The ambulance moved quickly but efficiently away from the scene of devastation left behind at the Mathews estate, and Fenton Hardy sat quietly, one hand holding his oldest son’s hand.  Frank’s hand was limp against his father’s; he lacked the strength to be able to squeeze but Fenton remained reassured as to his son’s prognosis.  Frank would be fine. His face was pale but calm; free of the worry and strain Fenton saw normally these days.  It was the carefree Frank he saw now, even if he looked drawn with pain.

Fenton beat his head against the undeniable, central truths of the last few days, while he listened to the ambulance’s whirring siren and watched as the paramedic made a few adjustment’s to Frank’s IV.  The detective wanted to be released from the pain and frustration of the whole case.  Led into the absolute certainty that Derak Matthews had been behind the kidnapping of his younger son, Fenton had not followed any other possibilities, at least not seriously.  He had not even really entertained the notion that the kidnapper could be someone other than his wife’s brother.  Now Derak was dead and Fenton knew, without a doubt, that someone else had been behind his son’s kidnapping.

Or was there?

It was still possible, maybe remotely possible, that Derak was still behind Joe’s kidnapping but, if he was, who had put the bomb in Derak’s chopper? 

Fenton rubbed at his aching head.  He had absolutely no idea where to start next.

Fenton sighed and shook his head; he raised his eyes again and viewed the face of the paramedic.  The paramedic looked calm and reassuring but Fenton felt no such assurance, even as Frank stirred a little.  His hand gripped Fenton’s slightly and then let go again as Frank sighed and tried to roll over onto his side.  The straps that kept Frank secure on the gurney stopped that maneuver cold.  Fenton squeezed Frank’s hand in comfort.

There is no helping it, Fenton thought with a sigh.  I’m going to have to go out and find another suspect and I have nowhere to start.  I’m going to have to start cold, on a trail that is getting even colder as we speak.  Derak was the perfect suspect: prior conviction, motive, opportunity, it all came together so well. 

Some internationally-renowned detective, Fenton grumbled mentally.  I can’t even find my own son.  I made mistakes a first-year rookie wouldn’t make and I let my emotions get in the way of what I was doing.  I wanted it to be Derak, blast it.  I wanted to lock him away again, get him away from my family forever.  Now I’ve left Joe to pay the price for my idiocy.

The ambulance slowed a few minutes later and pulled into the hospital located in New Haven , Connecticut .  As soon as it was stopped, the door at the back of the ambulance opened and several attendants appeared to unload Frank and bring him into the emergency room of the Yale New Haven Hospital .  Fenton blinked his eyes against the brightness of the sun and shielded them with his hand as he followed the gurney that held his son through the open doors of the hospital and to the receiving area.

“You’ll have to stay here,” a nurse told him when he tried to go into the room with Frank.

Fenton sighed.  He expected to be stopped, but he would much rather go inside with Frank, just so his son would know that someone was there who cared about him.  Fenton knew how he felt when in a hospital – he didn’t like that feeling of being alone, that strange feeling of abandonment.

Then again, this was Frank’s second hospitalization in a week; the doctors were going to have a field day with that alone.

“We need you to fill out some forms,” a receptionist told him and led him over to a set of chairs. 

Forms.  Fenton absolutely hated paperwork.  There was no helping it, he knew, but it didn’t change the principal fact that he had to do it.  There was a considerable amount of paperwork in his line of work, from filling out personal files to store into his immense file cabinet for the reports he made for the individuals, organizations and companies that hired him.  He knew how to do it with a minimum of fuss but dislike it he did.

Pungent hospital odors wafted through the air as he sat down in a chair in the emergency room waiting area, clipboard and pen in hands, to begin the arduous process of remembering details about Frank’s life, health and welfare.  Fenton got up to inquire something of the nurse, then he pulled out his cell phone long enough to call Bayport General and ask them to fax a copy of Frank’s recent medical reports to Yale New Haven so he wouldn’t have to try to explain it himself.

