“Joe?  Joe!  Can you hear me?”

Walking slowly down the long, winding, corridor, Frank stopped to listen and to search, waiting for something to happen that would lead him to his brother.  Frank blinked, as the lights shifted before him, becoming dark, then light, then brilliant with a myriad of colors that floated around him, becoming parts of the walls and the floors and the ceilings.  Frank frowned as he peered through the darkness, dark eyes intent on the scene around him – and on any sign of his younger brother.

“Joe! Where are you?” Frank called out again.  He heard breathing from up ahead – and from behind as well.  Frank stopped, listening again but the sound was no clearer than it had been before. 

Frank walked forward again, ignoring the sound from behind, intent on moving onward rather than backward.  The breathing grew louder, along with another sound – scraping, clunking and more scraping.

“What are you looking for?” a voice – a young voice – said.  “Who are you looking for?”

Frank stopped and frowned as a solid, thick, brick wall appeared before him. On the other side, propped up against the far wall, his brother lay.  Frank shivered as he saw Joe lying there. He reached for the wall, only to find that he was unable to move.  His arms were suddenly held tight behind him and he struggled to break free.

“What are you looking for?” the young voice said again.

Frank looked along the length of the wall and found Andrew – a ten-year-old Andrew – staring up at him.  Andrew added another layer of mortar along the top of the wall and added another brick, then another brick.  He scraped the loose mortar off the wall and smiled.

“He’s mine, you know,” young Andrew said, a smile on his face.  “He’s always been mine.”

Frank glared at his cousin and struggled again, trying to break free of the invisible hold on him. 

“He’s ours,” Frank protested, grunting with the effort.  Andrew’s blue eyes smiled as a smirk crossed his face.  “He’s been ours – and he will never be yours, Andrew.  Never.”

Andrew merely smiled as he placed another brick.

“I’m never giving him back again, Frank,” Andrew commented.  “He may have been yours – once – but never again.  If I have to kill all of you to keep him, I will.”

Another brick laid.  Another layer of mortar placed; another brick making the wall higher, making it that much harder for Frank to see his brother.  He struggled with all his might, trying to break free of the invisible bonds but it was impossible. 

“Stay away, Frank,” Andrew’s blue eyes narrowed, malevolently.  “Stay away.  Or else.”

“Or else…what?” Frank’s own eyes narrowed, just as malevolently.

“Or else you – or anyone else who gets in my way, dies.  I’m going to keep him forever.”

 

*****

Frank woke slowly, blinking once more into the unending blackness.  It was strange how, when he dreamed,, he still saw.  He remembered the subdued brown-orange hues of the brick sand, even the blonde hair and blue eyes of young Andrew.  The dream began to fade almost immediately but the impressions remained.  Young Andrew’s vow to keep Joe forever.

Young Andrew’s vow to kill anyone who got in the way.

Frank shivered as he sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed.  The beatific expression on dream Andrew’s face churned his stomach.

“You all right, Frank?” Connor’s voice broke through the stillness.

Frank jumped slightly, startled by Connor’s voice.  His roommate usually slept through three alarms, sirens outside the windows and phone calls in the night.  Frank never thought Connor would wake up when Frank did. 

“Fine,” Frank said.  “I just had a…bad dream.”

Frank heard the shuffling of bed covers and the soft creaking of the bed springs as his tall roommate sat up.

“Want to talk about it?” Connor asked.  “Was it about Joe?”

Sighing, Frank pulled his legs up, feeling defensive and a little small.  His stomach continued to flutter nervously.

“Andrew’s not going to give Joe up,” Frank remembered the words, still.  ‘I’m going to keep him forever.’ “I think if it comes down to it, he’ll kill Joe – or the rest of us – if he has to.”

“We’ll stop him,” Connor vowed.  “Look, Frank, it was just a dream.  Even if it has some basis in reality, look at it as a warning.  And use it.”

“Use it,” Frank raised his head and sighed.  “There was nothing in my dream to help, Connor.  Nothing I can use…it was just a stupid nightmare.”

Connor sighed and Frank turned away, laying his cheek on his knees.

“I could see,” Frank said, suddenly.

“What?”

“I could see.  In my dream I could see.  Andrew was building a wall – I remember the bricks were that reddish-brown color.  He was putting mortar between the bricks.  I could see him – Andrew.”

“Don’t you usually see when you dream?” Connor asked.  “I mean – you haven’t been blind all your life…”

“I know,” Frank slid his feet off the bed, reaching with his toe until he found the floor.  Frank stood and stretched.  “Lately they’ve been…sepia-colored.  Almost black and white and gray.  Not dark, necessarily, but no color either, except on occasion – like Sam’s hair or your hair – sometimes blonde…”

“What’re you dreaming about me for?”

“No reason in particular,” Frank said again.  “Trust me; it wasn’t like I wanted to.”

He flashed a grin at his best friend and heard Connor’s low chuckle. 

“It’s only 2 a.m. Frank,” Connor said.  “Go back to sleep.”

“I will,” Frank promised.  “Let me get some water first.”

Frank vaguely remembered where the sink was from Connor’s two-bit tour the previous evening.  The dark-haired young man cautiously made his way along the path between the two beds and toward the bathroom.  He easily found the corridor between the two beds and the small armoire which held the TV.  Frank finally felt his way to the sink, found a plastic cup, removed the wrapper, filled the cup and took a healthy drink.

