surged up his foot.  Several more spasms traveled up and down his body and he lay helpless to do anything about it.

            Joe saw Derak take the hibachi back up the stairs.  When Derak was at the top again he brought the top part of the stairs back up and then, a moment later, another click unlocked Joe’s shackles.  Joe lay curled up again for a few minutes, his foot throbbed with sharp, hot pain and he started to cry again.  He forced himself to stop only because, once more, his pride demanded it.  He would not allow his Uncle to make him cry like this. 

            Joe sat up and forced himself to look at the branded ‘M’ on the bottom of his foot.  The brand was an angry, hot looking welt on the heel and he winced when he touched it.  Bad idea.  He got up gingerly, careful to put all of the weight on ball of his foot and he hobbled gingerly into the bathroom.  After taking care of business he hobbled back into the other room with the wet washcloth he got from the bathroom and found a bottle of burn ointment and antiseptic on the table, along with a section of newspaper?

            Joe ignored the newspaper as he sat down in the chair and put the washcloth on the burn.  He refused to think of it as a brand anymore.  He winced and a paroxysm of pain swept through him again before he was able to calm enough to sit still.  He pulled out the small bottle of burn ointment and gingerly put that on before he wrapped the washcloth about it and then bent to try and eat some of the food.  He’d welcome the drug this time, if it was drugged.  He’d welcome just about anything that allowed him to forget about the intense pain in his foot.  He struggled with the bottle of water that came with the food; it took over a minute to get the top off of it. 

            The young detective didn’t really taste the food this time.  His uncle made the runniest eggs Joe ever had to eat and they were cold from having sat so long.  Joe sighed and ate them anyway and chewed on the toast and fruit.  At least the banana and apple tasted all right and his stomach didn’t protest eating those so much as they had the other things.

            He found his eyes drawn to the section of newspaper given to him. He would have killed for the sports section about then but at least the Daily Living section of the Bayport Times wasn’t a total bore.  He could, at the very least, read the comic strips. 

            Joe skipped through an article about the benefits of Vitamin E in your diet and another article on the ‘Bayport Symphony’, which, to his young mind, was a bit of a laugh in a city with only 60,000 people.  He was pretty sure he didn’t really care much about symphony though he might get bored enough later to read it, just for the sake of variety.  He did read the advice columns from Ann Landers and Dear Abby. 

            Dear Abby, Joe thought with grim humor.  My pederast sicko Uncle just branded the bottom of my foot.  Now normally I’m a nice guy who doesn’t think ill of his fellow man but would it really be a bad thing if I killed him and got it over with?  Yours truly, Had enough in Bayport.

            Yeah, right, Joe thought after that.  Dr. Morgan would have my head.

            Joe started to skip over the obituaries because the last thing he needed today was to be depressed by so and so’s Uncle passing away but one name on the obituaries caught his attention and froze there.

 

            Bayport, NY: Vanessa Bender, daughter of local graphics artist and designer, Andrea Bender, late of Bayport, New York, passed away today at the age of 19 after succumbing to injuries sustained in a hit and run accident on Saturday morning in the parking lot of her dormitory at Bayport University.

            Miss Bender, who attended Bayport University as a sophomore and majored in Computer Graphics and Science, passed away after spending four days in a coma at Bayport Memorial Hospital in Bayport.  She was attended by her friends and her mother.

            Miss Bender is survived by her mother, Andrea and many other friends.

            Her services are scheduled for Tuesday, October 24 at 10:00 am at the Bayport Baptist Church.  Viewing is possible on Monday Night from 7-10 at the Meadowoaks Funeral Home at 11359 Kings Way Drive, Bayport.

 

            Joe’s hand hovered over the notice for another minute before he crumpled to the floor and began to sob, in greater pain than the burn on the bottom of his foot could cause.

 

*****

 

Friday, October 20, 2000 (3:30 pm)

            “You ready?” Mandy looked up at her boyfriend as he came into the living room at the Radley’s house and bent over the back of her chair to kiss her cheek.  “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.”

            Mandy sighed and, if honest, had to admit she wasn’t ready. She didn’t want to go anywhere except here.  She actually wanted to wait by the phone until her father called to tell her they found her twin but she also wanted to go out and accomplish something more.  Mandy sighed and nodded as Connor kissed her cheek again, then came around the front of the chair and pulled her up by both arms.

            “Let’s get out of the house before we all go stir-crazy,” Connor suggested as he held her lightly and kissed her.  “I can’t go to practice for a week, coach is going to kill me anyway so may as well go out with a big bang.  And hope that my replacement tomorrow doesn’t do such a good job that I’m out of a quarterbacking position when I’m healed.”