Not that they aren’t going to want to know why my son has been in the hospital something like four or five times since the beginning of September, Fenton thought, frowning.  I’d make the same jump in judgment that they will; either I’m beating him or he’s got a death wish.  It’s neither one but that’s what they’ll think.

Fenton finished the personal area on the first form and started in on the insurance information.  His insurance company was going to have a field day with this one, though Fenton knew if they decided not to pay the bill it wouldn’t be a big deal.  There were times Fenton was more than glad of Laura’s inheritance, though he thought so rarely about it that it might as well not exist at all.

Fenton frowned down at the medical history section of the form and filled in what he remembered of Frank’s medical history, including the section that dealt with cancer, i.e. Frank’s two bouts with leukemia. 

Thank God that hasn’t come back since he was 15, Fenton thought as he jotted down the particulars where they were required.  Just what he’d need on top of everything, another battle with that.  Just give me the strength to not ever tell him where the donor marrow came from that saved him.

That was, in fact, one section on the form that Fenton lied about.  ‘Marrow Donor Unknown’.  The particulars would be in Frank’s medical files but the donor wouldn’t be listed there.  Fenton and Laura were the two people, besides the donor’s mother, who knew who the donor was. 

‘Recently blinded due to unknown cause, September, 2000,’ Fenton jotted down on another section of the form.  The particulars on that would be in the files too.  Fenton really hoped they wouldn’t need all of this and that Frank would wake up – soon.

Fenton wrote down the allergies he knew about, namely pollen and peanuts, in that order, and brought the forms back to the nurse after the usual hassle of signature and date.

“We got a fax from Bayport General,” the nurse at the desk told him after she quickly read through the information.  “Your son has been through quite a lot hasn’t he?”

Fenton nodded but said nothing to ease her curiosity as he went to sit back down and wait for word.  His least favorite thing was waiting in a hospital – or being in the hospital.  They were both ranked very low on his scale of things to do.  He got up long enough to find a cup of coffee and then sat back down in one of the chairs in the waiting room.

“Mr. Hardy, do you need to see a doctor too?” a nurse spoke to him kindly as she knelt in front of him.  He looked at her, surprised, but she held up his arm for him to look at.

“This is what I mean,” she said, softly.  The arm had a long gash in it, running from his wrist almost all the way to his elbow.  Fenton looked in surprise at it; he hadn’t felt any pain from it until the nurse mentioned it to him. 

Too busy with self-flagellation, Fenton sighed.  Way too busy with it. 

Fenton let the nurse lead him into a nearby room and settle him onto a bed.  The nurse cleaned the wound off with antiseptic – he studiously began to count the many number of tiles above the bed on which he lay.  Four colors, a mixture of light blue, dark blue, white and gray, in a totally random pattern.  Fenton sighed and looked away again, his eyes focused on two pictures located up high in the room.  “Achieve” read one and was a picture of a man trying to climb a mountain.  “Success” was on the other wall and, once more, showed the same man, now standing on top of the mountain looking out over a vista of the world beneath him in a panoramic view.

Success.  Fenton wished he remembered what it felt like to be successful.  Right now, all he could think about was that they hadn’t found Joe with Derak.  If Derak had once had Joe they wouldn’t be able to find that out now; Derak was dead. 

“All done.”  It wasn’t the nurse that spoke to him; Fenton had been so studiously looking over the make-up of the room that he had missed the arrival of a young man wearing a doctor’s jacket.  “I’m Doctor Maidenly, a surgical medical student here at Harvard.  My adviser will be in here in a minute to take a look at your arm.  The cut was shallow except for one small area –  it will take about ten stitches to close that area.  The rest we can bandage up; it should heal on its own but we’ll expect you to put an antibiotic cream on it.  I’ll make sure you have a prescription."

