HDA - Living in Darkness Trilogy - Pt 2 - The Search

Hospital smells. The pungent scent of cleaning fluids, of illness, of blood. The smell of supposedly fresh circulated air wafting through the ventilation system. Frank took a deep breath and exhaled, aware that once again he was in a hospital – and he didn’t like the feeling. He’d spent far too much time in one lately. He was tired and sore – his arm throbbed as though someone was pushing down very hard on it, over and over again. He winced as he moved and tried to find a more comfortable position. Those were few and far between.

I can’t believe that Derak is dead. He put his good arm up behind his head as he tried to concentrate. I can’t believe that Joe wasn’t there, that we didn’t find him!

Frank closed his eyes – he never knew why he bothered one way or the other anymore. He couldn’t see with them open or closed. Reflex, probably – but what did it matter? He didn’t know what to do. Not finding Joe ate at him. Imagining what Joe was going through, trying to decide if he was really still alive or if someone had taken him for revenge for something they did. He tried not to imagine what was being done to his younger brother, and he tried not to imagine who was hurting him.

Frank moved his arm again and rubbed at his head, which ached. He had to be careful of the IV that was in his good arm. He coughed again, not sure if it was because he caught a cold, or still had water in his lungs that he wanted to get out. He tried to think of something more pleasant – just to help himself forget about his aches and pains. Samantha, her long, bright red hair as he saw it last, her cheerful smile, the way she smelled, was an easy memory, as always. He always feared that, the longer he stayed blind, the more he would forget. He’d heard of people who had been blind for ten years or even five years or even a year, who forgot things – what red looked like, or a tree, but Frank tried to remember. He remembered the expressive and soft prettiness of his mother’s face, the fall colors of an oak tree, the deep green of the water in Barmet Bay . What would he do if he ever forgot what Samantha or Joe or Mandy or his parents looked like?

He shifted again and lay slightly onto the opposite side of his injured arm, and realized how lucky he was, at least when it came to girls. Callie had been wonderful – no boy had a better girlfriend in high school and, in a way, he had regretted their parting afterward. Frank knew without a doubt that it was the right thing to do, though. She really wanted to go to school in San Francisco and he wanted to stay close to home. They talked for a long time about maintaining a long distance relationship but just before Callie left for school, they sat down and talked about it seriously and both of them admitted, as much as they cared for each other and, at one point, saw themselves growing old with the other, it wasn’t there anymore. They kissed and parted – and were still good friends even now. He got letters from her on occasion, and occasionally he wrote her back

Now Frank had Samantha Ellington. Callie had been his first love, Samantha was, if he dared to think about it, his soul mate. Her smile, the way she walked, the way she talked, her intelligence, her spirit. He never thought – well, he never dared to hope she would stick by him when he went blind – but there she was, holding his hand, helping him to class, still with him. He sighed and wished she were here now; he missed having her near when she wasn’t.

“Are you awake, Frank?” The voice was not one that he knew and he opened his eyes again to stare at the same darkness he was now almost used to.

“Yes,” he agreed with the voice. “I’m awake. Just thinking.”

“I’m Jenny Beckett,” the friendly voice introduced herself. “I’m a nurse here at Harvard/New Haven Medical Center. I want to check your vitals before the doctor comes in to check you over again. How are you feeling?”

“Achy and sore but I think I’ll live,” Frank sighed. Earlier someone had come in and poked a needle in his arm – to take blood, they’d said. He still had an IV in the arm, he’d been told it had antibiotics in it. “How’s my dad?”

“He’s fine,” Frank felt Jenny put a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm and started pumping as she spoke. “Except for a few cuts and bruises and scrapes, he’s none the worse for wear. He just went down to the cafeteria to get a bite to eat. He’ll be back when the doctor is done with you.”

Frank shifted uncomfortably as Jenny pumped the pump of the blood pressure cuff and the tension increased on his arm. She put something against his ear for a minute – it beeped a second later.

“Do you know how long I’m going to be in the hospital this time?” Frank asked as he shifted again. His back hurt a little – his head hurt more.