            He grinned impishly and Mandy chucked him one on the shoulder.  “Cut it out, MacKenzie,” she said to him with a laugh.  “But all right, I may as well be out doing something rather than sitting about here moping or worrying.  Who all came?”

            “I got a few of my close, personal friends,” Connor grinned.  “Eric, Chad, Womberg and Parker.  And Chet came too, just for good measure.  That’ll make eight of us, counting Sam.  That’s a big enough group, isn’t it?”

            “If it isn’t, Uncle Derak’s a lot more insane than I thought,” Mandy said.  “A lot more insane.”

            The doorbell rang and Mandy saw Edith hustle over to open it.  Mandy always thought of Edith as a grandmotherly sort of person, though in actuality she was only about five years older than Mandy’s mom.  Edith’s hair was already a pretty silver color and she often smelt of fresh baking, like Aunt Gertrude did.  She right now had some flour on her hands from the bread she was making in the kitchens with Mandy’s mom.

            “May I help you?” Edith asked in a polite voice.

            “Ah, yes,” a voice that Mandy hadn’t heard in ages said.  “I was wondering if I could talk to my cousin or my Aunt Laura?”

            “ANDY!” Mandy called out and she rushed to the door to give her cousin a hug.

            Mandy hugged him and then stepped back to look up, and up, and up, at her rather tall cousin.  Andrew Michaels, the son of the hated Uncle Derak and her Aunt Cathy, was another tall man in Mandy’s life and built sort of like a Greek god.  He stood at a little over six feet, perhaps even a bit taller than Frank’s six foot one and he had burnished gold hair that Mandy would kill for.  Andrew wore it in a very stylistic cut that made him look even more handsome than ever and his striking blue eyes made even Mandy’s heart palpitate. 

            Get hold of yourself, girl, she warned herself.  He’s your cousin.

            “Andrew, what in the world are you doing here?” Mandy asked him as she opened the door to let him in.  She saw Connor’s friends all out on the lawn waiting.   “Wow, you look good.”

            He really did, Mandy thought.  He wore a dark blue polo shirt and dark blue chinos, along with, even, dark blue loafers.  Dark blue loafers?  When did guys wear colored shoes like that?  She’d never catch Frank or Joe in colored loafers, other than the usual black or brown.  Joe even wore black running shoes.

            “Thanks,” Andrew said and he quirked a rather odd smile at her.  “I, uh, needed to talk to Uncle Fenton.  Is he here?”

            Mandy shook her head and led Andrew into the living room.  “No, he went up to Connecticut, to talk to Uncle Derak.  Why?”

            Andrew frowned and sighed.  “I just…  wanted to talk to him about dad.”

            Mandy raised an eyebrow at that and looked over at Connor who shrugged as if to say ‘he’s your cousin.’ 

            “They left early this morning,” Mandy said to him.  “They’re probably already at the house by now.  They should have been there by this morning sometime.”

            Andrew frowned and sighed.

            “I just came to say that I don’t think he’s the one that’s behind this,” Andrew said.  “I’ve talked to him a few times since he got out of prison and I really think he’s changed.  I think it’s someone else, that they’re trying to frame him, to make it look like he’s doing this.  Uncle Fenton has enough enemies, doesn’t he, that this doesn’t have to be dad?”

            Mandy glared at her cousin and he swallowed nervously and stepped back a pace.

            “Andrew, I can’t believe how blind or how gullible you are!” she exploded.  “You know what he did to Joe!  He did the same thing to you.  He’s not going to be suddenly cured of it!  Why in the world would you even be defending him?  He’s a pervert!”

            “He is not!” Andrew flashed out at her.  “Just because you have the perfect father and the perfect mother doesn’t mean my dad can’t change and can’t get better.  I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near him if I thought he was going to do… to do all that again, I wouldn’t!  I’ve even gone on a few trips with him and he’s never done anything to me, nothing at all.  I’m telling you, it’s not him!”

            Mandy glared even more and took a step toward him.

            “If it’s not him then why are you so afraid of us checking him out Andy?  Why?  If he’s got nothing to do with this then he’ll be in the clear, won’t he?”

            “Your dad will make it look like he’s behind this!” Andrew glared back.  “He hates my dad!  He’s always hated him!”

            “For good reason!” Mandy yelled back.  “For what he did to Joe and to you!  He didn’t make that up and you know it!”

            “But he’s paid for it!” Andrew yelled right back.  “And he shouldn’t have to keep on paying for it!”

            Mandy stepped back and took a deep breath.  If she didn’t, she was going to flatten her naïve, gullible, idiotic cousin right where he stood.  That would have been a real shame, too, so she didn’t.

            “He should have to pay for the rest of his life,” Mandy said.  “Joe is still paying for it and it wasn’t his fault.  He, and you I should add, was ten years old!  What your father did, nothing he does will ever make up for it.  Joe will never be innocent again, NEVER!  How can you be over it, Andrew?  How can you not want him to rot in a hole somewhere forever for doing that to you?”