Fenton nodded and waited.  Another doctor joined them but only for a few moments, leaving Dr. Maidenly to stitch up Fenton's arm.  Fenton winced as the pain-numbing shot went into his arm and winced again, when, a few minutes later, the process of stitching up his arm started.  Fenton looked back up at his doctor.

Maidenly, boyishly young, reminded Fenton of Joe.  Blonde hair, blue-gray eyes, same twinkle in his smile.  Fenton took a deep breath to steady his nerves and looked away for a moment.  Seeing someone that looked so much like Joe sent a new pain wrenching through the detective.  What in the world was he going to tell Laura and Mandy?

“Mr. Hardy?  Are you all right?”  The doctor snapped his fingers in front of Fenton, causing him to jump slightly; it had the effect the doctor wanted, though.  Fenton looked up at the doctor again.  Fenton looked at his arm and saw the stitching done - thankfully he was able to block out the process as he had in the past.  The detective flushed slightly.

“Worried about my son,” Fenton said softly.

“If your son is the young man who nearly drowned, he’s going to be fine.”  Maidenly confidently checked over his handiwork on the stitches.  “He’ll need to rest up and take some antibiotics to ward off infection.  It looks like he’s been through the wringer the last few days though.  The doctor was worried about the arm, but I think he decided everything is OK in that regard.  At least he hopes there are no set-backs.”

Fenton nodded and settled back, his eyes closing against his will – he was asleep only a few seconds later.

** *** **

“I love you, Mandy Hardy.”  As he came up behind his petite, blonde-haired girlfriend, Connor MacKenzie slipped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to him.  The red-haired college junior had never seen his girlfriend so still and quiet before.  Normally a moving ball of near-kinetic energy, she stood outside of the old Andiron residence, a slow trickle of tears running steadily down her cheeks.  She had run out here an hour before, when their mutual friend, Parker, reported that he saw Mandy’s cousin ride off – with Mandy’s twin brother, Joe.

“Mandy?” Connor hoped, somehow, to break her out of the obvious mental shock from which she suffered.  They had all just recently been discharged from the hospital after a huge explosion took out Mandy’s home – and very nearly killed Connor, Mandy, Mandy’s older brother Frank and Frank’s girlfriend, Samantha Ellington.  Connor only hoped this latest shock wasn’t too much for his nineteen-year-old girlfriend.  He knew she thought of herself as tough, strong, independent – and he loved her for all of those qualities.

“Amanda,” Connor turned her slowly so that she would no longer be able to gaze longingly down the street.  He gently wiped the tears that glittered on her cheeks, and raised her chin so that she finally had to look up at him.  He smiled at her as he pushed a curl back, and a sigh escaped her lips.  She threw her arms around Connor’s broad chest and buried her head into the fabric weave of his shirt.  Connor held her close until she could speak.

“I can’t believe it was Andrew,” Mandy’s voice caught once and shook, but she continued on.  “Andrew.  I just don’t see how – or why!  Uncle Derak hurt them both!  It was supposed to be Derak, Connor, not Andrew!”

Connor nodded solemnly; the bob of his head slightly disheveled his bright red hair, and he pushed it back.  “I know, honey,” he soothed her as gently as he could.  “We all thought it was, love.  I’m sorry it wasn’t.  But now we know for sure who has him – shouldn’t we try looking for him again?  How many places could he bring Joe?”

Mandy shrugged her shoulders slightly and shook her head.  “I don’t know, but it’s a place to start.”

Connor was relieved to see her coming back to herself.  That determined, ‘must do everything perfectly’ look was returning to her face.  She was about to step away when Connor stopped her.

“Mandy, is there any chance Andrew is working with Derak?”

Mandy gave a physical shiver at the thought and she shook her head.

“I don’t know any more, Connor, but I’ll ask my dad.”  Mandy sighed again.  “I wonder what they found at the Heap – obviously not Joe – but maybe they’ve found something else.  A clue of some kind – or something.”