“I’m not sure,” came Jenny’s sweet-sounding voice. “Probably not more than a day or so – the doctor has antibiotics pumping into your arm to ward off any possible infection from your dip in the pond. As soon as those are done running their course and he’s sure you won’t pass out as soon as you walk out the door, I’m sure you’ll get to go.”

Frank felt her press his wrist to take his pulse and he sighed and endured what he hoped was the end of his vital signs. Her hands were gentle and soft; she took his pulse with a minimum of fuss. Having her here took away a good chunk of his worry – or at least gave him something else to focus on besides his brother. He knew he should try to figure out where to look next – but his head hurt too much to allow him much cognizant thought.

“Frank, I had a question for you,” Jenny said, speaking slowly as if she was not sure she should mention what she was about to mention. He turned toward her voice expectantly. “Are you aware that one of the world’s leading ophthalmologic surgeons works here at Harvard/New Haven?”

Frank blinked his eyes a few times, not sure what she was getting at – or sure what she was getting at but not sure he wanted to think about it – to get his hopes up. Frank took a deep breath to steady his nerves – they were almost out of control right now.

“No,” he admitted. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, we do.” Jenny patted Frank’s leg. “And now you know that he’s here, why don’t you consider getting a consultation with him? He’s done wonders with eyes before – maybe he can do something to help you out.”

Frank considered it – for all of about five seconds – then he slowly shook his head. “No,” he said with a sigh, “I can’t, not right now, Jenny. My brother’s still missing. The reason I came to New Haven was to find him. I have to find him. I don’t have time to spend on anything else. Maybe…maybe when it’s all over, you know, I can do it. Besides, my doctors back home told me there was nothing that could be done, no surgery, not anything. I was blinded in a rather…unusual…fashion. They think there’s no helping it.”

Jenny was quiet for a few moments and Frank was almost afraid that she had left without saying anything to him – except he heard her breathing and then felt her lean against his bed. He felt her check the IV in his arm as well.

“You know, Frank,” she said a moment later. “You’re going to be here until tomorrow. What would it hurt to have the doctor come down and at least take a look? I’m pretty sure I can get Doctor Beckett to take a few minutes to see you. You could start the preliminaries that would at least give him some idea if he can help you at all…”

Her voice trailed off and Frank hastened to assure her that he was thinking about it. He thanked her warmly for telling him – he just…right now he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“Better to be surprised,” he said, smiling his best smile. “But maybe I’ll talk to him, since I’ll be here anyway.”

“Well, hello there,” yet another new voice sounded from the direction of the door. “Hi, Frank, my name is Doctor Steele, I’m a trauma specialist here at HNHMC. I thought I’d come in and give you another once over, see how you’re doing with the antibiotics and recheck that arm of yours.”

Frank smiled amiably at his new doctor, his expression neutral – or he hoped it was neutral. He missed his doctor from home but this guy sounded enthusiastic at least. He winced as the doctor pressed a very cold stethoscope against his chest for, [what] Frank assumed, a listen to his heart. The stethoscope moved all over Frank’s chest for quite some time with the doctor prompting Frank, on occasion, to breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out and so on. The doctor assaulted Frank with a stethoscope for what seemed an eternity, then finally went on to torture Frank’s ears with something cold and pointy and his throat with a wooden stick. Frank ah’d obediently when instructed to and took several deep breaths to try to regain his composure.

“All right, then,” the doctor sounded friendly. “You’re doing pretty well, Frank. You’re pretty lucky, all things considered. Your chest will probably be fairly sore from the chest compressions, your arm didn’t get injured any more than it was already, and you’re receiving an antibiotic intravenously to ward off any bacteria you may have picked up in the pond.”

Frank nodded. He’d already been told that before – more than once, in fact.

“Your lab work came back fine,” Doctor Steele continued. “But we won’t know the results of the cultures we’re running for three more days. You’re going to be receiving Biaxin orally for the next five days. You’ll be released tomorrow, providing there aren’t any more set-backs in your condition between now and then. How are you feeling now?”