“I could’ve gotten that for you,” Connor said when Frank finally sat on his bed again.  “But…”

“I wanted to get it for myself,” Frank shrugged as he lay back down.  “Stubborn, huh?”

“Very,” agreed Connor in a sleepy voice.  Frank heard his roommate’s yawn but stifled a smile as he yawned himself and settled back into bed again.

“You going to be able to go back to sleep?” Connor asked.

“Probably,” Frank said as he gave his pillow a swift hit before snuggling down into it.  “Goodnight, Connor.”

“Night, Frank.”

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

Interlude:

“No, Uncle Derak, stop, please,” Joe pleaded.

He hurt.  There was something – someone, very heavy on him. 

He wanted them to stop.  He just wanted HIM to stop.

HIM.  Derak?  No… Andrew.

“Andrew… stop,” he whispered. 

Then the lights took him over again and all he could do was feel…

** ** **

*Another Morning*

Fenton sighed as he rolled over, dark eyes finding the bedside clock by instinct, and he groaned when he read it.  6:18. He hadn’t gone to bed until almost two a.m. , as he worked to coordinate things with the F.B.I. concerning searching the house in Virginia .  The full day of driving, hunting, lifting, searching, talking to his children on the phone and worrying about Joe left him exhausted.  He hurt in places he never knew existed.

Fenton rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head to block out Sam Radley’s light snoring.  Fenton knew the pivotal part of his problem was being away from Laura.  While he spent more nights away from her side than he liked, the first night was always the worst.  He closed his eyes again and inhaled, then exhaled, slowly, as he tried to relax.  He visualized all of his family.  Laura with her soft blonde curls and her and just as beautiful as the day he met her. His oldest, Frank, tall and lean, dark-haired and brown-eyed – was a version of himself but with Laura’s softness. 

Joe, blonde curls and blue eyes, was tall and muscular – a natural athlete.

Mandy, blonde haired, blue eyed, almost a miniature of her mother.  Spirited and willful, too.  A girl who vied with two brothers all her life.

The cataloguing took time – but it helped relax him.

“You awake, Fent?” a drowsy voice from the other bed said.

“Yeah,” Fenton agreed.  “I am awake.”

“What’re you thinking about?” Sam asked.

“Everything.  Nothing.  The same thing I think about every night, Pinky,” Fenton smiled, remembering a cartoon with two mice that his kids used to watch on TV.  “Plot to take over the world.  Or find my son, whichever comes first.”

“And the family,” Sam added, agreeably.

“And the family,” Fenton agreed.  “The most important part of all.”

“So, do you think we should go to Virginia ?” Sam commented slowly. 

Fenton shrugged, rolling over onto his side as he did.

“I don’t know,” Fenton frowned.  “I want to be there when Joe is found.  I just don’t know if he’s in Virginia .”

“I thought you liked that clue,” Sam murmured sleepily.  Radley sat up in bed and rubbed at his eyes.  “Are you thinking Joe’s not there after all?”

“I am,” Fenton scratched the end of his nose.  “I couldn’t tell you why.  Anyway, the F.B.I. is sending a team to check that house.  We can stay on the trail here until we know something – anything.”

Sam yawned and checked the clock which now read 6:42 .

“I’ve gotten less sleep than this.  Let’s get dressed, find a pot of coffee each and phone Deanna.”

Fenton grinned at his partner, blinking past the lights as the ones beside the bed were suddenly clicked on.  Fenton stood up and shot Sam a grateful look.

Fenton’s cell phone rang, breaking the early morning silence.  He grabbed it out of the holder attached to his belt and pressed the send button to talk.

“Fenton Hardy,” he said.

“Fenton, it’s Deanna,” the agent’s voice rang over the phone.  “We’ve hit gold, paydirt, bells, whistles, you name it.”

“On what?” Fenton sat up again. 

“On the munitions,” Deanna sounded even happier.  “They were purchased, second hand surplus, from a black market dealer that a friend of mine is acquainted with.  And, wouldn’t you know, the name given was Sanders, no other name because the guy who did the selling didn’t want them.  Anyway, the transactions were all via internet and delivered to one of our stops here in Massachusetts .  However, here’s the big deal.”

Fenton practically heard the smile on Deanna’s face, even over the phone.

“Spike found out something interesting about the person who picked up the munitions from the guy who sold them.  Like I said, he has friends in low places.  Anyway,” the blonde agent continued.  “It wasn’t a man who picked up the munitions, it was a woman.”

Fenton felt his heart pounding in his chest and wondered if he was having a heart attack.

“And?” he managed to gasp.

“We have a description.  Dark-haired, blue eyed, about 40-45 years of age.  Very rich looking – not the kind of person that my friend’s friend expected to be purchasing munitions.”

Fenton’s stomach bottomed out and he gasped.

“Fenton?” Deanna asked.  “Are you all right?  What’s wrong?”

Fenton managed to speak though the words tried to catch in his throat.  “I know who that woman is, Deanna.  It’s my sister-in-law.  Cathy.  Cathy Sanders Mathews.”

 

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.