Mandy shrugged and turned at last, determination set upon her face.  Connor knew she was finally over the shock of it all – hopefully she’d stay that way.  He followed her through the back gate of the wall that encircled the grounds of the Andiron House, and found the others who accompanied them standing there – all of them, except for Samantha.   The front four looked forlorn and confused.  Connor looked about the old, ramshackle yard and frowned, trying to figure out where Samantha went.

“What now?”  Royce Tate, linebacker for the Bayport U Knights, asked him.  “What do we do now?”

Mandy thought for a moment, then motioned to the house.

“Several things,” she said.  “One:  spread out and search the house.  Andrew may have left more clues behind that we could use to figure out where he took Joe next.  Two:  search the garage where the car was kept and see if you can find anything.  Three:  Call the police, put out an APB on the car.  At least we know who owns it now, maybe they can track it down.  Four:  Call my dad and tell him what we’ve found out.  We need to find out if they discovered anything up in the Heap.  And five:  figure out where Andrew has been for the last couple of years.  If we can locate another apartment or get in his dorm room at school, maybe we can find a few more clues.  And figure out how long he’s been planning this.”

“He can’t have done it alone,” Connor commented as he led the way into the house.  “I mean, think about it, Mandy.  There’s the house – does he know anything about explosives?  That…dungeon…we found downstairs wasn’t the work of an amateur.  Then there was the person that shot arrows at us at the church and the hospital.  I just don’t think he could have done all of it.”

Mandy nodded.  “You’re right, Connor.  And we should do everything we can to figure out who his accomplice is.”

“That one woman down the street, Mrs. Morris, she said it was a woman, didn’t she?” Chad asked.  He was flipping a quarter between his large fingers.  “Maybe he has a woman helping him out or something.”

Connor looked over at Chad and nodded appreciatively.  He turned back to Mandy with a ‘see, we aren’t all idiots’ expression.  Mandy smiled and stuck her tongue out at him, playfully.  Her bright blue eyes were even more filled with life than they had been a few minutes before.  Good, Connor thought with satisfaction.  Good.  Keep it that way, Mandy, you need to keep your head on your shoulders if you want to do this.  We’ll find Joe.  We will.

Mandy pulled her cell phone out as Connor sent the boys back into the house to take a look around, with an admonishment not to touch anything else.  They hadn’t been very careful going in – they probably had left fingerprints on everything inside – but there should be enough of Andrew’s fingerprints to help the police.  The ‘Joe shrine’ and the dungeon below would tell the rest of the tale, but Connor didn’t want things to get too messed up.

“Sam!” he called out, trying to figure out where the other girl in their group went.  “SAMANTHA!”

There wasn’t an answer, which meant that Sam was probably too far down to hear even Connor’s boisterous bellow.  He frowned and, seeing Mark, asked the other boy to go and see if he could find her.  It would be just his luck for them to come here, figure out that Joe had been here, lose him again and, on top of it all lose Samantha.  Frank would eat him for lunch and dinner. 

“The police are on their way,” Mandy told Connor.  “I couldn’t get hold of my dad.  I guess maybe he might be out of cell range up there, I got his voice mail.”

“You’ll get him eventually,” Connor said.  “Let’s finish looking before the police get here.  We should see if…”

“MANDY!  CONNOR!” That was Samantha’s voice, and Connor and Mandy both went running to find her.  She was standing at the bottom of the set of stairs that went down to the first basement level.  “Come down here, you have to see this.”

Mandy and Connor both sped down the stairs, followed by Parker and Chad , and followed the red-haired Samantha into one of the rooms down the hall – the room next door to the ‘shrine,’ as Connor tended to think of the room infested with pictures of Joe and Andrew. 

“Here,” Samantha said as she lifted a picture and handed it to her friends.

Connor’s eyes bugged out when he saw a picture of Andrew, standing alongside a girl with long, mousey-brown hair.  Connor inhaled sharply and was about to say something when Mandy suddenly gasped and let out a screech.

“That…that’s Anna Phillips!”

 

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.