“Tired, sore, a little hungry and achy,” Frank said honestly. “Emotionally, I’m a wreck. Mentally? I’m not sure, my head hurts.”

He heard the smile in Doctor Steele’s voice when the man spoke next. “You’ll get through it, Frank; I have a feeling you’ve survived more than any ten people I could name. I read your chart from Bayport Memorial, after all. This is just something else.”

Too much else, Frank sighed. Too much else.

“Your dad is probably hovering outside. Let me go tell him he can come in. Tomorrow I’ll see about freeing up this bed for a sick person.”

Frank groaned and laughed. By the time he was done laughing the door opened again and he heard his father telling him hello.

“Hey, son, you look like hell,” Fenton said to his son. Frank felt Fenton squeeze his good hand. “But you look a lot better now than you did a while ago. How are you feeling?”

“Is everyone going to ask me that?” Frank, irritated, shifted on his bed and regretted it. “I feel like I look. How do you feel?”

“I feel like I look too,” Fenton said just before he laughed. Frank laughed with him and winced.

“No fair making me laugh, dad,” Frank grinned. “The ribs don’t like it. Someone pounded my chest with a sledgehammer while I was out, obviously.”

“Ooh, I’ll be sure to tell Deanna that,” Fenton chuckled. “I don’t think anyone has ever called her a sledgehammer before.”

Frank laughed again and winced in pain. He rubbed at his chest. That was a big mistake, his chest didn’t like being rubbed.

“I’m really glad you’re going to be all right, Frank,” his dad said. “I was getting worried there for a bit.”

Frank felt his father’s lips on his forehead and he squirmed a little uncomfortably. Suddenly he sat bolt upright in bed and turned toward where he knew his father stood. “Look, I’m cured, dad!” he exclaimed. “You should do that to more patients, they will all benefit by your great healing kiss!”

Fenton burst out laughing and Frank sank gratefully back onto his pillows. That had the effect he wanted.

“You better be careful, son, or I’m going to take your temperature and check your pulse every hour on the hour. Then where will you be?” Fenton asked.

“Oh, gee, would you Dad?” Frank joked. “Then you can put the nurse out of her job and set back my recuperation for another week.”

They both laughed again, much to the chagrin of Frank’s chest. He groaned and held his good arm – with IV – carefully over his chest.

“Anyway, Dad,” Frank remembered what Jenny said to him. He told his dad what Jenny said about the surgeon here. “What do you think?”

“I think you should at least talk to him,” Fenton said after a moment’s pause. “If you’re concerned about us losing time, well, Deanna can’t leave until tomorrow either. She’s getting the same treatment you are because of the pond. Since you have to be here, you may as well talk to this doctor. Even if he can’t do anything for you, well, at least you tried.”

Frank nodded in agreement. His dad was right – and he trusted his dad’s judgment as well. “Okay, then I think I will,” he agreed. “You’re right.”

The young sleuth took a deep breath as he got comfortable. “Oh, have you talked to Mom or Mandy yet?” he asked his dad.

Fenton gasped. “No!” he said. “I was waiting to hear what your doctor had to say before I called your mother. I’d better get to that right—”

“Hello, gentlemen!” Frank recognized Deanna Merrill’s voice – the woman who saved his life. “Thought I’d come for a visit since I’m trapped here until tomorrow. How are you, Frank?”

“Tired, achy, sore, otherwise just fine,” Frank said. “You?”

“Tired of being in the hospital.” Deanna sat down on the edge of Frank’s bed by his feet. “I can’t believe this is because of a dip in a pond, of all things. I don’t think it was that dirty.”

“It was stagnant, not dirty,” Fenton commented. Frank couldn’t see him but he seemed to be preoccupied with something.

“I just talked to Audrey,” the F.B.I. agent changed subjects almost abruptly. “We need to find out who has been at the mansion recently, because she found enough C-4 and detonators to blow up most of New Haven . If this person has Joe – and more explosives – we may not find enough of either of them to ship home in a Ziploc baggy. As soon as we’re out of here, we have to move.”

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Disclaimer

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.