            “He’s my father!” Andrew said.  “And I love him.  He’s the only father I have!  And what he did… it wasn’t right but he’s paid for it.  I don’t want him to have to pay for it again and again and that’s what you are doing.  And it’s not right.  It’s just as… as wrong as what he did!”

            “Andrew, are you really nineteen?” Mandy asked.  “You sound like you have the logic of a ten-year-old.”

            “Amanda Nicole,” her mother’s voice cut in sharply and Mandy looked up at her with a start.  “Apologize right now.”

            “I am not about to apologize to him for what he said, mom,” Mandy turned away with a flounce of her hair and her head.  “You heard him, he’s making excuses for Uncle Derak and there is no excuse!  He deserves to be locked in or under a jail for a hundred more years.  For an eternity!”

            “No he doesn’t,” Andrew said in a soft voice.

            Mandy turned back to him, about to cut into him again but stopped.  He just looked so beaten down already.  He really was too good-looking for words, with his Apollo-like smile and his burnished gold hair.  She really would kill for burnished gold hair.  He had the muscles of someone who took good care of himself and took time for some serious weight-lifting and toning on a daily basis.  When his eyes sparkled with tears like they did now she saw that even his lashes were the same color of burnished gold.

            “I’m sorry,” she said, finally, though she wasn’t sure that she meant it.  “Andy…”

            “Andrew,” Andrew corrected.

            “All right, Andrew,” Mandy continued.  “I’m… I just have feelings, all right?  I always have and your dad is no good.  I may never convince you of that, no matter what has happened but it’s true.  And I know, I know that Joe’s… he’s… he’s been hurt already.  He’s petrified, completely petrified.”

            “Then you want him back sooner, don’t you?” Andrew asked in a soft voice as he turned slightly away from her and hugged himself with both arms.  “If you do, then you should look somewhere else because it’s not my dad.  It’s not him.  Mandy, -I- would know if it as him.  I’d know it like you know that Joe’s terrified, I know I would.”

            “But you may not,” Mandy said just as softly.

            Her mother went over to Andrew and hugged him.  He shook but Mandy wasn’t sure if it was with tears or anger.  Mandy never recalled seeing Andrew angry before, at least not so angry that he shook with it.  She frowned again.

            “I’m going,” Andrew said quietly.  “The taxi is waiting for me anyway.”

            He turned and went but just before he left he turned to her for just a split second.  In that split-second Amanda felt chilled to the bone for, just for a moment, she swore she saw just the hint of malevolence in his eyes.  She shook her head in doubt.  Andrew was a pussy-cat of a boy or man and always had been.  He did turn back just before he left.

            “I hope you find him,” he said, an earnest smile on his face.  That hint of malevolence, if she really saw it, was gone.  She was convinced now that she hadn’t, that, because his eyes were so like Derak’s that she transferred something from her Uncle’s gaze to her cousin.  “I really do.  Good-bye.”

            He turned and went out the door.  Mandy watched him as he went through the gate and out to a taxi that stood at the curb.

            “Mandy,” her mother began.

            “Mom, don’t say it,” Mandy said to her mother.  “I know, I know I went too far but I was just… I was so angry.  I’m sorry.”

            “I know,” Laura said.  “Just be careful next time.  He’s got feelings too, you know.  And he went through what Joe did.  If he’s decided to forget his father for it and if he trusts Derak, that’s his prerogative.  I don’t know that I would be so forgiving but I’m not Andrew and Derak, thank God, isn’t my father.”

            “We’d better get going if we’re going to get through the whole neighborhood today,” Connor interrupted from where he sat in a chair in the corner of the room.  “Ready to go?”

            “Yeah,” Mandy said.  “Let’s get out of here.

            They went out to where Connor’s friends still waited.  Chet Morton smiled at his friends’ sister and walked up beside her.

            “You all right, Mandy?” he asked.

            Mandy sighed and nodded.  She tucked a lock of hair behind one ear.

            “We’re going to start by my house,” Mandy said.  “And keep at it until we find something.  Do you all know how to get there?”

            One of them didn’t so Mandy gave directions.

            “Let’s meet there in fifteen minutes,” Mandy said.

            Mandy followed Connor out to his Blazer and Samantha finally came out of the house to join them.  She climbed up into the backseat of the Blazer.

            Just as Connor stopped the car, Mandy’s attention was riveted by a hint of blue-green that came racing down the road.  Mandy saw in a sort of distracted way that the car was an Audi and that there was a huge dent in one corner of the front of it.

            The car aimed unerringly at the Blazer and almost too late Mandy screamed,

            “Connor, move it!"

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).